Title: A Spark in the Dark

Author: Luinëturiel (aka Zoe)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Lord of the Rings. They belong to the wonderful J.R.R. Tolkien. Any other characters in this story, however, are mine.

Finally! Fanfiction.net is working properly again. :o)
Well, and here's the long awaited chapter 8. Thalwyn gets to 'see' Legolas. Yay! lol
I think this was the chapter that was the hardest to write so far. I'm just glad that obviously, our neighbours from across the street did not watch me while I was working on it, otherwise I'm sure they'd have called the men in the white coats... (You're laughing? Well, you should have seen me staring at Legolas pics for hours and repeatedly tracing my own features with my fingers, trying to figure out how Thalwyn would try to 'see' Leggy's face! lol)
Well, I've babbled enough. If you've got any suggestions on how to improve the descriptions in this chapter, just let me know.

But now ENJOY! *grins*

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A Spark in the Dark

8 Thalwyn: Silent Dance

I cannot help but tell Legolas over and over again how delicious the food is. However, the various tastes that delight my tongue with every bite I take cannot keep me from thinking of my sister. At first, I keep my thoughts to myself, unwilling to break the comfortable silence that has spread. But when I realize that brooding will not give my any comfort, I put down my fork. "I just hope that Aldarida is all right." After a short pause, I add, "My father needs her. I need her."

"Why do you say 'my father'? I believe you told me that Aldarida was your sister?" Puzzlement shows through in Legolas' voice.

I nod. "She is, in a way. Although we are not related. But that is a long story."

Nevertheless, Legolas assures me that he would like to hear it, and so I explain to him how Aldarida entered my life, and how she became like a sister to me. I reduce the story to only the most basic facts, and as soon as I have finished, Legolas asks, "And what about your mother, Thalwyn? You have been speaking of your father, but not a word of your mother."

My mother. She has been part of my life for far too short a time...

I frown at the thought of her and the reason why my mother once left us. However, I manage to keep my voice steady and calm as I tell Legolas why I had not mentioned her before.

Legolas does not comment on the fact that my mother left her husband and little child, which I am very grateful for. Somehow I can understand what made her go. I have no grudge against her. It must have been all but easy for her to do all the housework and at the same time raise a blind child. Too hard, as it seemed.

However, something in my story has roused the interest of the Elf. "So...you were born blind?" He sounds very moved as he asks the question.

"To be honest, I do not know," I start explaining. "I have been told that my eyes started getting dull soon after I was born. No one ever managed to find out what was wrong with them, but they suspected that I could still see in the beginning. I cannot say for sure, though." I shrug. "As long as I remember, the world around me has been dark." The tone of my voice has unavoidably changed from casual to bitter.

"I...I am sorry, Thalwyn." The Elf's statement is filled with an emotion that is not easy for me to read.

It did sound like more than the usual pity.
Almost as if the thought of being blind would scare him to death.

I shake my head. "There is nothing to be sorry about, Legolas." Then I try to make clear to him that I never really got to know what it is like to be able to see.

The memories of my first weeks, months, even years, in this world are buried under that veil of darkness that has accompanied me for so many years.
Wiped out.

"Why should I miss something that I never really got to know?" Even though I give Legolas a smile, I am well aware that I did not manage to play over the fact that, indeed, I wish there was a way for me to regain my ability to see. That I could take in the world around me with all of my senses, not only by hearing, smelling, tasting and touching.

But I fear that my arguments cannot even fool a stranger like him.

"Besides, there is more than one way to 'see' the things around you." A last, pitiful attempt to convince Legolas – or rather myself? – that I am content with my situation.

Just look at me – here I am, sitting with an Elf; with one of those fair creatures I have longed to meet since I first heard about them. And I cannot even see what he looks like.
Well, not in the common sense. But maybe...

The moment I think of the possibility, my mind fills with doubt.

No, I'd better not... It is pretty obvious that he is not accustomed to dealing with blind people.
What will he think of me if I ask him to let me touch his face?
But then again, when will I get another opportunity to find out what Elves look like?
Probably never again.

The decision is made. Curiosity has taken the better of me, and I am determined not to let this one opportunity slip. "Legolas, may I ask you a favour?" I can feel my cheeks burning with heat, but I do not care.

"Aye." His voice is a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise. "What can I do for you?"

I get up from my chair. As soon as I stand, my nervous fingers reach for the fabric of my nightgown, just to have something to hold on to. "Would...would you sit on the bed with me for a minute?"

It will be easier to ask if he is sitting right beside me.

I hear the other chair slide across the floor, and a moment later, Legolas is standing next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. With a smile, I let him lead me over to the bed. Once we sit on the edge of it, I clear my throat. Still indecisive on how to ask the question that is burning on my tongue, I make up my mind to try a somewhat indirect approach.

"Legolas, I told you about Aldarida, about my family; yet I still know little more about you than your name and that you are an Elf. I would like to ask you to tell me some more about yourself, and..." My cheeks are now fully set aflame. The heat is already spreading across my entire face.

I can do this. I know I can.

I turn fully toward Legolas. "You must know that Aldarida has told me many things about Elves. Tell me, Legolas, are you Elves really as beautiful as people say?" I ask, raising a brow.

"Well..." Legolas begins, hesitant.

Has my question embarrassed him?
Anyway, I do not want him to describe to me what Elves look like, but find out myself.

Laughing, I wave my hands to indicate that I do not expect him to go on. "No, do not tell me. I mean, what I really wanted to ask you is..."

It is now or never.

It takes me a second to gather up all my courage. "May...may I see for myself?" Much to my surprise, my voice does not falter, and I cock my head to the side, eagerly awaiting the Elf's reply.

When Legolas does not answer at once, I decide to make a little clearer what exactly I am asking of him. "Like I said, there is more than one way to see the things around you..." I raise my hands in his direction, palms upwards, hoping that he will understand.

Why does he still not give me an answer? Have I done something wrong?
Did my demand insult him in any way?

"Legolas, I could well understand if you did not want me to..."

Finally, Legolas seems to have regained his ability to speak. "No, no, it is all right, Thalwyn." His voice is soft and reassuring. "It is all right." And when the Elf's slender fingers close around mine and guide my hands up to his face, I know that his hesitation to answer my question has never been a sign of discomfort, but of sheer surprise.

I smile at him. "Thank you, Legolas. This really means a lot to me." And I mean it. In fact, being given the opportunity to find out myself what the Elf sitting next to me looks like makes my stomach tighten in a knot. Too long have I been waiting for a chance like this.

I can do this. I have done it so many times before...

Already my fingers have started moving out of their own volition; a group of dancers that know their steps too well to need any guidance. Tonight they seem to move a bit slower, a bit more careful than usual, though. Almost as if they were afraid to stumble.

I block out any sounds; the faint crackling of the candles on the table, the song and laughter that is wafting in through the open window. My fingertips need no music to perform their silent dance – the only thing that is of importance right now is the ground they are moving across...a skin so soft, so flawless that for a second, my breath seems to catch in my throat.

But routine has taken over, and as soon as the index fingers of both of my hands have met at the tip of Legolas' nose, they start making their way upwards. While the index fingers run along the ridge of the nose, the middle fingers trace its sides, taking in the aristocratic shape, mapping it. At the bridge of the nose, the fingers continue their way upwards, tiptoeing across the smooth forehead until they reach the hairline, where my hands depart.

The hair of the Elf is combed back straight, not a single lock of hair falling into his face. So I notice as I trace the hairline to both sides. The hairline itself recedes at the corners. Slightly, yet notably. But already my fingers are moving on, dancing along the sides of Legolas' face, across his temples, across high cheekbones, and further downwards, where they change course and trace the straight line of the jaw to meet the fingers of the other hand in the middle of the softly rounded chin.

The first dance is over. And the second is about to follow without so much as a second of a break. Starting from their meeting point at the chin my fingers are already tracing back the paths they used before, dancing up along the sides of the Elf's face again, along the hairline, and down across the forehead to the bridge of the nose. But this time, they linger there for a second before they stray from their old path and continue their journey to the sides instead.

Legolas' eyebrows form a perfect, fine line of velvety hair. There is no comparison between them and the unruly, bushy brows that I have come across so many times when examining the faces of other men. Smiling, I remind myself that the person I am currently 'looking' at is no mere Man; then I refocus on what my fingertips tell me. Without even thinking, they return to the bridge of Legolas' nose and trace the line of his eyebrows once more in order to take in their shape. The brows of all people are arched; some more, some less. Those of Legolas, however, almost form straight lines, curving ever so slightly at the outer ends. Graceful lines that match the aristocratic shape of his nose perfectly.

When my index and middle fingers have reached the Elf's temples, I let them rest there and let my thumbs take over the silent dance instead. As gentle and skilful as their predecessors, they brush across the velvety skin, beginning at the sides of the nose, tracing the high cheekbones, then describing a semicircle, and finally returning to whence they came, this time taking a path across the tiny hollows just below the cheekbones.

Once my thumbs have reached the sides of Legolas' nose again, they travel downwards until they come to touch his lips. They are so soft, so smooth, just like the rest of his skin. Sighing inwardly, I let my fingers gently run along the thin lips to the corners of the Elf's mouth. They are curved in a slight smile, and I take this as a sign that Legolas does not feel uncomfortable about my touching his face in this more or less intimate manner.

I cannot help but smile as well, more than content with what I have 'seen' so far. Without doubt, the Elf sitting here with me has the most beautiful face that I have ever explored with my fingers.

That flawless skin, those high cheekbones, the aristocratic shape of his nose and eyebrows...
Yes, those eyebrows. I wonder if Legolas' eyelashes feel like velvet, too.

And yet another thought strikes me. There is something strange about Legolas' features, but I cannot quite put my finger on it. I am not even sure that it is his features, to be honest...

Absently, my thumbs have taken up the dance again, now moving across the smooth skin at the Elf's chin in slow circles. After a few seconds, I let my fingers come to a halt.

Of course! Now I know.

"No stubble."

I am not even aware that I said those two words out loud – not until I hear Legolas chuckle softly. "Aye, you are right, Thalwyn. No stubble. This is because, unlike Men, Elves do not grow a beard."

"Ah, I see." I smile again, ignoring the fact that my cheeks seem to glow with embarrassment. I did not know that Elves do not grow a beard; Aldarida never mentioned this peculiarity. On the other hand, the newly won knowledge encourages me to find out if my sister was right about another thing she did tell me about Elves.

And so my middle fingers leave their places at Legolas' temples, moving in the direction of his ears. As soon as they have found what they were looking for, they trace the upper lines of the delicate shells. I am too excited, too much in awe to notice the slight shudder underneath my hands when either of my middle fingers reaches one pointed tip of the Elf's ears.

Pointed.
Aldarida was right. His ears are pointed.

Fascinated, I let my fingertips run along the upper lines of the ears once more. Back and forth. This time, when my fingers brush across the tips of his ears, Legolas draws in a shuddering breath, a reaction that makes me freeze for the blink of an eye, before I hastily break the touch. I let my hands come to rest in my lap, silently scolding myself for obviously having caused the Elf discomfort.

"I...I am sorry, Legolas," is all I manage to say.