When Legolas opens his eyes I hold my breath.

Will it be him that looks back at me or will it be that same dead blankness?

He blinks slowly and frowns in response to the light before he turns his head towards me.

"Where am I?"

Slowly I release my breath. He is talking, that has to be good.

"You are home." Gently I take his hand in mine.

"In Ithilien," I quickly add for we have another home far from here and if he is confused I do not want him to think he is there.

He pulls his hand away from mine and snakes it across his chest exploring the bandages wrapped around him.

"It was not a dream," he sighs quietly and it breaks my heart.

"No, it was not a dream." I am unsure what to say for I do not want to upset him, I do not want a return to that state of numbness now I have a glimpse of him returned. Then he asks me the one question I wish he wouldn't.

"Where is Taenor?"

I reclaim his hand as I search for the right words to say this, but there are no right words. I will just have to tell him the truth and hope for the best.

"He is dead Legolas, we could not save him, I am sorry."

"I know that." He turns his head away, "But where is he, is he home?"

"He is with his family, do not worry, we have cared for him as you would want." He seems strangly detached and it worries me.

He pushes me off again and I cannot deny it hurts that he rejects my comfort. It seems a sign of how far apart we have grown and despite myself my eyes prick with tears. I am not weak. I am not one to cry over small things. Only Legolas can make me do that and it frustrates me that still he has this power over me.

He pulls himself to sit, his face grimacing in pain as he does so and I feel relief at that, not that he is in pain but that he feels it, instead of the placid acceptance of the day before. But before I can stop him, he swings his feet over the side of the bed and goes to stand.

"What are you doing?" I cry, grabbing at his arm. "You need to rest Legolas!"

I need not have worried, he does not have the strength to stay on his feet and after swaying briefly, falls back clumsily on the bed.

"I need to see them," he says, face screwed up with pain and frustration. "Taenor's family, I need to ... I should speak with them."

"It is alright, Erynion and I have seen them for you. When you are well you can go. Not now."

He looks up at me, startled.

"You have done that for me?"

"Of course I have." How can he be surprised at that? How can he not know I have his back in all things still?

I notice then his hands and how they shake as they sit in his lap. He is not as recovered as I first thought. I cover them once again with my own and hold them still.

"You need to rest Legolas, so you can heal. Please do not fight it."

I am not sure he even hears me.

"This was my fault," he whispers, "All my fault, it is just the same. All this time and I have learnt nothing." I know then he thinks of Laerion.

"It is not, Legolas. It was a stray arrow. I did not sense it, he did not-"

But he is crying, tears pouring down his face and it frightens me. Legolas never cries. Even when his mother left I did not see it. Except for that terrible screaming at Laerion's death, that is the last time I saw tears from Legolas.

"The sea was on the breeze, It is so insistent, I tried to ignore it but in the end I allowed it to distract me," It is hard to catch his words as he weeps. So that was why he stumbled.

"You cannot control the sea," I say, "We all know that. Do not blame yourself." and I try to wipe his tears away.

"It will never leave me alone. It weighs me down Maewen. I am so tired."

He has never spoken to me of the sea like this. He says so little of it, dismisses it as if it is nothing when I ask. It sits between us as an unspoken barrier. What can I say? I don't know how to help him.

"You could sail? I would go with you."

"No!"

His refusal of my suggestion is so aggressive and I wonder, is it sailing, or just sailing with me he is so opposed to?

He lifts his hands from where I hold them, staring at them as he does so.

"All this blood," he says, "Can you see it? My hands are covered in blood."

"No," I lift his hand to my face so it cups my cheek,

"There is no blood Legolas, see, no blood. Do not do this, Taenor would not want it. He would not want you to blame yourself."

Then he collapses against me and my arms are around him holding him close as he cries out his grief and guilt. I do not know the right words to say. I only make things worse, but this I can do. I can hold him.

Legolas sleeps a lot.

The healers were right and the poison holds him back, it drains his energy leaving him no reserves. He is frustrated and angry and oh so difficult to be around.

Everything I do is wrong.

I say the wrong words, I am there at the wrong time, and I am not there when he wants me. I find myself looking forward to the times he sleeping. Then I can sit with him and tell him I love him without tangling myself in knots, I can touch him without being pushed away in rejection, I can be with him and pretend we are not tearing ourselves apart.

I think of our days in the sun, when I did not need to speak and he would know my thoughts. When we were together always and happy, no matter that our home was under siege and our lives full of danger. I remember returning to the halls from a patrol and the joy with which he greeted me, as if his world revolved around me. I could not get enough of him then, and now? Now I have to wait until he sleeps to be close to him, for while he is asleep we cannot hurt each other. As soon as he awakes it all falls apart.

Three days after our return I find him in his room at his desk surronded by shredded, discarded paper and simply from his posture I know he is upset. Briefly I consider walking past, pretending I haven't seen him but I cannot do that.

"What are you writing?"

He looks up in surprise at my question but it is only brief moments before the frown settles on his face.

"Writing to my father." He sighs then and pushes the paper away from him.

"I cannot do this Maewen. How do I tell him I have caused the loss of someone else he loves?"

He writes to his father about Taenor, no wonder he struggles. Thank goodness I did not walk by and leave him to it.

"He will not think that." I try to soothe him but it is unsuccessful.

"I think it!"

We have been over this so many times, that he should not blame himself but still he does. I do not want to go down that path again for it will get us nowhere and it will not help him write. We will simply end up shouting at each other so this time I ignore it.

Instead I hold out my hand.

"Let me see what you have written."

I pull up a chair and sit down beside him, taking the letter from in front of him. It is a mess. Legolas is not the best at letter writing on a good day. He resents having to sit still long enough to write them.

When he was on the quest I recieved some, from Imladris and Lothlorien, and Gondor at the end. They kept me going through the long separation but they were not great works of poetry, he did not pour out his love for me on paper, if I wanted that I needed to find another man to write them. No, Legolas writes about the strangest things, what chanced to be in front of him at the time, stories of stuffy Noldor elves, of the dwarf and the odd little hobbits who accompanied him and they made me laugh. It was as if I opened his letters and Legolas himself fell out. I have kept them all.

His letter to his father is stilted and uncomfortable. There is no Legolas here. Thranduil will read this and come running and perhaps that is not a bad thing.

"Do you want him to come here?" I ask carefully.

"Yes," he says, his head in his hands, "I want him here, I do."

"Then ask him, Legolas. Write this letter and ask him to come, you know he will."

His reaction startles me as he pushes back his chair and leaps to his feet. Once again I have said the wrong thing and he is angry.

"Do you think I cannot do this?" he cries, "Do you think I need my hand held like a child, that I cannot lead by myself. Now Taenor is gone I need my father to help me? I know he only sent Taenor because he did not think I could do this myself."

"He sent Taenor because he could not bear to let you go. He always believed you could lead us. You cannot blame him for wanting to keep you safe." But he will not listen to reason.

"I thought you out of everyone might have faith in me," he snaps.

"I do have faith in you. You know I do Legolas." I hold him by the shoulders to calm him down, to make sure that he hears me.

"It is no weakness to want your father if you are unhappy. No matter how old we are sometimes we still need them. There is no reason you cannot write to him and ask for him. That doesn't mean you are not our leader here. You are still his son, he is still your father. Even though you are our Prince and he is our King."

He will have none of it though. Although he calms, and least shouts at me no longer, he will not write asking for help. The best I can do is to write the letter with him, it is full of sadness and regret but there is no hint of the elf filled with despair and misery that he has become. Thranduil will remain completely ignorant of how much his son needs him, unless I write to him and my fear at what that may do to our relationship holds me back. We are hanging by a thread as it is. If I go behind Legolas' back and write to his father - I think it will be our deathknell.

I am not ready to let go of him yet,