Legolas and I cannot hold on to our good times. We still have them, moments of joy, of connection, of love, but then we turn our back and they slip between our fingers. It is frustrating, chasing a dream as we are.

It happens again. Another moment eludes us.

At night we were close and united. In the morning Legolas is silent and introspective. Where has that closeness gone? He says nothing as we dress and I am left wondering if it was all just a dream.

He has never been the best at communicating. His mind struggles to keep still. It flits from one train of thought to another. This is not new. It is just Legolas. And so at times he begins speaking in the middle of a conversation, as if I have been privy to all his thoughts before then—and it takes me so long to catch up with his thought processes. It is like that now.

"I stood in front of the Black Gates of Mordor," he says out of the blue as he pulls on his shirt, and I stare at him. Where has this come from?

"My Grandfather died there," he continues. "I thought of him. I hoped I didn't follow too closely in his footsteps, that I too wasn't throwing away my people's survival on a fool's errand."

While I have been thinking of breakfast he has been thinking on death. That scares me… That I was unaware of that.

He carries on speaking. It is almost as if I am not there.

"I had to trust in Aragorn and Mithrandir in the end and hope they did not lead me astray. We had no choice anyway." He shrugs then in resignation.

"I thought I would die that day."

I try to distract him. It bothers me, such morbid thoughts.

"It was the right choice Legolas. You did not die, none of you."

But he will not be as easily distracted as that. He has decided he wants to tell me this and so he will, and he does.

"I thought of my father also. What it would do to him to receive news of my death in the place where he lost his father. I hoped the messenger would be kind, who bought him the news. If there was anyone left behind to bring it."

I knew he had been to Mordor, had stood outside those gates. I knew it as a fact but not as an experience. I had not thought about the similarity of the situation he found himself in with that of Oropher. How full of despair and heartbreak must that have been? Knowing the ending that awaited his Grandfather when he had stood there. What pain he has carried that I have allowed myself to be unaware of, for how can this not have affected him? I have blocked this out for it hurts me, to think of what has been done to him—what he has experienced—when I was not there. But blocking it out does not mean it ceases to exist. It does not prevent his pain.

"I looked for him later..." It seems he has not finished yet, "in the Dead Marshes."

"You did what?

He turns to me then, so I can see his face. I am almost afraid to hear what he has to say next.

"Relax," he smiles. "I did not find him... But I thought I might. There are so many there... You cannot imagine..."

I do not want to imagine it for it tears at my heart, as does the image of him hunting there for his dead grandfather. How did I not know he had done that?

I know why. Because I did not want to know…and I am filled with shame at my cowardice.

Does his father know?

He bends down to pull on his boots.

"My friendship with Aragorn was born amongst the blood of our friends as well as our enemies," he says almost as an aside.

He has left Oropher then, and moved on to something else. I will try to follow.

"It is important then' I suggest gently, " that you do not put it aside."

"It is not me who puts it aside!" He bites back, and I realise I have lost him, have lost that moment where common-sense might have prevailed.

Elessar's letter that arrived the day before lies unopened on his desk. He has not yet read it and it draws my eye. If only I knew how to get him to see the love which lies in those words.

He sees my gaze fall on it.

"I will read that later," he waves his hand dismissively as if he reads my thoughts. "It is all pretence anyway."

It is so frustrating but I am struck suddenly by an idea and I do not know why I think it. He has started to tell me things, perhaps I should use that to reconnect them? Perhaps if I can get him to think on the time they shared together in the quest, he will be more open, more receptive to Elessar?

"I wonder what he was thinking as you stood at the Black Gates?" I muse. "As you thought of Oropher."

He is startled by my question. It forces him to stop and think. Briefly he drifts upon the paths of memory in his mind and I wonder if I have, in fact, been cruel. I do not want him thinking about that moment in his life. Not really, not at all.

Eventually he shrugs again, as if it matters not, but he does not fool me.

"Isildur," He fiddles with the laces on his boots as he says it. "He thought of Isildur and his failure that in the end had led us there—Isildur dogged Aragorn's steps the whole way, as Oropher did mine—and he thought of Arwen I imagine, as I thought of you. We are alike in that, in both those things."

He stands then, giving me his lopsided smile and I know the conversation is at an end. I will never know if I have made any headway here. Still as we leave he takes my hand and we walk into the Hall united; together. It is a good moment, a jewel in the bleak landscape we inhabit.

It is strange how innocuous these good moments can be.

Erynion is at breakfast before us. He looks up as we enter and gives me a look. I know what it is he asks me. Has Legolas put aside our argument of the day before? Is he still volatile, or has he mellowed?

I struggle to answer. How do you say he is not volatile, simply morbid, in a look? It doesn't matter in any case. Legolas sees our clumsy attempt at communication and answers for himself.

"I have forgiven you Erynion," he says, as his pulls out a chair to sit beside him.

Erynion is somewhat taken aback at being discovered.

"That is good," he stammers hurriedly to cover up his discomfort and Legolas smiles.

"I should have told you I was leaving, you need to know when you are in charge, but you should have had more faith in my abilities. We are both at fault so we are even."

This is Legolas as he was, charming and funny, and I am not sure where he has come from. Neither is Erynion, obviously, but he makes the most of it and they talk, at length, and with animation. Of what I do not know for I do not listen.

I am instead haunted by visions of Legolas on the Dead Marshes. Legolas looking for his Grandfather among those long dead. Was he alone when he did that? For some reason the thought of that upsets me. Surely the dwarf was with him... Or Elessar? Surely they did not let him go there by himself.

It is all I can think of.

And it must show for when Legolas is briefly called away Erynion leans over to me.

"You are quiet today, Maewen. What is wrong? Have the two of you argued? He seems well and yet you are unhappy."

"We have not argued," I say quietly. "He has told me something that is all...And it is on my mind."

"What?" Erynion is instantly alert. "Does he speak of sailing again?"

"No." I shake my head. "Did you know he looked for Oropher on the Dead Marshes?"

"No!" Erynion looks shocked at that, but we are unable to speak on it further as Legolas interrupts us.

"Do you still talk of me?" he asks as he returns to his food. "Does it not get boring?"

He is smiling. He is still content, still in control.

Erynion, feeling confident perhaps seeing that, takes the bull by the horns.

"Maewen seems quiet. I was making sure she is well, Legolas."

Legolas turns to me then, eyes full of concern. It is as if he has just noticed me.

"You are quiet. What is wrong?"

He lifts his hand and brushes it softly against my cheek and it so gentle, so tender, that it draws tears to my eyes.

What is wrong with me? I am a seasoned warrior. I have seen atrocities aplenty both with Legolas by my side and without. Why is this simple thought of him alone on the marshes proving to be my undoing? I cannot cry—I cannot! He has only just begun to speak of this to me. If I weep like a child at the first revelation he will tell me nothing else.

"Were you alone?" I blurt it out despite myself for I must know and he frowns. For once it is he who struggles to keep up with me.

"Alone where?"

"On the marshes. Were you alone? Did Elessar go with you?"

"Why do you ask that, Maewen?" He does not understand me, but I cannot expect him to when, at the moment, I do not understand myself.

"It is important. It is important to me."

"Aragorn did not go," he says gently and his hand reaches out to brush clear the hair which falls across my eyes. "He was overburdened then... There was so much... I went with the Elrondionath. There were Noldor there, too, aplenty. It was a vigil we did together. They for their people and I for mine. Does that make it better—to know that?"

"It does..."

And I do not lie. It is better to think of him with the Peredhel, better than no one at all. They would have understood but they are not our people. I wish I had been there...I wish... I wish I had let him tell me this years ago. I wish I had known. I am hit by a wave of remorse and despite myself—despite my best attempt at control—the tears defeat me.

"Maewen!" He gives a cry of alarm, and lifts my head from where I stare at my plate of food so he can wipe the tears as they fall. "Do not cry. I should not have told you this."

This is exactly what I was afraid of. If he thinks it hurts me he will say no more about any of it.

"Yes you should." I stumble over my words. " I want to know. Ignore this..." I try hurriedly to compose myself, wiping away my tears but it is difficult.

"I do not know what this is. It is foolish. I am glad you have told me."

He places his hand over mine. It is warm and reassuring, a connection. And then he smiles.

"They are not the greatest company to be truthful, the Elrondionath. Their conversational skills are rather lacking. They are more interested in fierceness, you see. I am sure, when they are alone, that is what they do. Practice their fierce looks with one another."

And I laugh through the tears.

It is a gift he has, one of many. Legolas can always make me laugh.

He and Erynion return to their talk then and I do listen now. They talk of patrols and trade and unexciting politics, and the whole time Legolas' hand remains on mine. It speaks of support, understanding, love, and although it means I eat one-handed I leave it there.

I would not be without it.

I would not be without him.

Legolas is open and giving. He is free with his love to those who love him. He is always there. He will give of himself until he has nothing left. Not just to me—to Erynion, to our people, but to his mortal friends also. That has rankled for I have not thought they deserved it. They take advantage of his good nature I have always said to myself.

And now, as I shed tears for him which are far too late, tears I should have shed years ago, he is still there for me. He holds my hand and he will always have my back. If I stumble, he will catch me.

And I realise, after all this time, I have had it wrong. It is not his mortal friends who are undeserving of his love, it is I.

For he has been stumbling for years and I have let him fall. I have refused to be there for him and congratulated myself on my steadfastness as I did so. I am the one who takes advantage.

Where have I been?

How have I been so blind?