Chapter Fifty-Four
~ Estel ~
Laughter. That was what I had heard, what had distracted me. Curious, I made my way towards the sound – and then jumped back as the tip of something metal slashed across my stomach. Instantly, one of my hands flashed out in an instinctive move to shove away whatever had touched me while the other moved to rest on the hilt of my sword.
And then I realized what it was.
"Lady Estel!" Merry exclaimed from where he lay on the ground, scrambling to stand up again. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you!"
I ran a hand along my stomach, eyeing his blade. How come there is no wound? Why doesn't my hand hurt, at least, from hitting it?
"I can see that," I said dryly, extending a hand to help the Hobbit back to his feet. "But there is no harm done, Merry. Your sword must be very blunt – I gather you are going to the smithy then."
"Yep!" he said proudly. "Éowyn helped me get ready – for tomorrow, you know."
"Ah." When he didn't move, I prodded, "Well, go on, Merry! I don't want to hold you back, you know!"
"Right! Going! Sorry!" he called over his shoulder.
As he vanished into the darkness, I shook my head in silent amusement and continued making my way towards where I had heard the laughter.
We had had a hasty and small dinner together, my entire family and I, but it had been a nice one. We had – for the time, anyways – cast off the thoughts of the upcoming battle and just relaxed and spent time together. As we all had been doing different things, it was nice to get back together and just talk and act as a family again. Even Legolas and Gimli, who normally didn't offer much, had joined into the conversations.
Words emerged from the darkness as I got closer to a fire. Three figures stood about it there – a woman and two armored men, who were eating. The woman faced away from the rest, though, her eyes in the same direction as Merry had gone.
"You should not encourage him," one of the men was saying.
Against my will, my heart jumped at the voice. Éomer? I thought, edging curiously closer and leaning against a tree.
"You should not doubt him," the woman replied evenly. Éowyn.
"I do not doubt his heart," Éomer said, his voice muffled by whatever he was eating, "just the reach of his arm."
The other man chuckled, amused, but Éowyn didn't seem as inclined to do so.
"Why should Merry be left behind?" she demanded. "He has as much cause go to war as you! Why can he not fight for those he loves?"
There was almost a trace of . . . longing . . . in her voice, a longing that shocked me.
But not as much as the response.
Éomer stood and as he did so, he said coldly, "You know as little of war as that Hobbit. When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight?" He paused, and then answered himself. "He would flee, and he would be right to do so. War is the province of Men, Éowyn."
I was shocked by the coldness of his response. Éowyn was his sister, and yet he continued to say such things. If he was trying to protect her by saying such things, he was doing it far too coldly.
I was so stunned that I almost didn't notice when he walked right by me.
"Éomer."
He stopped and spun around, startled. Then he relaxed upon noticing me, although I knew my face lay in shadow. "Ah. Estel. There you are. I – "
"You shouldn't speak so coldly to her."
Éomer's expression hardened, the dancing flames of the fire making his expression seem almost inhuman. "You don't know my sister as well as I do," he said shortly. "Do not presume to pass judgments, Estel."
"I may not know her as well, but, Éomer . . . No women likes to be spoken to like that. If you wish her to stay out of the battle, simply be more direct. Just ask her."
"She wouldn't have listened."
"Do you think she will listen anymore now?" I demanded.
His eyes flashed momentarily. Then he crossed his arms, his expression turning sour. "What do you mean by this, Estel? What do you want?"
Words rose unbidden in my mouth, words I hadn't even known I was thinking. "Éomer, I . . . I am confused," I confessed. "I don't understand. You are attracted to the strength I hold in the arts of war – the same strength Éowyn has. And yet, when she wishes to use them, you drag her down. You do not let her."
"So?"
"So what do you want from me, Éomer?"
He blinked, startled. "What?"
"Éomer . . . I am just like your sister. I will go to the battle, regardless of what anyone says."
Anger flashed across his face again – but this time, concern mixed in. He stepped closer to me. "You should not."
"Why not?" I shot back defiantly.
"War isn't meant for ladies. And you are a lady, Estel. You shouldn't fight. All you are doing is making us divert our attention as we struggle to protect you as well."
"Do you think so little of my abilities, Éomer? I held my own in Helm's Deep, and I shall do so again."
"No, Estel. Stay here. Don't go."
"Why not?"
"Because it is not your realm!" he exploded finally. "War is for men, Estel! Not for ladies."
I blinked, shocked by his words . . . and a bit hurt. Did he . . . Did he really think I was that inadequate of a fighter?
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, Estel."
I didn't answer.
"What do you want from me, Éomer?" I whispered.
My sudden change in topic caught him off guard. "What do you mean, Estel?"
"What do you want from me? Do you want me to marry you or . . ."
Hope glinted in his eyes – hope and affection and a fierce pride. He couldn't have looked any happier or prouder than he did right now. Or at least, I couldn't imagine him any happier or prouder.
"Yes. One day," he amended.
"Well, then tell me this – why do you love me?"
"Why do you ask?" he asked, confused. "I love you; I know I do. Isn't that enough?"
"No." I took a deep breath. "Look, Éomer, I know you like me. You like me a lot. And I like you too. But . . . But I don't understand what you want from me. Do you want the warrior girl I am now, the one you seem attracted to and yet shun and do not think ready for battle? Or do you want the fine, dainty lady to keep house and bear sons for your bloodline? What do you want for a wife, Éomer? Tell me now, because you have not yet told me and I can't figure you out."
"I want you, Estel," he said. "Exactly as you are."
"And yet, you cannot accept me as that."
Surprise entered his tone at my words. "I always have. When have I not?"
"Now."
He scowled. "Do I need to prove to you?"
"Please do."
I didn't expect him to kiss me. But he did, stepping closer, grabbing my shoulders, and pressing his lips to mine in a kiss.
I couldn't fault him for it being clumsy – it was probably his first time. Or that it was a bit rough – he was born and raised a warrior, and warriors are rough. Or that he held me too tightly against him for me to relax and kiss him back – he just didn't know what to do, really.
But there was one thing: there was just no . . . spark.
And in an instant, I knew I didn't love him. I would never be able to truly love him. Perhaps, I had never loved him.
He wouldn't be able to love me either. I was too contrary for him, too much part of the world of Men. He needed a different woman, one who could devote herself to him and love him and be the wife that he wanted, desired, and sought.
But I wasn't that person.
He released me. "I love you, Estel, and I intend to marry you," he whispered quietly.
I raised a hand, stopping him from kissing me again. "Stop, Éomer." Miraculously, my voice was calm and didn't shake.
"What is it?"
"I can't do this."
"Why not?" he asked, confused. "Just because I'm not your husband yet – "
"I can't accept this, Éomer."
"What?"
"Look," I said with a sigh. "I am not what you love, Éomer. You love an image, a whisper, a shadow filled with thought and not substance. I am not the woman you love and . . . and I don't think I ever will be."
He stumbled back a step, stunned. "Estel. . ." he said, half-pleadingly.
"No, Éomer. I'm so sorry." I blinked back tears and tried to smile. "And one day, I know you will find the right person. Good-bye, Lord Éomer Éomundion."
Then I ran, intent on sobbing out my misery in silence for the rest of the night.
Well, I was going to.
But then I ran straight into Legolas.
"~Estel! Estel, whatever is the matter?~" he exclaimed.
His blue eyes were filled with anxiety and concern, lips already forming soothing and calming remarks, hands reached out to me. I didn't care about all of that, though. When I saw him, none of that registered except him. Somewhere inside me, my instinct had already begun to associate Legolas with acceptance and calm and friendship.
Within seconds, I was huddled against his chest, seeking the safeness and security of his embrace.
For a minute, his arms didn't fold around me as they usually did; he seemed too stunned to do anything. But then he relaxed, and his arms came around me, and he continued to silently stroke my hair and wait for me to calm down.
After a long time, my sobs finally began to slow.
He traced a finger across my cheek, frowning that it was still soaked. "~What has upset you so much, Estel?~" he asked. "~There is no shame in needing to cry, but . . . I have never seen you like this.~"
"~It's Éomer.~"
He didn't say anything at first, but since I was cradled in his arms it was easy for me to tell how he stiffened ever so slightly. When he spoke, though, his voice gave no sign of the tension. "~What about Éomer?~"
"~I . . . He kissed me.~"
Legolas frowned. I knew that if I was an Elf like him, he'd be extremely offended by it; no Elf would have ever done that to me without my consent. But he had lived among Men long enough to realize that things worked differently. Still, I could see the quiet indignation in his eyes that he wasn't quite as successful as keeping out of his voice this time around.
"~And?~" he prodded.
"~And he said he wanted to marry me.~"
The air changed instantly. Legolas seemed to draw away from me, becoming distant and impassive. He even drew back physically, putting distance between us.
"~I'm very happy for you,~" he said formally, his tone stiff and his eyes bland.
But something stopped me from correcting him at once. Perhaps it had been how he had withdrawn from me, emotionally and physically, when I had told him. Perhaps it had been how he didn't object or ask any question but simply offered his congratulations. Or perhaps it had been how, somehow, I instantly knew that he was doing all of that to shield some kind of hurt at the news – false news, but he didn't know that, of course.
Éomer's words rang in my ears: "I thought you . . . you had feelings for him. Feelings beyond friendship."
Then I realized that the only reason he would have said that was if he had seen Legolas as a rival. And the only reason he would have thought that was if . . . was if Legolas did have feelings beyond friendship for me.
Everything seemed to click just then.
And in that moment, I knew that Éomer had been right – somewhere, deep inside of me, I had fallen in love with Legolas. But my instinctive mind, trying to protect me, had buried those feelings so deep down even I hadn't known it, and so I had thought that my feelings for Éomer had been right. Now I knew that really I had loved Legolas all along. And now I knew that he felt the same.
But most important of all?
It felt right.
~ Legolas ~
The anger and indignation that had blossomed inside of me when Estel had tearfully told me that Éomer had kissed her grew into hurt – deep, overwhelming, all-encompassing hurt. So he finally proposed to her.
I knew she would accept. Why wouldn't she? Éomer was the heir to the throne of Rohan. He was handsome. He had shown himself capable of making her happy. He would be her husband.
And I would mourn silently from the sidelines.
"~Have you . . . Have you told your family?~" I forced out.
She shook her head once. "~There is no need to.~"
"~Why not?~" I didn't wait for her answer; it was growing just too painful now. "~Never mind; I'll go.~"
She caught my arm. "~Legolas – wait. There is no need to tell them.~"
"~Why not?~"
Estel took a deep breath. "~Legolas, I . . . I told him no.~"
The anger, the sadness, the hurt – they all vanished abruptly. Hope, quiet little hope, began to peek its head out. But I forced myself to remain calm. Perhaps she simply wanted to wait until after the war was over. . . No, I had to know. Now.
"~Why?~"
She smiled slightly. "~Isn't it obvious?~" She put her hands on my chest and raised her eyes to mine. "~I love you, Legolas. Not him.~"
Before I could even being to try and make sense of what she was saying to me, much less stutter out a confused "What?" to her declaration and demand a better, more detailed explanation as to why, suddenly she was kissing me and without even thinking, I was kissing her back with everything I had in me.