Legolas

I had a love once.

She was as bright as the stars, as free as the wind, as warm as the sun.

But then I left her.

I left my home and I went to war, but every step I thought of her. Every day I held her close to my heart. Every decision I made was to save her. I left for my people and my home, because it was the right thing, their only hope.

I followed Aragorn because I loved him. Because with every fibre of my being I knew it was what I should do, because he could save us all. She has never forgiven me for it.

I came home a Legolas she didn't recognise, I know that. I know it because at times I do not recognise myself, and it is worse when I am home in the Greenwood. I came home burdened by the sea and by the mortals who had claimed my heart.

So long she had awaited my return and I disappointed her. I see her sometimes, searching my face, probing my depths trying to find the one she loved. Sometimes she finds him, the slithers of him which still remain and then we are happy. But mostly she cannot see him, for all that I try to reach for her, mostly she sees only the one who has torn her from her home and those she loves. The Legolas she despises.

Still we have struggled on, though it gets harder and harder each day we still try, we still love. But she has had enough and now she abandons me. Now she pries into my life where before she wanted to know nothing of it. Why does she do that? She spills my secrets to all who would listen, even the ones which hurt me most. She has told Gimli of Laerion, of my greatest shame, my darkest weakness. She has laid it all bare. What have I done for her to want to hurt me so much? Do I deserve it?

And she tells lies, lies! It has to be lies. I did not run to the darkness. I did not!

I do not remember much after Laerion and that which I do I try not to. It is a pain which cuts me to the bone and I do not revisit it. I bury it deep.

I do remember being safe in the dark. I was hiding there though people called my name because I knew if I left, if I set foot back upon the real world, pain immeasurable awaited me. It would destroy me. And so I hid, for a long time I hid. My mother it was who dragged me out of there. She reached in, she grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and she pulled me out. She pulled me kicking and screaming from my safe place. And I raged and I screamed and I hated. It is true, I hated her for that, for making me face my reality and I told her so in the nightmare of those first few hours.

She never forgot it.

She told me when she left she still carried that burden. She never forgave herself for causing me pain. She felt, deep in my heart, that hate still lived. It was not true. She is my mother, how could I hate her? I love her and I had forgiven her long ago. In truth there was nothing to forgive for she saved me. But she could not forgive herself.

And so she left us.

That was my fault too.

Sometimes I do not know how my father bears to look upon me, who has cost him a son and wife, both.

And now Maewen tells me I have run to the darkness again. I do not believe her.

When the knock upon my door comes at first I think it is her come to apologise, come to tell me it was all lies but it is not.

It is Erynion.

Erynion is my rock. I have known him as long as I have been alive. He is my childhood friend, my other half. When we were children I led us into mischief for I was the wild one. And he held me back, steered me straight, took my mischief and made it safe. He was the voice of reason in my ear and I was his path to freedom, for left to his own devices Erynion can be . . . Boring. I think he needs me to help him soar as much as I need him to keep my feet on the ground.

"Can I come in?" he asks although he does not need to ask. I will never deny him entry to my life.

And so he enters and we sit, side by side upon the bed. I wonder why he is here. How did he know I needed him?

"Maewen has been to see me," he begins and I lash out.

"Oh? She feels the need to tell you all my secrets also?"

"She wants to help you." He frowns at me, he is displeased. "Come on Legolas, what secrets could she tell me anyway? What secrets do you have from me?"

There are none of course. None that matter, for Erynion is my sounding board and has been for years. All the things Maewen will not hear he listens to. All the things I need to keep from my father, the deep hurts, he knows. Well that is not entirely true, there are some secrets . . . I do not tell him everything, but most of it.

"She knows secrets," I look at him coyly for, out of nowhere, I feel the need to tease. He has that effect on me. "Do you really want to know all Maewen knows of me. When we are in bed for instance—" and he holds his hands over his ears in mock horror.

"Stop! Save me from the details of your love life. I do not need to know that! It is too much information, Legolas!"

And I laugh. Erynion is a magician. He has banished my anger and ill feeling with the wave of a hand.

But then he turns serious and lays a hand on top of mine.

"She has told me you did not know, were unaware of how you were after Taenor died. Forgive me. I would have spoken of it if I knew you could not remember."

"I was fine after Taenor. I was injured and poisoned and unconscious. That is why I remember nothing!"

Why does he say anything else. That is how it was.

"I was at your side moments after it happened." he says sorrowfully, "Do you remember that?"

I do not of course. I remember Taenor's smile. He hand reached out towards me, the jest upon his lips. He called me a foolish boy. I remember the look of shock upon his face and the blood, oh the blood. And then there is nothing, until I awoke here with Maewen beside me and grief, and guilt, and pain.

"I was unconscious." How many times must I say this?

"You were not." He voice is soft and calm against the fluttering of my frightened soul. I do not want to hear this.

"You were awake, and yet not there. You did not answer us. You did not move. You did not acknowledge our existance. It was the same as Laerion, Legolas. The same. Why would I say this if it was not true? Why would I hurt you? I know it frightens you."

And why would he? There is no reason. He knows about the darkness. He is the only one who knows. He knows things even my father does not. He would not say this to me if it was not true.

The terror of the truth overwhelms me.

"It cannot be!" I cry, "It cannot happen again. I cannot go back there. I am not that boy any longer."

"You came back to us," He soothes, " You came back to us on your own accord. It was not long and you triumphed."

"I told Maewen she was lying!" I gasp as the ramifications of this discovery appear before me.

"She would not lie about this. She is always honest, Legolas."

She is not always honest. This I have discovered. She eavesdrops and opens my correspondence when I am not looking. That is not honesty. She is not who I thought she was. But I will not tell Erynion that. He knows all there is to know of me but I will not dishonour Maewen by telling him this.

"Erynion, what do I do? I am a leader here. I have people to care for. They deserve better than this. They deserve a strong prince not a weak one who runs and hides at the first sign of trouble. They deserve Laerion, not Legolas. Not that Legolas."

"You are a strong prince and they deserve none better than you. Look at the burdens you shoulder to remain here. Look at the trauma you have overcome. They followed you here, not Laerion. And they followed you because they love you. You, Legolas."

It is easy for him to say. I know I am second best for my people. I know I must make up to them for the prince I stole from them. And I know I never can.

"What you must do," he says calmly, "Is put this aside. We will talk on it later. We cannot ignore it. But Elessar comes tomorrow and that is most important. You will focus on that. It will go well, Legolas."

Elessar—Aragorn—my friend.

Or is he?

I followed him with love, I followed him with faith and hope. I do not regret a moment of it. Though it has caused me pain, and cost me my peace . . . And perhaps my love, I regret none of it.

But he threw it all back at me and that hurt.

I know he did not understand why I had kept Maewen from him. I know it hurt him, it felt like a betrayal. But what could I do? So many times I had almost told him the truth of it. So many times I wished to but she did not wish it. She was adamant. She wanted to hide from them all and I had taken so much from her. She never wished to leave the Greenwood. I had to respect her wishes not to know my mortal friends, as much as it hurt me.

He didn't let me explain that. He gave me no time. He told me we were no friends at all. He asked if I knew the meaning of friendship—me—who followed him to the sea without a backward glance.

My people have died here fighting for him, because I bought them here, because we are friends, and he says I do not know how to be his friend.

I do not even know where to go from here with him.

But I know being sundered from him is causing me pain and I must repair it—but how?

Gimli tells me I am a fool of an Elf to let it go this long, get this far, and he is probably right . . . He is right unusually often for a dwarf. But he cannot tell me how to fix things. He says that is up to me. 'Ask him here and take it from there' he says. But that is not easy.

"Erynion," I say as I lean against him for I am tired. "I do not wish to think on tomorrow. I have no idea what to do and it is a mess, all of it."

And he throws his arm around my shoulders in support as he has done so often during our growing years, and onwards.

"Remember that he loves you Legolas," he says as if it was the most self evident thing in existance. He has never had a problem accepting Aragorn into my life. It does not threaten him. "If you remember that all the rest will follow."

And for a moment I believe him.