How do you describe love?

The kind of love which that binds you to another who you do not know. They are not your family, they have not raised you, you have not grown alongside one another. They walk out of the haze of life and engulf you. Against all odds you find each other and against all odds you find you can no longer exist without them.

If I were to describe love I would say it has hazel eyes that shine with light and spark with fire. A sweep of hair the colour of which you can never pin down, it is both brown and golden, copper too. All of those at once.

It is stubbornness and strength, courage and determination, and oh so feisty. You do not cross my love if you wish to survive intact! It is beauty and softness, empathy and calm. It is my oasis.

It is Maewen.

It is many years now we have loved one another. We have laughed and cried together, fought alongside each other, loved and lost together, and until now, we had forgotten it all. We lost ourselves in the chaos of our lives and forgot what exactly what our love was.

Now, it seems to me, it has reignited like a bonfire in my heart and it consumes me.

And so it is as we journey towards the place where Taenor fell I am not a churning twist of anxiety and trepidation as I expected. Instead I walk amongst the clouds and all I notice is the soft touch of her hand upon my arm, the brush of her hair across my cheek as she flicks it across her shoulder, the calm peaceful drift of her fea as it entwines with mine.

My mind is filled with images unbidden. A secret smile across the training fields I was sure was just for me. A shy glance by the fire before I had even garnered the courage to speak to her. The two of us, on our own, in the trees, laughing until we cried at something foolish neither of us could remember. I think Maewen and I need some time together. Just us. No people to care for, no friends to distract us.

Just her, and I.

But even now when she fills my mind I am neglectful. I do not notice when she slips back. I do not see the moment my feeling of love becomes all memory and not reality for she is no longer there. It is Gimli who notices instead.

"Where is your lass, Legolas?"

The words cut across my meandering mind and pull me up short for when I look around I realise, she is not there.

"When did she go?" My question is an admission of my neglect and inattention and I do not wait for an answer. She will not be far away and I must find her. "Stay here." I say to Aragorn and Gimli. "Stay here, I will not be long."

I curse myself and my daydreaming as I head back the way we have come. Always my inattention, the ease at which my mind wanders, is my undoing. Will I never learn?

I am right, It is not long before I find her, a few twists in the path only. She stands still and alone and she weeps.

I am beside her in a heartbeat, arms around her.

"Maewen, what is wrong? Tell me what is wrong." She is awash with grief. I do not have to be her lover to feel it.

At first she says nothing, simply soaks my shoulder with her tears, chest heaving in pain. But as I hold her the weeping subsides and her voice, when she speaks, is hoarse and tired.

"A memory," she whispers. "The last time we were here, I was speaking with Taenor. You were running in the trees and we watched you."

I do remember that. It was a good day and the trees implored me to be free so I ran. I came down here and pleaded with her to join me and she did. For that short time we were happy, before the nightmare.

"It was the last time I spoke to him," she says, "His last words to me were how well you were. Forgive me," she pulls away, stands tall, wipes the tears from her eyes. "I am here to support you, not mire you down in my own grief."

And I realise, like an cloudburst in my mind, how selfish I have been. I am not the only one who has lost.

I reach out and wipe the tears away for her. I should have done this so much earlier but in the midst of my own pain I have forgotten to care for hers.

"I have not allowed you to grieve. Oh Maewen, I am sorry."

I do not know how to make this right.

I do the only thing I can do, my words are clumsy, they always have been, and so I use my touch. It is so much easier to show love with that. I take her hands in mine, I caress her cheek.

"Do not apologise for sorrow," I say. "You do support me, always. Let me help you in return." I place an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. "I know you miss him. Do not be afraid to show it for my sake." And I am rewarded by a smile, hesitant but it is there.

"Your friends will think me foolish," she says, "They will wonder why you have saddled yourself with a girl who cries when she should be strong."

"They will not!" I am adamant. She always thinks too little of herself. "They will wonder how I managed to acquire such a gem when I am such a fool myself."

"I am not a gem," She shakes her head at me. "I am not what you deserve. I am only a girl."

Only a girl? If she could just once see herself as I see her.

"And I am only a boy," I reply. "A boy who lacks focus and drifts along in dreams when he should be listening. A boy who cannot sit still when he should be still, who climbs the heights instead of keeping his feet on the ground. A boy who should never have been a leader . . . And without you I would fail. You are not just a girl, you are Maewen and I love you."

I do not know if she hears me, but at least I have said it.

And so I lead her back, back along the path to where Aragorn and Gimli stand waiting and she hangs her head as though she is ashamed but I will not let her. She has nothing to be ashamed about.

It is obvious she has been crying and so there is no point in trying to conceal it.

"It is difficult to return here." I say to Aragorn, by way of explanation. "Our loss is still fresh." And I throw him a challenge with my eyes as I hold her close. I dare him to think less of her for this. It is a pointless challenge, for I know in my heart he will not. Aragorn never judges needlessly. He is skilled at knowing others hearts. Even my own, even when I hide it from him.

Instead he looks at Maewen, his eyes filled with concern—not pity, which she would hate—only concern for her wellbeing. I keep her near as we continue on and it feels good to be the strong one, good to protect her, good to the one who helps rather than the object of people's whispers and worry.

It almost distracts me from our nearness to the site of Taenor's death. Almost. . . But not quite.

Here is the place we ran in the trees, and over there, the moment I realised the men were nearing us and their motives were destruction. A few steps further and we have dropped down and are running now to positions to defend ourselves, and here. . . The place the first arrow flew.

When we step forth into the clearing where Taenor fell the memories accost me and I can not run from them. Sometimes my crystal clear elven memory is a curse. Sometimes I wish for the soft blurring of truth the mortals experience, rather than the harsh reality that floods into my mind.

I am drawn to a rock across the other side and I move away from Maewen towards it. I remember this place, but last time I was here it was covered in blood, my blood, Taenor's blood. I hear her call my name as I go but I can not reply. There is too much all at once in my senses. They are filled with the sights and sounds of death. I remember the slice of the Haradrim sword across my side, the certainty of impending death, before Taenor was there to save me. I remember the grin on his face and the jest on his lips as he reached out his hand to me.

I remember the arrow that I felt but did not see until it sliced through his throat, the crimson cascade of blood and the shock of realisation on his face in that brief moment when he understood his fate. I remember him fall.

Then suddenly it is not him dead at my feet but another. It is my brother. My hero, my mentor, my protector. And he is gone, an empty shell. I search for his fea in desperation. Always the feel of that soul has been with me. Now it is gone, entirely and completely gone. In its place is a ragged empty hole of blackness and I cannot feel him, I cannot feel him!

Always my brother has been there. Holding my hand, braiding my hair, guiding my steps, saving me from myself.

"Legolas, you will be the death of me," he would sigh when I once again found myself in trouble he had to extract me from. Little did he know I really would.

There is a cry of anguish from someone, somewhere. I do not recognise the voice as my own. And then I am on my knees. Shaking my brother, screaming his name, anything, anything, to bring him back to me—and this is all my fault, all my fault.

"Legolas!"

A voice sounds in my ear. There is a strong arm around my shoulders. A friend holds me while I weep, and as I come back to myself from the horror which is memory I realise it is my other brother, my human brother. The one who is nothing like me at all and yet somehow knows me. The one who accepts me as I am as much as I frustrate him. The one who will leave me eventually too, but I will not think of that.

Aragorn is on his knees beside me. Aragorn it is who cradles my head upon his shoulder. Aragorn holds me tight and brings me back.

Aragorn it is who saves me.