Altariel sat by a cool stream, the coursing water bubbling over her feet. Above her soft clouds migrated slowly across the sky, seeming as though they had no place to which they must hurry, and none that could make them do so. But knowing this, Altariel still felt that should she ask them, the clouds might quicken their pace, or disappear all together, if she desired it. It was a peculiar sense, feeling a power within one's self that could bend the very law of nature to its will. Altariel felt certain the ovlar of Rohan prospered all the more for her presence, as did Rohan's people...and Rohan's king.
She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows, ignoring the grass stains that would undoubtedly mark her white dress. She turned her thoughts to Eomer, and closing her eyes, could almost see him, sitting in counsel with his officials and nobles, but all this thought was bent towards her - his absent wife. Sometimes the love which Altariel saw within her husband's eyes was choking, a stifling mass that swallowed her up, crawling into every cavity of her body until she was consumed by it...but at other times it seemed her very life breath. After so many months of unhappiness, lonely nights spent first walking the courtyards of Gondor, and then the forests of Rivendell, Eomer had rescued her from oblivion, brought her back from the dead. But no...it had not been Eomer who had awoken the fire within Altariel's heart, it had been another. His name stung her lips, and her breath escaped in a dejected sigh at the thought of her last meeting with Him. Legolas. That elf that had made her walk as though naked under the light of Middle earth. He had stole her from the shadows and with only a few words thrust her out into the sunlight, pursuing her like a wraith across the country until her feet had led her to Rohan, and into the arms of Eomer. What a strange twist of fate, thought Altariel, that the love of one man could inspire the loving of another. For that was what was between Eomer and herself, love.
Arriving in Rohan all those days and nights ago had been like a dream. From the gates a guard had spotted Altariel, and calling out to his companions he had named her elf, and sent a dispatch to the king to summon him. When Altariel had arrived at the gates the guard could barely conceal his delight, and had only stopped her to ask a name so he might better describer her beauty to his peers over a pint of mead when his shift had finished.
Elessiel - as she had still thought of herself - paused for a moment to think what answer she could give the guard that would not reveal her mission in Edoras. "Altariel." She had murmured finally, smiling as the guard had backed away in wonder, for their were few among the Men of Middle earth that did not know the pleasant drawl of an elfish name when it was spoken by lips so fitting.
But in truth that had not been the moment at which Elessiel Tindomerel had disappeared, and Altariel, Queen of Rohan, daughter of Gondor had appeared. That moment had been both drawn out and instantaneous, from her meeting with Celeborn, and at the same time her hasty marriage to Eomer.
She remembered it clearly, standing upon the great terrace of Medulsed, Eomer slowly placing the delicately wrought crown of gold upon her head. And from that moment forth Elessiel had returned to the shadows, leaving Altariel behind to govern her body. It was a blessing, but at the same time a curse, for Altariel did believe the change within her mind, and within her life warranted the gifting of a new name, but still, there seemed some loss in surrendering Elessiel to the darkness again. It was as though she were pushing herself away, and adopting the guise of another, that did not belong to her, adopting the guise almost, of Galadriel.
It was true that when Elrohir and Elladan had come to pay their respects to their niece they had commented on her change, but it had been Gimli, ever truthful, and hardly one of the art of hidden meanings, who had announced the noticeable change before an audience of Altariel, Eomer, Elladan, and Elrohir
" She has become the White Lady!" Gimli had said, gulping deeply from his pitcher and alternately drawing long breath from his carved pipe.
Altariel and Eomer had laughed and shaken their heads, but Elladan and Elrohir had remained silent with Altariel protested.
"No, no, daughter, " for this had long been the name by which Gimli had addressed Altariel, " you have become more than her likeness in face, but now also in mind! This last night come I partook of a drink in the local brewery, and was almost forcibly removed from both bar and my mirth when found laughing at the comments of two commoners who spoke of you."
" What did these commoners say, Master Gimli?" cried Eomer, rosy-cheeked with drink and merriment. Altariel had stopped laughing.
"' She is an elf!' I heard them say, calling you a descendant of the line of the Eldar. They are not so dim as to walk with their eyes closed here in Rohan, as we dwarfs say!" Gimli thumped the table with his hand, causing a candle to topple from it's home, spilling wax into his long beard and causing Eomer and Gimli to break into peals of laughter yet again.
Later that night Elrohir and Elladan had confirmed Gimli's words, adding their own mildly excited, yet ever cautious words - that Altariel should guard her new 'power' against all but her closet friends.
It seemed strange then, that she had not told Eomer of all that had come to pass. The secret power within her had remained so, never tested, never questioned, except for those brief moments that she could steal, when unsaddled she would ride across the wide plains of the horse lords, wearing the ring of Ulmo openly upon her hand, and shining like a cold star. In those moments the present and future seemed to peel away, and only the past was relevant. At those times she would most remember Legolas...
Altariel sighed and stood up from the stream, wandering back slowly towards the great centre of the city of Caras Galadhon. She found an ancient stone bench, drenched in sun and sat crossed legged upon it, chin propped in palms and staring into the distance.
Legolas, his name was like a balm on her mind, smoothing away thoughts of Eomer and Rohan, and exposing a dazzling world of brightness. She closed her eyes, and let those thoughts, which she had hidden rush forward to surround her consciousness. How she wished she could see him again, hear again the voice in which speaking her name had invoked a longing that could not be doused. Raising her own hand to her cheek she felt it was his hand the once again stroked her skin, and opening her eyes she bent all her being towards him, so much so that when she opened her eyes again, she could see him before her. There he was, a simmering reflection walking across the grass floored glade where she sat, his perfect face stern and thoughtful as he walked towards her, and then suddenly he was smiling, as though he was just as caught up in the dream as she was.
But this was no dream.
*
Legolas stood at the edge of the trees, looking out into the narrow glade before him. The trees stopped all together here, and the grass was long and unkempt, swaying in the wind, making the ground look as though it were pulsing, waiting to swallow him up. The sky over head was a warm rose colour with few clouds, like a smooth layer of white silk being drawn across a soft rose petal. Cutting directly through the glade was a small stream of clear water bubbling across slick black stones. And sitting on the distant shore of the stream, her small, pale feet dipping in the water, was a human woman.
Her hair was a long cloud of silvery cobwebs, laying flat across the grass behind her head where she lay. Her skin was as white as the crest of a wave, and her face was cool and welcome at the same time, like the face of the moon. Her eyes were closed, and Legolas thought at first that she was sleeping - he almost started when he saw a smooth white hand move softly against a pale white cheek.
As though by celestial design, at the exact moment Legolas began to move towards the woman, she opened her eyes and sat up slowly. She stared at Legolas and bit her lip, her face a study of beautiful confusion, and like a shroud had been removed from his eyes, Legolas realised who the girl was.
He took a deep breath, but realised that he had no words to describe the discovery as he came now to stand on the opposite edge of the stream.
Altariel stood quickly, staring in confusion at the elf before her. She failed to notice the deep green stains on her elbows and knees, being to shocked to comprehend anything but the obvious question - What was he doing here?
Legolas almost laughed with happiness as he watched Elessiel silently. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes, and as she raised her arm he saw the stains on her elbows. It had been longer for Elessiel than it had for Legolas since they last parted, and the elf marvelled at the woman before him. It had been less than a year since he had been indirectly introduced to the wilful youngest daughter - a mere girl child then - of his dearest, and oldest friend. How that girl had grown, and when, into the woman before him. Her face was the same, though slightly thinner and less full of curiosity than it had been. She seemed all at once closer to heaven and drawn tightly to the ground, for her deep blue eyes no longer stared out at him in wonder and awe.
Legolas felt a lump in his throat as the memory of the last time he had seen Elessiel resurfaced in his mind. In Rivendell, under the stars, standing there with the daughter of Aragorn, he had felt lust in that moment, for the first time in too many years to count. Lust for the marvellous creature before him, but guilt and grief had drawn closely behind his lust, whispering in his ears about the consequences of feeling the way he did about someone who was the daughter of the man he called 'brother'.
Legolas' resolve was broken now, and all the moments he had spent alone in the city of Cirdan rushed through the flood gates of his mind, swelling and consuming any space left in his mind by Elessiel's presence. Many hours he had spent, staring out over the water and into the West, thinking about his imminent journey to Valinor, and the kin he would see again after more than a hundred years of comparative solitude. He would stand like that for hours, leaning against the thick stone railing of some nameless terrace, the waves crashing below him, and his thoughts crashing within him. Valinor was like a distant light at the end of a tunnel in which the walls were a thick fog. But every now and again, most commonly in the evening when the distant song of elven voices floated on the sea breeze to him from afar, he would think of Elessiel. Like an enemy she would invade his mind, and her image, the touch of her skin and sound of her voice when she denied him, would pull and nip at the recesses of his mind. Their last conversation would repeat in his mind's eyes, and he would see every shape of audible word and mental message forming on those beautiful lips of Elessiel's. How many times had he breathed in the salty air of the sea only to smell the forbidden scent of Elessiel's skin? How many times had he closed his eyes and placed a woeful hand against his cheek, imagining the soft touch of Elessiel's hand, and never known that she stood away across the earth in the same pose?
And now, as they stood so close but yet so far away, Legolas battled internally to keep from being pulled down by the undertow of his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than the erase the memory of Elessiel's last bitter rebuke, and to drown himself in the dark of her eyes, the pale of her bare skin, to give his last breath up to her, and swallow her melodic voice in his hungry lips.
In that moment, he felt love.
And it was unlike any love he had ever felt before. Eternal life offered many chances to those who would take them, to love and be loved, and Legolas had bared his heart countless times in all his years, some chance meetings lasting a moment in the lives of men, and some a day in the lives of elves. But now no memory, no matter how sweet, mattered now. The weakness of Elessiel's days, the speed with which they would fly past served only to deepen Legolas' emotion, so that when finally he reached out across the world to touch Elessiel's hand, her willingness to oblige showed the rising of the sun over an ocean both wide and deep, made with all the love Legolas would ever, could ever feel within the eternity that he possessed, and felt now for the first time, willing to give up.
" Elessiel-"
" Altariel." She corrected, staring down at her hand within Legolas'.
Legolas frowned deeply in confusion. "'Altariel'? I am afraid I do not understand."
She smiled and took a deep breath, trying to be rid of the twisting feeling within her stomach. " My name is Altariel." She said confidently.
Legolas smiled curiously and laughed lightly. " That face of yours - whatever name it chooses to go by - has been absent from my sight too long."
Altariel laughed, feeling relaxed in the welcoming sound of the elf's voice. She leapt across the stream lightly, standing before Legolas as over head the rose-petal sky wilted into deep blue. " A sentiment both fair and true, for both of us."
Legolas laughed sharply again, not knowing what to say, but wanting no silence between them, fate had been to fickle between them to have silence spread a seed of discontent, as often he had seen it did. " This is fair tidings indeed, the meeting of old friends."
Is that what we are? Altariel thought as she followed Legolas across the glade towards the forest. He beckoned to her down a wide path, leading through the trees to the very centre of the forest - Caras Galadhon. Here the once majestic city of Galadriel had fallen to partial decay, but Legolas led Altariel up a long winding flight to stair and into the abandoned network of great flets that had once been the palace.
She followed him in silence through labyrinthine corridors made entirely of branches and vines shedding impossible amounts of amber coloured leaves. They stopped briefly as Legolas pushed open a set of heavy, carved wooden doors. The room beyond was a wide circular flet, but the centre of the floor had been cut out, a thin railing running its circumference. Legolas turned back to smile at Altariel before he stepped lightly to the side of the railing before sitting crossed legged on the edge, one foot dangling over the edge, a dizzying distance above the forest floor. The height almost made Altariel nervous, but she was too preoccupied to notice much else than the elf in front of her, smiling invitingly and holding out his hand. She followed, sitting beside him, feeling at naturally at ease as Legolas' hand guided her head down to rest on his shoulder.
" You want to know where I have been." Legolas said after some time. He felt Altariel smile against his shoulder.
" No. I do not need to be told, to know where you have been."
"You know me so well, then?" Legolas said lightly. He felt Altariel shift, almost as though she were suddenly uncomfortable.
But all she said was, " I do not need to know the man to know his thoughts."
Legolas turned towards her, a quizzical look in his eyes at her last remark. With his finger under her chin he gently tilted her head up to better study her features, the softest pang of regret hiding within him as he noticed the subtle changes that seemed to take place perpetually in the beautiful face of a human, even more so within Altariel. " What has happened to you, to make you so...far sighted? For that is what you are. I sense it, the knowledge within you that beguiles your youth. I do not know what happens to me when I look into your eyes, but I think you may be able to tell me."
Altariel bit her lip in indecision, not questioning the possibility of sharing her inner thoughts with Legolas as much as wondering what such a concession would bring. But it could be avoided no longer, and as she reached out a hand to touch his skin Altariel felt a relief, realising she was doing what should have been done a lifetime ago - or so it seemed - in Rivendell.
" Close your eyes." She gently thumbed shut Legolas' eyes, " Take a deep breath, and picture my face if you can."
" I can." He said with a quiet, childish smirk.
Altariel heard only the words he spoke and not their meaning, she lay her hand against his open palm, and closed her eyes.
Legolas was trying to sit still and breath deeply, but the soft stroke of Altariel's fingers on his palm was distracting. His concentration waned for a moment, but ever so slightly he was aware of a shudder passing repeatedly through his body, his skin tingled and his ears pricked. " Elessiel...what are you doing to me?" He murmured with slight alarm.
She only smiled and said " This is what happened to me."
Those words were far away, muffled by the churning of waves and wind, and Legolas felt himself slipping - as though his body were slowly falling to the forest floor below - inwards, not into his own mind, but into Altariel's.
***