Well, one of my two reviewers liked the last chapter, and the other didn't.
Ah, well...
Interest in this story certainly seems to have dwendled.
As for updating, I'll update one chapter a week unless they are short--by MY definition of short--and no more. I hardly have the ten minutes it takes to save off my computer, wrest someone's lab computer from them, sign in, log on, upload, respond, and post. Frankly, I'm burnt out on all things that have to do with stringing words together this term, and if you bug me about it, I'm lible to just say forget it until after finals--which is at thepoint in time during whichI won't have internet access until January. So, lump it.
Chapter 48
By the time my eyes focused, I knew it had happened again. Ever since Joy and Turiel's wedding, it had become a fairly common and even frequent occurrence.
I blinked, and listened until I knew where he was. Rolling over alerted him to my wakefulness. He glanced back at me over his shoulder, that faint haunted look in his eyes for a moment, until he looked out the window again.
It was always the same. Every night or morning I returned to awareness to find he had come, he had that look. Desperate, longing… and fearful.
Whatever the look was for, I hated it. It was beginning to haunt me.
He never said anything about it, and I had decided the first time that he would explain when he was ready. Since being near me seemed to help, I never encouraged him to leave.
Legolas's head lowered, eyes closed as his shoulders drooped. His hands tightened into fists.
I studied his white knuckles for a few minutes, before pushing myself partially up. My movement brought his head around, which was what I'd hoped for. I held out a hand to him.
He glanced at it, then closed his eyes, a look of pain touching his features for the instant it took him to take my hand. He brought it to his lips for a quick kiss before sliding into bed beside me. He pulled me down next to him, his arms around me even when we were settled.
After a few minutes I eased myself back up so I could see his face.
He was doing that vacant stare at the ceiling again, his eyes closed to most observers, which was fine, as I wasn't most observers. His pain yet lingered, making something twist jaggedly within me.
Whatever it was, it was slowly killing him. And he hadn't yet seen fit to tell me what troubled him. So much for trus—
A gentle finger brushed lightly beneath my lashes, drawing me from my thoughts. His dark eyes were now focused intently on me. He sighed and kissed me, before coaxing me to lie back down. "I'm sorry, love. I haven't known by what words to explain."
Had I been thinking clearly, I would have asked 'explain what?', but my thoughts hadn't gotten past being called love for the first time since before the War of the Ring. As I wasn't, he was speaking before I caught up.
"The first centuries of my life my dreams were mostly memories of joyous times with my family," he murmured.
Though I couldn't see where he was heading with this—if anywhere—that he was talking at all was an improvement, so I stayed quiet.
"After that, they shifted more to times with the eight of you, and remained thusly until we met again… Or, until we met."
I knew what he meant.
"From then you filled my thoughts and dreams. Through the quest it was the memory of holding you all night the last night in Imladris that I clung to… But now…"
I tilted my head slightly, intending to look up, but he kissed my crown and held my head to his shoulder, preventing my movement.
"Now I don't see anyone I know, though my love for them all has only grown." He paused to kiss me once more. "Instead… instead I see what seems an endless expanse of mystery, calling me to know what I cannot…"
"Why not?" I worked loose of his hold, glancing down at him curiously.
He smiled faintly and brushed my hair gently behind my ears, letting his fingers linger on my skin. "It is not something simple."
I tilted my head at him curiously, wondering what it was that I was clearly missing.
He smiled gently, tugging me down just enough for a kiss. His smile quickly faded, his eyes gazing past me at something yet unknown.
After a few minutes, I thumped his shoulder in frustration. "I'm not making any sudden, spontaneous conclusions here, Legolas."
His faint smile reappeared, before dying as he sighed. "I have stood on the ocean shore."
Sea Longing. My heart stopped with that thought, but couldn't mount any contradictions. It explained everything—his reluctance to leave Gondor, his time spent staring blindly into nothingness… his reluctance—for a long time—to continue building a relationship with me.
That final thought made me pause. He hadn't trusted me with this… "Why tell me?"
He focused sharply on me, and then sighed. "I tried to block it out. As long as I remind myself why I am here, the longing recedes."
"But will always remain."
"Yes…"
"Until you give in."
He flinched, before sighing. "I shall not, for many years."
I began to ask why, but my mind pulled up images of several faces before I could. Gimli. Aragorn. Arwen. Eomer. "For mortal friends."
"And for a wood-elf I would never wish to leave behind." He ran a hand absently through my hair.
"Then why not ask me to go with you? There are woods there, as well."
He sighed. "But not the wood of your birth."
I blinked. "That's a weak reason—they aren't yours, either."
"No," he sighed. "And I know I shall miss it here, no matter how wonderful the Undying Lands are. But for me the journey would still a longing… I fear it would create one in you."
"You great, hopeless idiot," I sighed. "I left the Wood before to go West."
"And halted in Imladris," he countered quietly.
"Because I did not wish to see my father so soon…" I took a deep breath. "And because… somewhere deep enough within me I wasn't conscious of it at the time I hoped…"
"I would come after you," he finished for me. He watched me intently. "I won't say I wish I had—we did need the time apart."
"It worked."
"Did it?" he queried softly. "You ended up running back here—back home."
"In some way, this will always be home—for us both. Just as the flet my mother bore me in is home yet, as is my burnt down flet. Home is where joy and contentment have embraced your soul. In a short while, Tirion will feel like home as well."
He watched me for a while, as if searching for something. "You would give up the wood to go with me?"
"If it was reversed," I sighed, resting my chin on my palm, elbow propped on his chest, "would you go?"
He was silent, his eyes darkening for a while. Finally, he sighed. "My heart knows the answer—yes… but my head denies things are so simple."
"Thranduil and this wood survived without you before."
He smiled slightly. "I know… but I still don't know that I could leave him, if the longing wasn't wrenching my heart." He shifted, depriving me of my chin rest holder. "I did not wish you to worry."
"Foolish elf. How could I not? You've been nearly as distant lately as you were in Gondor."
He snorted, shaking his head. "Yes. When I thought it would be easier to send you away than try and keep you near. Now…" He shook his head again. "Now even the longing to go West is nothing, as long as you are close."
"It will grow."
"Yes. And I cannot ask you to cross as long as the desire is silent in your heart."
I shook my head and curled up into his side. Sometimes, I really wished there was no 'Prince' attached to his name. It made him think too much. "Tell me about it."
"About what?" he asked absently, one hand combing through my hair.
"The Sea," I murmured back, feeling drowsy as his hand stilled.
"But…" he trailed off, and then sighed. "Are you sure, love?"
"Unless you sneak away, I'm going to go with you… so you may as well tell me what's ahead."
He was silent for a moment, before his hand slid from my hair to rest on my hip. "Not yet, dear elf. I will not leave as long as Aragorn lives."
I smiled faintly when I understood—his blood was different enough from my own that he could resist the longing a bit easier, a bit longer. I snuggled a bit closer to him. "Very well," I managed, as emotion exhausted sleep took me.