Authors Note: To my guest Izzy, thanks for the review...glad you liked it. Here's some more!
I wake up feeling cold.
But the coldness is not from the weather, there is no wind howling through the trees or snow covering the ground. It is from the empty place beside me in the bed, the silence in the room, the absence of Legolas. Is this how it will always be now or were his words last night rash and careless? Will he freeze me out today or will he apologise with a rush of regret?
I cannot bear to find out for I fear with all my heart he will want nothing to do with me. If I avoid him, if I do not see him then it will not happen. He will not be able to cut me loose. If I do not see him I can hold on to our closeness for one more day.
The logical part of me tells me he will not let me go this easily. There is too much between us, too many years, too much love, to throw it away. I have made a mistake, to be honest I have made several, but it is not irreparable. All I need is for him to give me a chance. That is what my logic tells me.
My heart however says he has had enough.
I do not go to breakfast for he will surely be there. Instead I make myself busy. There is plenty to do, for Legolas has written to Elessar and if Elessar comes—as he most surely will—then there are preparations to make, for he is King of this place and will bring with him a retinue. It is my job—a part of my place at Legolas' side—to ensure all is organised to house them.
And so I set to work. I do not wait for instructions or orders. I know what must be done and I will see to it we present the King of Men with the best of the Wood-Elves of Ithilien.
Legolas does not come to find me.
Instead it is the dwarf who does when I am in the midst of things, and that surprises me.
"My Lady," he says politely as he hovers near the stables where I am busy arranging the extra hay and space that will be needed. "May I have a word?"
I look up at him in surprise. Briefly I wonder if it is actually me he speaks to.
"Oh you do not have to call me that! We do not use such protocol. I am just Maewen."
He smiles then. It is the first smile I have recieved today and it melts the ice that entraps my heart just a little.
"Legolas is a prince though. And I have met his father. . . He is very interested in protocol!" He laughs as he says it.
"Legolas is a prince, but I am not a princess. Even in the Greenwood, Maewen is all I am called . . . Or perhaps Captain . . . Nothing more. I like it that way."
And he laughs even harder. It is not a mocking laugh as I would have expected from a dwarf. It is soft and gentle. It bolsters my spirit.
"That is well then," he replies, "for it seems to me a princess would suit Legolas not at all!" I smile for he is right. A princess who simply sat and looked pretty would not suit my Legolas. But behind my smile there is pain for at the moment I do not know if I suit him any better.
"I wish to speak with you." The dwarf continues suddenly serious. "I am sorry to interrupt your work but it involves the Elf." Of course it does, of course it involves Legolas. At the moment, while he is as he is, everything involves Legolas. I do not wish to speak of him today because to do so fills my mind with all I may have lost. But I will, for if anyone can help him it is this creature. And if there is anything I want it is for Legolas to be happy.
And so I put aside my work and we sit, and I wait . . . For him to explain what concerns him.
"On my arrival," he says, "You were about to tell me something. We spoke of Legolas' fatigue and you said, if I remember rightly, there was more to it, but we were interrupted. I would know what it was that concerned you if I may."
I hesitate. He is right. I was about to tell him more. About my fear what ailed Legolas now was not poison, more a breaking of the spirit. But now I wonder—should I? Legolas is so angry. He feels I betray him. That I listen where I shouldn't, that I pry too closely into what is personal. What could be more personal than what I am about to tell Gimli? What will the knowledge I have spilled his secrets do to my fragile, barely there, relationship with Legolas?
Will it destroy it?
I am torn. I am torn in two, as the dwarf looks at me expectantly, but in the end I know what I must do. I put aside Legolas and I, for what good is 'us' if, for me to have that means he is suffering and unwell? That is not love. That is selfishness at it's very worst. If he counts this as another betrayal, if it is the nail in our coffin, then at least he will have a chance to be himself again.
So in the end I tell him all.
"Has Legolas told you of Laerion?" I ask, for I realise I know less than nothing of what this dwarf already knows, and he frowns.
"Laerion, his brother? I know he is lost to Legolas and I know that grieves him. He has told me no details beyond that. It is a subject he holds close and it causes him pain, and so I have not explored that wound. What has he to do with anything that happens now?"
I take a deep breath and I tell him. I tell him of Laerion's death. The truth of it. The sacrifice of a brother to save the younger. I tell him of the young, flighty, distracted Legolas who died also that day, of the scream, that terrible screaming as he clutched at his dying brother. Of the empty, numb, traumatised Legolas we took back to the Kings halls and the months and months we did not see him and the quiet, pale, solemn Legolas who eventually emerged. I tell him all of it and he listens in silence.
But I do not stop there. I go on; to Taenor, to the waft of the sea which turned Legolas' head, the stray arrow none of us saw, the blood, all that blood. The horrible dead eyed, staring and empty Legolas I found. Hand clasping the wound of his dead companion, for Taenor was surely dead the instant he fell.
"You see," I finish having told it all. "It was too similar. . . What happened to Taenor. Too similar to Laerion, and it has unlocked something within him. He is so unhappy and this tiredness—I think it is a symptom of the burden on his spirit. I am not a healer though . . ." I trail off hopelessly, "and we none of us know what happened to Legolas the last time. . . After Laerion. We have none of those healers here with us. Only the King will know—our King."
I draw to a close and the silence that follows seems endless until the dwarf pats me gently on the arm. The touch surprises me.
"Thank you." He says. It is simple and heartfelt. "Does Aragorn know this?" he asks then.
"I do not know." I have no idea how much, or how little Legolas has told Elessar. I think not much at all. "If he has not told you, then I think Elessar will not know."
"He needs to know," the dwarf frowns.
"Legolas will not thank me for telling you this!" I say in alarm, for suddenly the thought of them discussing this secret between them fills me with dread. He will be so angry!
"I am sure he will not." Gimli says firmly, "but it must be dealt with. He has kept this to himself too long. You have done the right thing, lass, telling me this."
Why then do I suddenly feel so fearful?
I try not to dwell on it during the rest of the day but it sits there at the back of my mind, taunting me. He will hate you for this, I tell myself. He will never forgive this. I keep myself to myself and hide away. I even avoid dinner, skulking through the kitchen to get something to eat on my own.
I retreat to the room I am choosing to sleep in but I find no solace there. It is cold and empty, devoid of love, as my life will shortly be. What on earth possessed me to tell his secrets? It is late when someone knocks on my door, very late and for a moment I hesitate to answer.
It is Legolas.
He stands there, uncertain, avoiding my eyes, a tray of food in his hand.
"I bought you something." He holds it out awkwardly to me.
"Thank you." I don't know what else to say as I take it from him. I have spent so long this evening convincing myself we are done for that it seems odd to see him here bringing me a peace offering.
"May I come in?" I do not know why he asks because he comes in anyway and seeing there is nowhere else to sit in this little room helps himself to the bed. I sit beside him. Neither of us knows what to do I think.
Eventually he speaks.
"Today has been wretched." How right he is.
"Yes." My reply is heartfelt for every day the two of us are at odds is a bad day.
He turns to me then with a sigh and reaches for my hand.
"Do not stay here, Maewen. Come to our rooms with me. I do not wish to go back there alone."
Oh how my heart surges with joy to hear him say that. How tempted I am to say yes for I want nothing more than to go back with him, to be with him and forget this long day apart ever happened. But something holds me back. I fight it, I resist it, but in the end I know this is not right.
"I cannot Legolas," It is with such regret I say it and I take my hand back from his. It feels chilled like ice when his warm touch disappears, and the hurt on his face tears at my heart. I rush to explain then.
"It would not end well, Legolas, and Elessar comes tomorrow. You and I. . . We are too clumsy with each other, and you will be tense. You know you will. One of us will say something, do something and it will all go wrong. It will only make meeting Elessar harder for you and that is what is important."
"Meeting him without you will make it harder for me!" He cries and I try to clasp his hands back between mine. I must make him understand this, for I am sure now, so sure I should not go with him.
"I will still be there. I will be standing at your side when he arrives. I am not going anywhere, Legolas. I love you. But we need to put 'us' to one side. One thing at time, and the most important thing is Elessar. Then we can try to find our way back to how we were. I promise I am still yours, I promise. But tonight, we need to be apart."
I do not think he is listening. He jumps to his feet instead and begins to pace the room. Watching, I am suddenly filled with an urge to tell him all. Perhaps if he is angry with me he will take my refusal to go with him more easily. Perhaps I just want to get the discovery over with.
"I have told Gimli of Laerion."
He spins around then to face me, eyes flashing dangerously.
"What have you told Gimli of Laeriom?"
"I have told him it all. What happened, the way you were...after...all that I know."
"How dare you!" He is as angry as I imagined he would be. "What right had you. . . Why would you do that?" I have hit a nerve and he is furious.
"To help you. To help him help you."
"Laerion has nothing to do with any of this!"
He cannot possibly believe that!
"Laerion has everything to do with this, Legolas. The way you were after Taenor's death tells us that. Gimli needed to know."
He stops dead then in his pacing and stares at me,
"What do you mean...the way I was after Taenor's death?"
"The blankness, the nothingness when I spoke to you...just like after Laerion."
He backs away from me then and I can see his hands are shaking, he is a mess.
"I was not...it was not like that. Why do you lie Maewen?"
"Do you not remember, Legolas?" I speak gently then as I approach him, As I reach out and stroke his devastated face. "When I tended your wound? When I bought you home? When the healers cared for you here? You were not there for us. We could not see you...you were—elsewhere. Do you not remember?"
But he shakes his head and he stares at me in horror.
"It was not like that. I was not the same, I cannot remember because I was not concious. That is why! It is not as you say!"
And he turns and bolts from me. . . Out of the room, slamming the door behind him. And I realise then that what I thought was true all along is not. He has no memory of the time after Taenor. He has not known he hid his mind from us.
He has not known.