Disclaimer: I have a Legolas action figure. That doesn't mean I own him.
Author's Note: Yes! Naomi isn't as pathetic as she seems to be! Rejoice!
Chapter Seven
As the weeks passed, a wary camaraderie arose amongst Naomi, Gimli, and Aragorn. Despite the elf prince's previous help with her fingers, he made no effort to engage her in anything even vaguely resembling a conversation.
He grunted, in a masculine, inefficient way, at her in the morning as she joined them at the campfire. It infuriated her to no end, but she saw no point in pushing the matter. Naomi simply took the offered corner of the hard elfin bread and chewed in silence.
Once it became clear that Gimli was slowing them down more than Naomi, Aragorn had attempted to draw her into conversation when they were settled for the night. Perhaps he sought friendship with the only human member of the group; or perhaps he was simply being kind to the scrawny, pathetic woman that Naomi saw herself as.
When she had first arrived in Lothlorien, amongst the Rohan soldiers that had rescued her from certain death in the Fanghorn Forest, Naomi had discovered that she held no mystery to the opposite sex. This revelation – which was really more of a resignation than anything close to a burst of clarity – brought with it a sharp ache that had faded as the years passed.
Now, twelve years after her parent's death and her rescue by the Rohan soldiers, Naomi found the ache to be a nuisance. She treated it the same way she treated everything else that sought to harm her – she avoided it with religious fervent.
But now she was thrust head first into that which she had tried so hard to evade.
To push it away, Naomi resorted to memories.
Other than her ability to become almost invisible, Naomi had one skill vital to her existence. She discovered very early in her life that she could shove aside those things she found painful by burying herself in memories.
Early in her life, Naomi had lived with her parents at the outskirts of Fanghorn Forest. At twenty-three summers, she could still recall every moment of her childhood. It was a peculiar type of memory that she soon found very few possessed.
Upon arriving in Lothlorien, Naomi had been accepted into the service of the Lady, who had pitied the diminutive child of eleven just as much as Naomi imagined Aragorn pitied her now. Over the years, her duties had not altered much. She was a minor handmaiden, and perhaps even worse than that, she sewed atrociously. This left her with little to do; it also left her with little respect in the eyes of her would-be companions.
Thus, Naomi spent little of her time performing her duties, and more of it with nothing to do.
There were always visits to the river, walks in the forest, and hours spent assisting Manaeth with the house linens. The infirmary always needed to be restocked, and with her ability to visualize the herbs themselves, Naomi proved an asset.
But when she turned thirteen, Naomi found something in Lothlorien that trumped all other activities.
She found a library.
Of course, she could barely spell her own name, and read perhaps two or three phrases, but for a few months Naomi contended herself by disappearing amongst the towering stacks, barely daring to wisp a fingertip across the yellowed parchment.
She studiously avoided the librarian, who was rumored to be an imposing figure with a penchant for shooing out visitors, for a few weeks, until she was discovered quite by accident.
The Librarian – he had no name other than his title, he told her – was imposing, and he did like shooing out visitors. But he also seemed to like Naomi, and thus, she found herself falling quickly and effortlessly in love with books.
Her newfound obsession she kept to herself. Manaeth would simply huff about how she could find something better to do with her time – such as help Manaeth with the linen washing – and that left Naomi without anyone else.
And although she would never stutter her fears aloud, she was also afraid that the Librarian would lose his position if it was found out that he helped handmaidens memorize priceless elfin knowledge.
He never actually taught her how to read. Instead, he read to her, almost inscribing in air the arcane knowledge that left his lips. In her mind, Naomi drew the words in a way that she could understand and remember.
He taught her wit, dryly explaining that it had no use for the race of elves, which preferred wisdom to its impetuous cousin. He taught her how to hone intelligence into a weapon as sharp as a dagger. She learned passages from the greatest elfin works by heart, and could recite thousands of songs and ballads.
Nevertheless, she had no use for these skills.
Now she pulled out obscure passages and foreign ballads, reciting them silently in her mind to keep away the ache of loneliness. And however much she tried to stuff them away as they halted for the night and made camp, her self-control was losing the battle.
Hunger, weariness, and ache were proving to be powerful solvents. She had never had much of a temper – but she had never eaten solely bread for weeks, nor had to walk as far and as so quickly. As she weakened, so did the barrier keeping all of her thoughts to herself.
And perhaps the most powerful of the solvents was Prince Legolas.
His stiff mannerisms and self-serving grunts were becoming harder and harder to ignore. Naomi had years of experience under her belt of serving his type, but usually the pompous elves left after a month or so, and she was not continually exposed to them when they stayed.
Fifteen hours of his comments on the land they traversed, occasionally punctured by a short, hot argument with Gimli, followed by his grunts at mealtimes (all of which was broken by five hours of sleep, eventually disrupted by a polite shake from Aragorn) was proving to be far more tiresome than Naomi had expected.
Without realizing it, she had played the part of terrified handmaiden to perfection, never making comments or adding to their conversations, whimpering at night as nightmares grasped at her, and thus Legolas, as well as Aragorn and Gimli, were caught completely off guard when she erupted.
Legolas and Aragorn had momentarily lost the trail of the Uruk-hai, the creatures they had been trailing that had tried to kidnap her. They stood, infuriated with themselves and each other, fuming in silence.
"What have we missed?" whispered Aragorn sharply to himself, clenching his fists and surveying the ground in front of them. The prince, in comparison, seemed fully composed, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet, leisurely scanning the horizon.
"Whwf," huffed the dwarf, sitting on the ground with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs. Naomi was also sitting, knees bent under her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs, knowing that if she got involved she would be more hindrance than help.
"There must have been something we missed, Legolas," said Aragorn, almost morosely, twisting his head to look at his elfin friend.
"No," replied Legolas, turning away from the horizon. "Estel, I would not have missed something."
Naomi ground her teeth at the imperious tone of his voice, and the words melted off her tongue before she even thought them. "Because the Valar would not allow a member of the elfin race to make a mistake." There was a hiss of disdain at the end of her words.
For a moment, there was simply silence.
"I beg your pardon?" demanded Legolas. Even Aragorn looked a bit dumbfounded, and though Naomi told herself that apologize would be the best – and least dangerous – course of action, she continued.
"I thought that Elves are prided for their ears," replied Naomi, a hint of disappointment spicing her statement. "Ah, well, I was wondering when it would become apparent to you that there is a difference between listening and hearing."
She smiled.
"I heard you," said the subject of her disdain.
"Then why in the name of the Valar would you beg my pardon?"
"I—" Trapped, Legolas found himself floundering for an appropriate response. Naomi looked up at him with innocent eyes, the smile still gracing her lips.
"They went this way," announced Aragorn, desperately attempting to rescue his friend from further mortification. "We should continue for a few more hours before making camp."
They gathered their things and stood, Naomi brushing off her grey dress and ignoring the elfin prince she had so effortlessly put in place. When she raised her eyes, she found the dwarf only a few inches shorter than herself give her a huge wink and a chuckle.
That night, as Naomi unrolled Merry's owner-less bed roll and unpacked Pippin's equally owner-less blanket, she found Gimli hard-put to forget her unforgiving comments to Legolas. He sniggered every once and a while, giving her winks whenever they made eye-contact, and adding a reference of his own during the dinner conversation.
As she fell asleep, Naomi once again fell into the patterned nightmare that haunted her sleeping hours. She never remembered the occurrence when she woke at dawn, but the terror assailed her the moment she drifted to sleep.
The eyes rising out of the darkness that flittered amongst the bright light; blue and deep, watching, evaluating.
The harsh whisper of a death sentence.
The fire, licking the edge of the roof, spewing out of the windows and the door in bursts of blinding light, scattering sparks like stars.
The trees, moaning and swaying as their leaves disappeared in pop, pop, pops of heat.
The sobs, of that one who was simply an observer to the pain and the death.
The smell, of sizzling meat left too long over the fire, like scorched dreams and love.
The screams, blood-curling and cutting as a knife, as fire burned its way through them, peeling away flesh and blood, revealing the ivory pure bone beneath.
Flesh and blood and bone that she shared.
The whisper.
Mother.
Father.
Naomi jerked awake, the whispers of her dreams clawing their way out of her throat. She swallowed, forcing them back down, forcing herself to calm. But it was useless; she was absolutely petrified as she remembered the heat of the fire, and the screams and sobs.
She took in a few shuddered breaths and rested her head back on the lumpy roll of blankets. Eyes glazed, she watched the light of the fire until the tentacles of flame tickled the edges of her vision. A small spurt of movement had her shifting her eyes to the lithe form of the elfin prince that was pacing unhappily.
"'Then why in the name of the Valar would you beg my pardon?'" he muttered to himself, his voice unwillingly echoing over the silent campfire. "'Then why in the name of the Valar would you beg my pardon?'. Dammit."
Naomi couldn't help that her lips curled unconsciously into a smile.
It seemed that she had shocked the haughty Legolas more than he had cared to admit. Generally, Naomi wasn't brave enough to take on a member of the 'wise race', but she had been so frustrated with him that she couldn't stopper her words . . .
Nevertheless, the elated feeling of having matched wits with an elf and come out on top made a bright flush in her stomach spread across her abdomen.
Forgetting of her nightmare, Naomi, for the first time in months, fell asleep with a smile on her face, and it stayed there all through the morning.
Oooooooohhhhhhh . . . . so finally you see that I wasn't going to be as cruel to Naomi as you originally assumed I would be. She DOES have a talent!
Now, could you do your part to further the greater good?
SPREAD THE LOVE, AND REVIEW.