After the clatter of plates and general conversation in the hall my study is peaceful and quiet. As I enter, my tiredness engulfs me and I lean forwards, resting my head against the wall. It's coolness against my forehead is strangely soothing and I almost forget Aragorn follows me until I feel his hand fall softly on my shoulder.
"Legolas?" He is hesitant when he speaks.
"I am tired," I say without even turning to look at him and I am. So very, very tired.
"I meant what I said, we do not need to do this now," he says firmly and he turns me round so I must look him in the eyes. Instantly he is the healer.
When Aragorn is using his healing eyes he looks at you differently. He analyses. His gaze strips you down to your essence as he searches every part of you looking for answers. Always searching, always evaluating. He does not see Legolas. He looks for the problems within Legolas. He breaks me down to my parts and it is discomforting.
"No!" I push him away with a frown and walk across the room. "I do not need a healer Aragorn. That is the last thing I need."
"You sound as if you need one."
From within me, my anger starts to bubble up, back to the surface, the anger the quietness of the room had dissipated.
"I did not ask you here to discuss my health. That is not why we are here."
"Why are we here then Legolas?" He says quietly and I explode.
"Have you forgotten? You question my friendship. We are estranged. I am not good enough it seems. Not good enough for the King of Men; and the sacrifices my people make for you are not enough either. We are only Wood-elves after all, so why am I surprised?"
"Stop it Legolas. That is enough!"
I blink in surprise as he raises his voice and shouts at me for, as angry as I am, I did not expect it.
"You are better then this!" he rages, "Do not throw these old prejudices in my face. I do not deserve it and you do not even believe it any more."
He is right. Once upon a time I did, back in the days when I seldom left my forest, but not now . . . Well not often. I know that the times when the shadow of my old Noldor prejudice appears drive Aragorn to distraction. It irritates him no end. Possibly that is why I said it in the first place. I know all the things to say to gain a reaction from him, to wiggle under his skin and destroy his perfection.
We stare at each other then, long and hard and I throw all my anger into it. All that burning, searing anger. Aragorn is the only mortal I know who would take this on. He grew up in Imladris with those monosyllabic, glaring, twins for brothers so he can deal with an elven stare. But I win in the end though for I am an elf and the son of Thranduil no less. He will never stare me down.
He breaks his eye contact and turns away, throwing himself into a chair where he sits, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
"This is not how I anticipated this going," he murmers into his hands and for a second he seems broken. "Your friendship is a jewel in my life Legolas," he continues, "and somehow I have failed you if you do not know that."
I stand, silent and still, watching him and the anger, as he sits there in despair, vanishes as quickly as it arrived. In its wake it leaves emptiness—nothing.
He raises his head then and looks back at me when I say nothing, do nothing, in response.
"We have so little time left to us Legolas, to be together. Must we spend it like this? Is this really what you want?"
Did he have to remind me of that?
Sometimes time with him feels as if it slides through my fingers in a rush. I try to grab on to it, to hold it tight and stop it disappearing before my eyes but I cannot. Onwards and onwards it flows towards it's inevitable end. An end that will break me.
"You were the one who told me I did not know how to be a friend." My voice when I speak is tight and horse. Emotion rushes up from the depths and chokes me. "My people have died, Taenor died-" I cannot go on.
"I know,"He says it sadly, mournfully. "You were grieving. You had shown me that the day before and I should have taken that in to account. My words were ill-chosen . . .Cruel. Forgive me please. I know the price you pay, the price your people pay for my friendship. I know it Legolas. It is always on my mind."
I do not know what to say.
"I was hurt," he continues. "That is my only excuse. It felt too big a secret for you to have kept from me and I could not understand why. I still can not understand why. It is usual, Legolas, in most societies, to share with friends things such as the existence of a wife—even the Silvans do that I believe." He leans forward in his seat then. "Is she your wife? I do not even know that much. Are you wed?"
He is right to feel hurt and I know that but it was not my wish to hurt him and he did not allow me to explain that.
"That depends," I mumble in reply and I know I sound sulky and resentful. "Whose traditions do you measure it by? Noldor? Men?"
"Your traditions since it is you we speak of!"
"Not as such then."
"Not as such? What does that even mean?" I can feel his frustration with me growing by the minute. "Can you not give me a straight answer?"
"Your people would say we are not—and so would the Noldor, but my people consider we are. She is my light," I try not to think about the disaster the pair of us are at the moment. We could walk away from each other tomorrow and the Silvans would not turn a hair, they would accept it. The Sindar would not though. Although any ceremonies joining us together are only the private, secret, binding ones of our own hearts. They are just as strong, just as meaningful—to us.
He leans back in his chair and sighs heavily,
"Was that so hard then, to tell me?"
"It is not your way, I did not know how you would—"
He cuts me off for he is angry and with justification for my excuses are poor ones. I have no excuses that stand up under examination.
"Give me some credit, Legolas! I am not that closed minded. I am able to understand silvan differences and accept them."
"You were raised in Imladris—"
"Do not!" He holds up his hand to stop me speaking further, "Do not start that again! That Noldor nonsense. Do you want to fight with me, Legolas? For that is how it seems. Is that what you want, for us to be at each other's throats?"
"I do not want that. You gave me no chance to explain. You attacked my friendship and did not ask if I had reasons." I sound childish, even to my own ears, childish and defensive. As bad as Eldarion when he is forced into something he does not want and yet has no sensible reason for not wanting.
"Sit then," Aragorn says and throws his arm out to indicate the chair beside him. "Sit and tell me your reasons. I know you have them. Now I have had time to think on this I know it will not be as simple it first seemed."
And so I sit, awkwardly and uncomfortably for I am on edge. I do not know how to explain.
"Maewen . . ." I trail off before I even begin. I want him to know Maewen. To see the things I see. Her brightness, her vivacity. I want him to like her. How can I explain this without him judging her and finding her lacking, for he will do if he thinks she hurts me. I am at a loss.
"The war changed me," I begin again, "I am no longer the elf who left the Greenwood. I am not the Legolas you first met in Imladris. Can you remember him?"
"I do." He smiles then and I know he is remembering something . . . Probably my tantrum with the Balrog slayer—how embarrassing.
"That is the Legolas Maewen fell in love with. That is the Legolas she waited for all the time I was away. That is the Legolas she wants, and I came back as someone else. It has been hard for her, to find someone she loves in me. I have dragged her from her home. She did not want to leave. She does not want to be here, we are here for me. It is all about me." I pause for breath and he watches me. Always carefully watching and I wonder what he is thinking. He gives me no clue and so I go on.
"She has given up everything to come here with me. She did not ask for mortals to be part of her life. There are problems, Aragorn, with mortal friendships, you know this." He does know, but this is a lie. It is not the reason Maewen stays away from him and from Gimli for she welcomes Faramir and Eowyn into her life with open arms. No, it is because she resents them. She blames them for us having to be here in the first place.
"She asked me not to involve her in that part of my life and I have not. I owe it to her. I can not refuse her this. She wished me to keep her. . . to keep us, private."
Aragorn quirks an eyebrow at me then as he watches me.
"And how is that going?"
And I drop my head.
"Not particularly well, as you have no doubt noticed." And I sigh then. "Gimli tells me it is not healthy."
"I would agree with him," Aragorn says mildly, "Still it is not for him or I to say."
"Do not judge her Aragorn!" I cry, "You do not live our life." I am suddenly all too aware Arwen has given up her immortality for him, she has given him everything, and she does it with grace and willingness. How can he understand this?
"I promise I do not judge," he says softly but he does. He must.
"It is changing," I rush to Maewen's defence. "She has come to Minas Tirith with me, she greets you here beside me. She arranged the logistics for housing your men. I did not even ask, had it been left to me you would all be sleeping under the stars!"
He smiles softly at the thought, obviously, of my hopeless organisational skills which hurts a little. I cannot deny it. A barb under my skin.
"I am glad to hear it changes, and I am glad of the chance to know her," he says then.
I am tempted then to tell him more. To tell him the whole of it. The arguments, the feeling I have that there is more of me she does not like than there is that she does. Our inability to speak for any length of time without being hurtful. The love, the terrible love, that tears me apart because I just cannot reach it. Everytime I get closer it moves further away.
But in the end I do not. How would he ever respect Maewen if I told him that?
"Are we friends then Legolas?" He leans forward and touches my arm, the softest of touches. "Can you forgive me my words? I would take them back if I could, but once spoken I know it is not that easy."
"We have always been friends," I murmer, and the smile that lights his face at that is as bright as the sun.
"Thank the gods!" He leans back in his chair and throws me a grin full of mischief. Most would say Aragorn was grim and serious, that that is all there is to him. Majestic, yes, and benevolent when he needs to be. But fun loving? Mischievous? They would not say that. Not the leader of those grey, grim, Dunedain. I see it though. I know it. Estel the child is inside him still. "For Arwen has been relentless," he continues, "I have heard nothing except how foolish I have been. If I had to return and tell her I had not won you over she would never let me rest!"
And I laugh. It wells up within me, a rush of joy and relief, A tide that sweeps the remnants of anger and bitterness before it and wipes my soul clean. The tension that has twisted inside me all these days dissipates and I am happy, so pleased to be with him.
We are reunited and all is good.