Niélawen stared up into the swirling bleakness that was painted over her eyes. Shapely figures consisting of both light and shadow flickered upon her lids and appeared as waves of gold overlapping the darkness. She opened her hearing to the flat voices of woodland birds distantly calling as they soared in the light, and the gentle swaying of numerous bare trees that whistled in a refreshing breeze, which was hardly there at all. She breathed in deeply, and her throat burned like an iceberg scraping inside her gullet. Feeling a rise of air bubbling and itching furiously in the back of her throat, she emitted a cough that immediately slaughtered the brilliant serenity around her.
She opened her eyes, and was overwhelmed by luminous daylight. Her eyes, only at first, distorted her vision to her gaze above where a high canopy of dark, tangled trees shielded much of the potent sunlight. Tiny ribbons of light shone down through twisted boughs and bathed her in warmth even amidst the chill of winter. Her breath appeared before her in wisps of foggy air, and she remembered the coldness that surrounded her in hoards of white crystals that absorbed the sunlight like one enormous mirror.
She sat herself up onto her elbows with a good layer of soft blankets cushioning her, and she and stared into a flickering fire at her right. In front of the flames and potent waves of heat, hunched over in a plentiful region of showering sunlight, sat her companion with his back to her. She moved as feebly as a pathetic weed beneath an outrageous layer of quilts and attempted to shift onto her side, but appallingly failed to do so.
Legolas' flaxen hair caught the light as he turned his head ever slightly to the left, having heard her rouse. "What's wrong?"
Niélawen groaned and punched away the heavy quilts to freedom. "Your bed," she replied flatly.
Eyes still disregarding, he raised a short blade into the light for his own observation where the sun caught its unblemished surface. "I see," he replied tonelessly. "Yet you slept soundly." He returned to his work; polishing his damp weapons. He gingerly brushed a familiar piece of faded violet material over the blade surface of one of his beautiful, golden etched knives, appearing to be heavily concentrated on his task.
Giving up the attempt to change her manner of rest, she chose to observe the new place around her. Their things lied in areas close to the fire, but much of everything was at her left side, scattered almost carelessly as though dropped in a panic. There she found her dark trousers, the shirts she had worn the previous night in layers crumpled in a numerous heap, and even her fine leather boots lying carelessly atop her hooded cloak in a snowy bunch.
Her neck stiffened painfully as a dry swelling rose in her throat. They were, in fact, all the garbs she had worn the day before. She snapped her head towards him with an incredulous glimmer in her eyes, though she made an effort to be careful in her choice of words. "Those wouldn't be my clothes… would they?"
He paused momentarily, angling his head to one side. "That they are." He went to unsheathe a secondary dagger conveniently fitted in a scabbard along his rawhide quiver strap. There was something in the way he spoke— subtle, mocking laughter— that caused her to cringe dreadfully. She knew exactly what kind of humor he enjoyed enforcing against her…
She looked again at the scattered pile, and her eyes roamed below the quilts to the items she now presently wore. She picked at the oversized, heavy-knit shirt of light indigo and steadily lifted the blankets further, catching the slightest glimpse of a new pair of less than firm-fitting leggings. "These are not mine," she murmured to herself in confusion.
Being sharp enough to accusation, her eyes drew wide in alarm almost immediately. She peered to her side— through a gap in the pile of heavy clothes, she found her undergarments. Every single piece. She dropped the quilts with a horrendous expression growing more and more ugly on her face by the passing moments.
It seemed that Legolas had assumed just as much, for his shoulder blades shook with light laughter.
"Why," she began in a soft, slow voice despite her cross mood, "is it I see every item of my attire on the ground and not on me?" She picked at them, and frigid water dripped from every scrap of clothing. Many items were even torn, she soon discovered. "My clothes are drenched and look as though they have been mangled in the mouth of a wolf…Legolas, will you answer me!"
He waved the small dagger in the air— still not yet acknowledging her. "I had to sever them from your body," he explained with some intolerance. He turned around on his hands at last and exaggerated a thoughtful expression. "I guess we are even then."
Niélawen pulled a blanket up to her chin, feeling invaded. "You're lying," she muttered, cowering down into her tunnel of quilts. "You wouldn't." She gazed at him hopefully, but he did not falter under her stare. She felt her face grow hot.
"You make it sound so horrible," he jested— she swore she had never heard him so deep in wicked delight of himself. There was a grin in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. He turned back around, and she could almost hear the smirk playing further on his face as he spoke with his back to her, sheathing his weapons. "I promise it wasn't."
Her fingers tightened around the rim of the quilt until her nails left indents in the fabric. She couldn't control the blush that she knew for certain was turning her face a beautiful shade of red. But why was she blushing? He was merely her friend, though no more than a child it seemed. There was no reason for it. But there was definitely a reason for a little bitterness. Seeing him with his back to her, unaware, she felt tempted to slap him over the head…
But he got to his feet and strode over to her. In the back of his mind he hoped he could taunt her better this way, right in her face and allowing for no escape. The light violet cloth he used to shine his swords with dangled in his hand as he wiped away the dampness on his hands. "I found it was rewarding. Revenge is torturous, Niélawen." His half-smirk was shameless and pestering.
Niélawen rose from the depths of her blankets with unexpected swiftness and snatched the piece of material from his hand. She observed it for a moment, and glared at him irritably, waving the material in his face. "This is mine!"
"From a shirt of yours." He bent over her heap of drenched garbs. "As I mentioned already, nearly every piece had to be cut. And as you have noticed, everything was removed, though not necessarily severed." He cleared his throat and the grin was forcefully drawn away, though the clear enjoyment of her reaction still lived in his eyes. "You mustn't worry, I worked too quickly to spare a moment for enjoyment's sake. The matter was too serious."
"For you own sake I would hope it was very much so." She adjusted the over-fitted shirt on her body, closing the collar tightly around her neck and collarbone region. She managed to spare a second glare. "I'm afraid my trust has worn a little thin."
Legolas gave her an indignant frown. "Why? Is graciousness truly too much to grasp?" He moved off, angrily rigid, and began to individually shake out her destroyed clothes and shove them into an empty sack. He then shoved the bag into her lap gruffly and wandered off. "Get up."
She did not wish to further protest in the least, suddenly reminded with heavy-hearted guilt that it was her who had set them in panic upon their flee from the river. And she was being ungracious. She struggled to her feet to pack away the rest of her things, snatching her spare boots as she stood feebly. Her knees gave in beneath her with much surprise, but being resilient she resisted the tingling sensation growing in her limbs and walked around her mess of blankets with wobbly legs. As she moved in the open air of their encampment, her lower body shuddered from a chill dwelling deep in her bones. "Is this… normal?"
Legolas was pouring snow and water over the fire and he regarded her with little interest or concern. She had angered him. "If it is lack of feeling you speak of, then very likely. You have been immobile for half the day. But it will do you good to ride."
As she neatly folded each quilt and set the last upon a pile she had made with the finished others, she suddenly realized sheepishly that she had not yet taken into consideration their whereabouts— though she had studied the dark forest around her she was oblivious as to where, exactly, they stood. All about her she was surrounded by widely spaced oak and beech trees, bare, tangled, and stooping weakly, but she looked further on. She glanced behind her, and her eyes slowly trailed into the sky where the start of a great mass of stone and forest lay before her.
"We reached the Mountains!" she exclaimed in surprise. "But how? I was unconscious!"
"Nessa carried you reliably. And I led her." He parted his lips with his two fingers and whistled loudly toward the trees. "We were lucky that our trail carried us on hard-packed snow. Our tracks went relatively unseen. But if you will notice, the afternoon is late, therefore we must leave immediately." Niélawen heard the replying calls of two horses. And not only that… behind her was the gentle trickling of water, a song upon the rocks of the mountainside. She gestured in recollection to the stream that disappeared through the trees along the labyrinth of moss-covered boulders at the foot if the mountain. "Is this—"
"The waterfall that drifts into the spring? Passed those trees."
Her face lit up. "I have not visited those springs since I was four!"
He paused over the quilts she had skillfully folded together, becoming awkwardly still before taking the heap into his arms. A look she had seen earlier twinkled in his eyes yet again. She acknowledged this uneasily. The spring was, indeed, the warmest, purest body of water to be seen anywhere…
"I do not want to hear it, do I?" she muttered, her shoulders dropping as she blushed again. "I cannot believe the mess I have dragged myself into…"
"The river was cold," he explained, taking each word into careful consideration. "Shedding your clothes was not enough to prevent you from… It simply had to be done." He veered his eyes away.
Niélawen bowed her head in shame. After all he had promised her and all that he showed to prove his loyalty and care, she was still displaying an incredible amount of ungratefulness towards his efforts. It seemed that an outlook such as this was the deepest flaw in a relationships such as theirs, one that reflected the casual closeness shared by siblings. She wanted to apologize, to ask earnestly for his forgiveness— she knew he would do just that if their roles were reversed— but she had always felt as though she was grasping the role of the little sister. Such a feat had always been an awkward one.
"I looked after you as best as I could. I promise I had no other intentions," he finished quietly after a pause. His jaw was set and it appeared that he had to keep his eyes from crossing hers, for the resurrected fright from the previous night had subtly returned to his thoughts, unwilling to depart or vanquish the mark lingering still in his eyes. Nessa and Turgon galloped swiftly through the trees and came to a halt behind the snuffed fire pit. Legolas carried the blankets to Nessa's saddle and began to distribute a number of their supplies onto the backs of each.
"Legolas... " She frowned as she tried to set her words straight. "I know you would not—"
"Don't be ridiculous," he interjected immediately. "You were not naked at that time in any case." After he realized his bluntness, he turned away with a half-smile that she had just managed to catch.
Niélawen ambled away from him with an expectant frown. "Go on then, enjoy this little moment of yours. It'll be the last time I fall for your sympathy act! How could I, at any rate, even command a little bit of real concern from a dull, humorless— arrogant defect in the Elven genus!— Which you are!" She tightened her hand into a ball, searching for the proper words to further use against him, but instead she grunted under her breath, recoiling her fingers as she went off into the trees, privately searching for the misty stream that maneuvered its way against the stony foot of the mountain.
Legolas fastened the supplies to Nessa's saddle and within Turgon's carriers, very much offended by her harsh assumption against him. It had been one of the first times he had unintentionally flustered the expression of his words, and it was almost wounding to think she would imagine his aim to be willed by anything else but faithfulness. As he finished arranging Nessa's baggage securely, he murmured to the dark horse in a low voice, "I suppose she does not need to be aware of all that we saw." The thought was a good enough cure for his agitation.
Niélawen strode out from the cluster of tightly arranged trees, her hand clasped at the shoulder seam of her shirt, waiting to remove it, it seemed. "I've found it," she declared with her nose prudishly in the air. "And I'm going swimming."
He backed away from the horses. "Again?" he inquired dryly. "Have you not seen enough water for one day?"
"I feel well enough to go."
"No," he replied with finalizing intentions. "We are ready to leave."
She strolled away grudgingly whilst she began to peel off her shirt by its collar. He frowned uneasily— surely she was aware that there was nothing underneath it but skin…
"Niélawen?" he called after her, expecting to have no other choice but to chase after her. "Did you hear me, Niélawen?" He set off through the trees. "Damn your persistence, woman," he muttered severely.
"Watch your tongue, Elf!" she shouted in retort. Her voice sounded from a significant distance, and it came to him as a shock that she managed to have fled so swiftly from him with such an easy start. "I'll take but a minute."
Legolas trudged through the snow, shallower underneath the dreary canopy of the woods, and soon the steam emanating from the pool was well in sight between the trees. The woods rustled not far off, and he snapped his attention that way only briefly. "Niélawen, we should go on without any more delay." He stepped into the clearing and found her already immersed in the below-ground-level spring, tossing away the leggings she had carefully held overhead as she dunked the rest of her body in the water. Her gold head disappeared into the depths.
He carefully approached the edge as her tall and fit frame fluttered underneath the surface, and he shrunk away slightly. He neither wanted to invade, nor make the situation uncomfortable... for both of them.
Niélawen's bronze face resurfaced, and a brief, vivid smiled glittered beneath the water pouring down her faintly scarred features. But it vanished just as quickly as she caught Legolas' outline along the outer edge. "You're really being selfish," she declared grimly as she made a small lap to the far edge, ignorantly disregarding him.
"Little black squirrels are the least of your worries here," he stated dryly. "Dol Guldur stands not far from this very place— yet you still deem this to be a game."
She peered back sharply, her almond-shaped pools of green watching him intently and without trepidation. The darkness of Dol Guldur certainly did not frighten him in the least, unless there was need for the concern of another, one very beloved to him. Legolas was protective— manipulative, even, if enforcing the security of some significant other was crucial. He would neither leave her on her own in punishment to her unjust behavior, nor would he stay without protest. Groaning in defeat she waded toward the raised edge.
"Quickly," he said, looking calm but very observant while his keen eyes sought for some peculiarity lingering distantly in the trees. There was little movement in the bush, save for the nervous, mischievous squirrels that peered timidly through the snowy undergrowth. He wanted to leave the silence of the woods. Even daylight was threatening beneath the dark boughs of his people's forest, for he knew that their company was far too little to stand a chance of survival if anything went amiss.
She reached the perimeter of the pool and crossed her bare arms atop the snow to eventually raise herself from the depths. He held out his arm and she clasped her fingers around his gloved forearm where she eased herself slowly from the deep pool.
Quickly realizing her hastiness, she withdrew sharply and peered up at Legolas suggestively. She craned her neck to the side curiously upon seeing his concentrative expression being shattered by wariness.
"I need my clothes," she stated in a whisper.
He faltered on his feet awkwardly. "Of course." He retrieved her scattered garments in quick timing and held them at arm's length from the edge.
Her pink lips curved into a smile, and the back of her hand swept the surface of the pool. Heated water spread in great heaps upon his leather boots and pant legs, and some sprayed onto his face. With good timing he managed to evade much of the water in his eyes, but what missed his face ended up dripping down the front of his grey and dark-green embroidered jerkin.
Her bubbling laughter rang out in the uneasy locale. "You are setting yourself up for humiliation! Put my garbs down and turn away, or this will only take longer."
He swallowed and veered away with his back to her. He shook his face in disgrace and crossed his arms over his chest. She was not easy to have around, not when the safety of their task depended on his focus. All it took was a little deliberate display of flesh and he melted like he was as hormonally imbalanced as a young lad in his prime… stupid. He was being manipulated by a mere child…
"That was actually nice while it lasted," she chimed breezily as she quickly fastened her garments on the cold, dry ground. Her arm fondly swept underneath his and she squeezed close against him with fondness. "Don't be mad, alright?"
He raised a brow, sporting a slight pout in his upper lip with his arms tight across his chest. The embarrassment that still lingered faintly in the glow of his cheeks made her smile.
"Come now, Legolas. Don't be bashful."
He stepped away from her reach, clenched his jaw securely, and edgily sauntered off without a word. She found herself smirking after him coyly as she followed his footsteps shortly after, recalling his display of nervousness around her. He had seen her nude enough times to not be uncomfortable by a situation such as that, especially since he had preferred to scorn her for the countless times when she was without care of such display. He had seen this very bold, untamed behavior of hers enough times to be able to conclude that she was "unquestionably raised by wolves." The preceding circumstances made her curious.
Trudging absently by herself through the snow, she murmured to herself in fascination, "He blushes."
They rode in silence for countless hours, enjoying the blissful warmth of the settling winter sun and their sudden spark of liveliness. Nessa skipped eagerly with every slow step, wanting badly to trot, whereas Turgon remained obediently under the lead of his master. In time to come, however, it was inevitable that Nessa's fervor would eventually rub off on him, and the two riders would have a hasty and uneasy ride until the enthusiasm of their steeds could be tamed.
Niélawen eased her mare and began to sing in light of her own mood. Legolas, who rode in front of her, smiled faintly as her strong voice carried with the light breeze, and the harmonious tune of the Song of Nimrodel that she sang brought an otherworldly change of placid delight to their slow going through the dreary forest.
Part-way through the song she paused, her rolling voice, still chiming with the same beautiful melodious ring as in the song, spoke up, and for an instant he thought she was still singing. "How much further?"
Legolas peered ahead with his keen eyes. "Three miles to the clearing."
"Hear that, love?" she murmured to Nessa, stroking her mane. "The plains are near."
Legolas stared ahead as he handled Turgon's reigns in his right hand. "I was unaware you knew the Lay of Nimrodel so well."
"As was I. Often my favorites were those I created on my own time, so it was never preferred by me." She paused thoughtfully, bowing her head with a smile. "Until I realized it was the fifth verse you sang to me the evening I was found."
His face grew pleasant as he drew forth recollection, and he nodded slowly.
"Why the fifth?" she inquired softly.
"Why the Lay of Nimrodel? It is common here. All know it, and all love it. Of course, the delight I feel when hearing it sung is not as strong as in those who know the story behind it as more than just a distant tale. I am not as old as you deem," he smiled. "It is but a tale of old in my eyes. Occasion never calls for it to be sung— sometimes the simple comfort it brings only needs to be felt. It was the first song that came to mind, that is all."
The delight slowly faded from their faces as time waned by in silence. After another hour, she turned around in her saddle, and beheld the image of the Mirkwood Mountains now rising as but mounds of dull green in the dragging distance above the grey forest. She looked upon it with heavier sadness. It would be one of the last landmarks of her greatest memories of Mirkwood.
Dusk settled in, and the sky was painted with crimson and blue. Night dominated the Eastern sky, but the West still beheld a perpetual glow of daylight. At last, Legolas pointed ahead to where the trees began to part. The clearing of the forest was no more than a mile's trek.
Legolas glanced over his shoulder to Niélawen with a triumphant yet challenging grin. He cried aloud to Turgon, and his white steed bounded forward with a ready speed that displayed every inch of anticipation he had contained since the beginning. Nessa needed no command— she followed their lead with a hasty leap, and Niélawen had but to maneuver her on through the now widely spaced trees.
The potent glow of the setting sun shone down against their backs as they emerged from the last of the heavily wooded area. The light behind them glistened over the contrasting coats of the two stallions as they halted beneath the open air, delighted at the sight and feel of freedom in the tall glades of thriving pasture, dotted by lingering portions of melted snow with the Celduin river flowing strongly nearby at their left.
Legolas sat tall in his saddle as Turgon stomped curiously at his own vibrant shadow. "The plains of Rhovanion." He grinned eagerly at Niélawen as they gazed across the glade. No doubt his competitive ego was ready for a stroke, but she was feeling more reflective than usual.
"I remember this place," she said happily. "It's the farthest you ever rode with me when I was young. I loved it…" In the back of her mind she also knew it was the farthest beyond the eastern forest region he, himself, had crossed, but she kept that thought where it was since she was inquisitively awaiting an answer to her first inquiry, though vague it was. He was often good at responding to such things, for it seems that she picked up the mannerism from him. After a short period of complete silence she turned to him, wondering grimly why there had been neither a response nor any stir from him at all.
Atop Turgon, he had swiftly and silently averted his attention back to the full woodland edge where the trees there flourished better in the full sunlight. The sun from the west glistened down between the boughs of the forest edge, but within the grey shadows that lied the heart of the woods, there was a thick, dreary, suspiciously calm darkness that had settled beneath the canopy of Mirkwood. His face was stern and alight with ferocity, his eyes steel cold and watchful. There was no movement to be sensed, even passed the wind that had dragged in eastward from the open plains. Niélawen was well aware that there was only one general company that could cause such a severity to be marked upon his face and body, and she knew in short time there was a hasty need of precaution.
Niélawen clenched the harness in her fist and went to veer Nessa around for her own careful observation, but Legolas' hand came down sharply and strongly upon hers, his fingers clinging around the leather vambrace on her forearm. When she acknowledged him with alarm, she watched his eyes as they intently scanned the deepness of the murky woods that stood beyond the reach of her own eyesight. He was not just searching with his eyes. He was listening.
It was then that she realized with more worry that she was without a feasible weapon but for her bare hands. Useless they seemed, for she had nothing in defense of something that was watching them from afar…
Legolas' body slowly turned its rotation to face front, but his face was still parallel with his shoulder so that one of his eyes still peered behind them. His eyes soon came across her waiting gaze, where in a single moment she caught a very brief and startling glimpse of his forehead creasing and his pupils twitching in alarm before he leapt from his spot.
She was given no further time to look back. With the hand that was pressed against her arm he thrust her off Nessa's back with great force as an arrow rushed passed her ear just before she tumbled onto the cold, dead, grassy bed. Nessa whinnied in fright— not only at the sudden attack but also the rotten stench that had risen in the air. With a brusque push Niélawen sent her away to safe distance, and she was followed closely by Turgon, who was also very much rider-less.
Niélawen scampered frantically on elbows and knees across the ground to a nearby tree that was thick and strong for cover. Leaning her back against the bark she glimpsed desperately to her side where Legolas had positioned himself against a sheltering tree of his own, and was launching arrows from his bow with great speed and accuracy.
"Manke naa ron?" [where are they?] she called to him loudly, frantically.
He glimpsed her way only briefly, pulling forth arrow after arrow and shooting down targets— a good number of them, it seemed, for this smooth movement of his did not cease for the sake of even a concise pause. She heard the distant squeals and hisses of fallen opponents.
She considered calling after him once more, but she held her tongue as he was suddenly forced to retreat behind his sheltering tree while several arrows breezed the surface skin of the oak. She went back to dragging herself by her elbows across the ground, her face well into the foliage, grass, and traces of snow as she went along, until she was spaced one tree away from Legolas.
He regarded her wrathfully as he jumped out from behind the tree for a second round of arrows. "Dartha nal!" he ordered loudly above the sharp, siren-like whirring of numerous airborne shafts. Many of them breezed passed his head, and out of his distracted state, one managed to nick the lip of his ear. He did not flinch, but was more infuriated—both at her and his foes. "Stay down!"
Niélawen boldly glimpsed around the stalk of the hardy tree. Behind oaks, crouching in the underbrush, or in the wide open space, Orcs heavily clad in rusty steel and decaying leather were assaulting and being assaulted in too overwhelming of a number for a mere hunting party. It had not been a chance meeting— it was likely they had been pursued. Most were armed with bows, but the glinting iron tips of many halberds were seen protruding behind branches and hovering unsteadily above bushes. With the definite possibility of bearing swords, as well, they were ready for close range fighting.
The spasmodic whirring of arrows spun in every possible direction around her. Evidently they had spotted her, and she was feeling desperate… and reckless. Dol Guldur had been let loose for the impending hours of darkness. They had to flee, she realized as she watched Legolas stringing one projectile after another with so much speed he looked to be managing his task blindly. The number seemed great, and evening would only promise a handful more.
She pursed her lips as she drew in many deep breaths through her nose. She could almost hear Legolas' voice inside her head, scolding her desperate plan and her indomitable persistence. But without further delay she sprang out from behind the tree and at Legolas where she swiftly unsheathed the dagger on the quiver strap across his chest. She fell back against his tree, leaning directly beside him as he fired an arrow before joining her side in bewilderment.
He eyed the dagger in her grasp, no more than the length of a woman's hand from wrist to fingertip. "No, Néla—"
"You're losing arrows," she stated, her delicate fingers folding around the pearlescent handle.
"I do not need your help!" he exclaimed.
She met his eyes fiercely. "Maybe you do." She took a step to the left side and bent across his body as she tossed the dagger in her left hand. It struck successfully at a closely approaching Orc just a few paces away. She veered back against him, her face level with his. "Come on," she grinned. Her hand grasped one of his White Knives from his back holster, and her bright jade eyes glinted excitedly as the fine-grade steel and golden-brass engravings flashed briefly in the light as she unsheathed it. Legolas eyes flickered fretfully. "It'll be fun."
He clutched her wrist. "We can only run," he said after much deliberation. "The number we face is too great." He grabbed her by the waist and quickly spun her to the left. He drew an arrow upon his bowstring and struck an Orc that was about to surprise them from behind the tree. As gently as if he was handling glass, he seized the White Knife from her grasp and sheathed it while eyeing her meaningfully.
On his order, they simultaneously leapt forward from the refuge of the thick oak, and Niélawen dashed onward to the fallen body of the Orc she had slain with the throwing dagger, while Legolas covered her from behind, firing what arrows he had and essentially managing to retrieve used ones as they went forward. In doing this Niélawen struck down five others who had dared to assail her in close range— some of those, in fact, fell without any contact from her whatsoever, but Legolas did not notice her otherworldly accomplishment. With Legolas' additional tally, their passage was virtually clear but for eight remaining Orcs.
"Go!" he ordered, and after she was well on her way down the hill and through the tall glades he sprinted behind her, outrunning a small number of badly aimed projectiles at his heals.
The light from the setting sun in the West was brighter in the open than it was without reach beneath he canopy of the murky woods, and so none pursued under the sky of dancing firelight. Peering ahead, Legolas could see Turgon and Nessa standing as still as monuments against the mound of bush they had taken to hiding. He glanced to his side where Niélawen ran at an equal pace, and she smirked at him with delight, looking back over her shoulder briefly. Mirkwood was vanishing behind them as they darted closer to the evening horizon. They slowed their paces to a brisk walk as they approached their horses.
"Here." Niélawen breathlessly returned the petite dagger to him as they stopped. He nodded his head in thanks. She leaned her forehead against Nessa, evidently quite exhausted.
"Do you need my help?"
"Huh?"
He strode to her and gestured to Nessa. "A lift?" When she said nothing, he added, "You look tired, that is all."
She chuckled hoarsely. "Well it never does much good to laugh while you run for your life." She swallowed a mouthful of air and nodded her head appreciatively, and brushed aside unruly wisps of hair. "Yes. Help would be lovely."
"We should ride out for a few miles," he began as he raised her onto Nessa's saddle, "before we make camp for the night."
He mounted Turgon swiftly and veered the reins in the direction of their destined course ahead through the plains. He looked long to his side at her windblown and flushed appearance with some amusement, and along with her garbs that were, in fact, his own which he had hastily packed as spares for her, she looked strong, worn, and naturally radiant all at the same time.
"You're staring," she indicated dully, and a half-smile curved upon her lips and darkened the dimples in her cheeks.
He raised a brow. "Can't I?" He issued Turgon forward with a cry, and led them across the plains.
Darkness crept quickly into the West from where it had already blanketed the East. They rode hard for many miles until the stars hung overhead and the chill winter breeze burned their faces. Legolas spotted a fair-sized cluster of dry bushes and bare trees considerably close to the river, and before they made camp they stood outside their temporary refuge and gazed at the Western horizon where the immensely long line of forest that could once be seen from afar was no more.
"It's all behind us now," Niélawen murmured wistfully, but without regret.
Legolas glanced at her for a split second from the corner of his eye. "Tell me how it feels to be fugitive."
"Much better, I'm sure, than the likeliness of being disowned by family," she replied with a laugh.
"The worst price may be that I will be bound to prison duty for a few months to come," he said distastefully, but without any concern. "That I do already on a temporary basis. Hardly a punishment at all."
"Spoiled child."
He chuckled softly and looked at her, finding himself staring at her longer and harder than he intended. Even at night her eyes were vivid and alive, especially as she regarded him over her shoulder, awaiting an encouraging response. "I'm very glad we are here," he said with the hint of a smile, and he turned Turgon toward the Eastern horizon.
Niélawen's smile broadened cheerfully and she gazed for a bit longer at the setting sky in the West before facing the darkening shadow lingering the opposite way. A low and unexpected rumbling in the pit of her stomach caused her to grin. She suddenly remembered how hungry she was.
"The lembas is in your side compartment," Legolas informed her as he reached for his own with thankful indication. He needed a bit of nourishment, as well. "Your ill-tempered gut is a fine reminder."
Niélawen observed the bread distastefully. "Do you suppose it is true that this stuff is better made in the south?"
He considered the thought for a moment, taking a single bite and restoring the flat bread contently. "Should I ever go to Lórien myself in the years to come, I suppose I will have to answer that." He regarded her humorously. "Though I'm sure not everywhere it tastes like tree bark. The Silvan are not renowned bread makers." He dismounted Turgon. "Come. We should set camp."
Niélawen sat cross-legged beside the fire, laying out her damp scraps of torn garments and staring blankly into the flame that glowed upon the healed slash marks along her bronze face. Above her, the stars were alight against a cloudless sky, and though the bush they settled in was closed in and dark itself, it was an airy change from the confined and dank forests of Mirkwood. Nessa and Turgon, however, could not bear a closed-in atmosphere, and so grazing and slumbering in the plains was where they chose to remain all evening.
Legolas treaded through the foliage and snow with an almost undetectable presence of light feet. He kneeled down across the fire from her, grasping a branch clustered with dark blue berries. He popped one into mouth and raised a brow as he scrutinized the taste. "They are not poisonous." He snapped the small branch in two and tossed one to her over the fire.
"And an Elf could tell?" she inquired sardonically. She inserted one into her mouth, rolled it around on her tongue, and then set the rest into the blazing bonfire. "They taste like rotten leaves."
Legolas frowned and shook his head. "You wanted 'sweet'. This is the best there is to offer—these lands are worse than dead." He picked at the twig without complaint, and his eyes wandered to the shadows dancing upon her fine, but grieved features— what he saw in particular was regret. "You are sad."
She went silently to her makeshift bed spread across the ground and laid her head down upon it grimly. "I want to hear a story."
"What story?" he asked as he swallowed the berries with some difficulty. If the taste didn't bother him, the dry, sandy texture in his mouth certainly did. He set the branch aside.
"About Greenwood. I think it's time you enlighten me," she suggested.
His eyes peered at her above the flickering fire, orange light dancing across his fair complexion. "A horror story," he muttered. He set his jaw rigidly, and his reminiscing thoughts grew dark and bitter. "About hell? What for?"
She said nothing.
"Why, Niélawen?"
"I need to know what it did to you."
His forehead creased. "What it did to me?" he echoed.
"War leaves its mark on everyone. I understand what it has done to your father, he is wise and has seen much, so I'm beginning to understand why I cannot hold his assumptions of me against him. But as for the others…" She peered up hesitantly, her eyes seeming to glisten in the glow of the fire. "They must have seen things in me that they had already seen before. What is it they hated about me?"
He shook his head grievously. "Nothing. They did not hate you." He shook his head again. "You confuse hate with caution. There's much evil in the world that cannot afford the risk of trust. But there is still good out there that we look for. What I did by taking you in so willingly is something they have never done. I only saw the goodness in you sooner than they did. And I trust, now, that many of them have found the nobility that is in you. They have no hate for you."
There was a lengthy silence between them as the fire crackled under their faces. When at last some long minutes had passed, Niélawen rolled her head again to the side and peered at him through the lick of flames. He was still gazing thoughtfully— desolately, even— into the calm blaze. "Do you believe in that?"
"What…?"
"That there is still goodness in the world worth hoping to find?"
He tossed a branch into the fire, and stood abruptly. "I do. Most of my people do. We decided long ago that we would not leave until we had seen our world safe in the hands of the honorable. We will not leave our home in ruins." He clutched his bow from the ground and turned to the thin line of trees, and said no more.
Niélawen gazed above at the stars. There was good in the world. A tear gathered the far corner of her eye and fell down her temple, and she wiped it away swiftly. Somehow she did not think she was apart of it.
Legolas stood back against a thin and meager tree, feeling half balanced on his feet as he peered into the darkness of the wood, unblinking, too deep in other thoughts to be on decent watch. He pressed his bow to his left breast with his right hand clasping it comfortably, his eyes suddenly wandering to her lying form across the fire. In the orange light he could see her eyes blink in unrest, and her chest shuddering unevenly with every rise and fall. When at last she shut her eyes and drifted to sleep, the silence that ensued in that time actually made him miss her, as though time between them was suddenly very precious.
She would leave, in time all too soon. The despair that followed this thought made him wonder how he would do without her— without the purpose she seemed to give him.
He shrunk back against the tree. "Dreams have misled us," he whispered into the silence, speaking to her as though she could hear and understand what he was trying to convey, and in many ways he wished it were so. His face fell, and his eyes drifted to the trees where he returned to his obscured guard.
Niélawen's eyes wound in circles beneath her lids, and her forehead knit grievously as dark dreams began to poison her thoughts. Her lips parted and some faint sobs escaped them. Legolas, out of habit, went to her swiftly— but he stopped himself short at the fire. He watched her, undecidedly, as she shifted and jerked in unrest, tears accumulating beneath her long, dark lashes. He pursed his lips.
He could not keep rescuing her.
He took one step back… and then another. Soon, he was backtracking toward the frame of sinking trees, unwilling to look back. He exhaled heavily— it was the first time he turned his back on her.
"Legolas?" came her whimpering call, and he looked her way immediately. Her teary eyes glistened in the firelight as they searched for him in the dark.
He relented, and bit by bit unveiled himself from the shadows, his slow, hesitant steps treading over the cold ground without a sound. When his body was in full view behind the tips of the blazing flames, their eyes locked, and she sat up, her hand outstretched to him.
He came to her side and kneeled down on one leg where he watched the anxiety in her eyes shatter to grief. Slowly and weakly, her two trembling arms were thrown around his neck and her cheek fell against his shoulder. But she would say nothing.
The glimmer in her eyes surprised him. This awakening was much different than the rest had always been— her attention seemed clearer, and she seemed very much aware of what was happening around her. She did not wake in a chill, panicked sweat, either, and though looking very grieved and weary, she seemed… revived, and enlightened. Though this comforted him, it was the mere continuation of the nightmares that caused him sympathy. Swallowing something painful in his throat, he draped his arms around her waist and braced her shoulders with his hands, stroking her slowly as she weakly fell against him. "They're only dreams," he murmured, mimicking words he had delivered countless times in the previous years when he truly knew no better.
Niélawen squeezed her eyes as she shuddered with tears. There was much of a relief that came from her sleep no longer being haunted by frightening images, but instead, she had heard voices within her thoughts. A familiar voice.
And her own. She had suddenly come to know too much…
Niélawen relaxed in his arms and backed away from the great warmth of his body. She sniffed, gazing down blindly at the front of his russet-colored suede jerkin and the subtle embroidery of jade and taupe thread before peering up at his face, avoiding his eyes. She moistened her numb lips and blinked through a gentle stream of tears.
"Now I think I know all that I should, but I've have seen more than I could ever want… and I will have to leave you." Her lower lip quivered. "But not because I want to—"
"I know."
"You really don't." Her hands fell from the support of his arms. "But there is something important you must understand."
He listened intently, swallowing apprehensively.
"Know when to turn back," she whispered. "You can neither lead me nor follow."
His brows jerked with alarm. "I am not leaving you now," he stated firmly.
A sudden banked anger spilled across her face, and pursing her eyes from some inner pain she grasped the rich fabric of his shirt beneath her fingers. "Listen to me," she said through her teeth, her voice quivering faintly through the sobs in her throat. She caught her breath, shutting her eyes briefly as she regained composure. She seized one of his hands and clasped her shaking fingers through his. "It's over. Our dream has come this far but it cannot go further."
His gentle eyes grimly sought for some way to sway her upsetting thoughts. He peered at her longer, and in her own eyes he saw resolution that he was steadily but fiercely willing to fight against. "I will not leave you," he finalized slowly and gently, his determination crumbling.
Her face fell with mourning, knowing he could not be made to understand— she had prayed it would not come to that. Swallowing her parched throat she peered into her lap where their entwined hands rested. Inhaling the chill evening air of winter, she took his hand and placed it over her heart, and gazed up at him closely to see a reaction. He glanced briefly to where his palm now rested, but he kept it there.
"This may have never mislead us, but we have brought ourselves too far," she whispered gravely. If anything, he had to understand that much.
But he had nothing to say— a clock was ticking furiously inside his chest and he felt there was no better time but now to do what he thought could make a momentous difference. Whatever he had to do to make her stay, he would sacrifice it all in a heartbeat. Too briefly after she had spoken her words, his hand swept the back of her neck and he drew her in with a fierce embrace. He held her tightly by the might of both his arms draped around her body as he kissed her fervently, surprising even himself by his own intensity. Their closeness, though, seemed… natural. His hands drifted down her back, and he brought her nearer.
He grasped her shoulders with the last of his fiery eagerness, heaving her nearer to him for the last few moments. She did not— even once in that time— withdraw from his warmth. When at last he parted from her lips, his eyes were still and unblinking— as only an Elf could uphold. Dazed or enamored, her eyelids remained shut as both their lips brushed together affectionately.
He took his own hand and stroked her cheek with the gentle touch he had acquired from handling her since her childhood, his fingers tracing the surface scar along her left cheek. Niélawen's posture went rigid, and as she recoiled stiffly from his touch she breathed out heavily and stared into her lap. Legolas eased himself cross-legged upon the blankets. She gazed away into the shadow blanketing the bushes, tears glistening along the brim of her eyes, and he watched her apologetically as she slid away from him uncomfortably.
"Edaved amin," [forgive me] he said almost mutely.
She shook her head dismissively. "Don't be sorry," she whispered hoarsely. But seeing him unconvinced, she took one of his hands in hers, and wiped at her eyes with her other. "Can I ask something of you?"
He nodded sternly.
"Would you feel the same for me if I was…someone…else but who you have always known me as?" She hesitantly awaited an answer.
He observed her with difficulty. It came as a challenge to him to wonder how she could be so sad, so doubtful…so shouldered by her own emotions. How could she not see what he did? Why, after so long, was she still in doubt of herself, when so many questions had been answered by the knowledge and the insight she had gained over the years?
He pursed his lips, and tenderly closed the collar of her shirt tight around her neck, and he draped the blanket, which lingered in a messy heap wrapped in her lap, close against her body, sealing her off from the bitter wind. His hands fell down her shoulders as he eyes drifted absently. He was silent for a lengthy duration.
"This hurts me," he explained at last in a whisper, and it seems that he could articulate himself any other way. He met her gaze after some thought. "My answer is no. I hold what you've given me… memories, feelings… dearer than life itself. We have made these moments together. I shared all these with you." He swallowed. "My answer is no."
Eyes peeled to his, she nodded rigidly.
He picked himself up eagerly and folded his legs so that he sat upon his heals. "And if the choice was mine," he said, bracing her hand in his firmly, "I could not let you go. I would not do it."
"But the choice is not yours," she murmured silently.
He nodded. "I only wish to know what you would have me do further... My loyalty is with you. I will stay by your side as long as I can spare, whether that is what you want or not." He turned her palm upward, and raised her small, soft hand to his lips. Even her skin smelled like sweet evening stocks…her scent would linger with him for a long time to come. A thought stirred in him. "Do you know what Elemmírë means…?"
She shook her head as she intently watched him caress and observe her gentle, petite hands.
"It is a name…evening flower, it means," he whispered. He peered up at her with the smile that made him seem centuries younger. "Of all things, take this, if someday you should have little memory of the love you had… with Mirkwood, and with me."
Niélawen shut her eyes, strained with guilt and sadness, and she began to weep with suffering. He braced her face within his hands and stroked her hair, though he could not understand the reason for her tears. They flooded her eyes and drenched her face without end. They would not stop, and he was finding himself being brought closer and closer to pain as he watched her suffer for a deeper reason oblivious to him.
"Ta vanwa," [It is over] she said to him croakily, and she squeezed his hand tightly. It had to be done. She knew he could not understand otherwise…
She raised her dominant hand without delay, and swayed her flat palm over his eyes in an anomalous nature.
His fair face grew weary and feeble in an instant, and his luminous eyes steadily wandered out of awareness. He began to fall forward against her, but fighting the sudden breakdown in his body, he closed his fingers around her shoulder to keep himself upright. His arm gave in, and without being able to help himself, he started to fall against her with his head rolling into the soft depression at the base of her neck. She caught him in her arms before setting him gently upon the makeshift bedding. She brushed her hands over his fair face and traced the slender, curved outline of his lips as he peered around dazedly at the camp and up at the stars with dwindling awareness of reality. What she had done— and she had once successfully experimented with another before— seemed to not be so effective with him as it should have been, for he still watched her vaguely as she hovered over him. For the longest time he would not let the weariness take over him, and his eyes remained peeled upon hers as he fought the hex set upon him. It became more difficult for her to breathe steadily as she leaned over him, catching her breath nervously as she continuously anticipated a full loss of consciousness. She became afraid, for he lied in a state of such unawareness and vulnerability that she had never seen in him in all her years. As she watched him longer, she flattened her palm against his chest, becoming preoccupied by the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath her fingertips that only suddenly began to slow to a tranquil pace, until he slept. It upset her greatly, to know that she had done such a thing to him. He never knew why she feared herself so much—but this was why. She could do far more than she wanted, yet she did not know why she was able to what she could, or be driven to do so for any reason, especially to those she loved.
She resolved in her mind that that was why she had to leave. Confusion was consuming her. She realized that if she let her feelings continue to be in conflict, she would always make decisions that felt so wrong. In the end, even if the choice was foolish, love would win over a desire for explanation. And she would never leave, and never find out who she really was beyond the frontage of an ideal Elven upbringing.
She wept silently at his side. "I am a fool." Her hands slipped down the front of his jerkin as she raised herself onto her knees. "Forget everything. Forget about me. Turn back and return home. I'll return to mine." She brought herself feebly to her feet and peered down hazily at his distant, glazed-over eyes that beheld the stars like gems.
Without a word she went, leaving him with a synthetic sleep to comfort him until the following day.