Aiër Chapter 14
That night, Shëanon sat alone on the narrow bed in her borrowed room. A fire had been kindled in the hearth, for the night air was chill, and the flames cast shadows on the walls as she brushed and braided her hair. Not long after supper, when she had sat mending the many holes and gashes in her tunics and leggings, Éowyn had knocked on the door and asked if she wanted a bath. Not about to pass out the offer, Shëanon had gratefully luxuriated in the opportunity to get herself truly clean. She had thought of little else while washing her hair and cleansing her skin, determined to do a thorough job; who knew when next she would have had such a chance. Once she was dry and dressed and the tub cleared away, however, she finally allowed herself to mull over everything that had happened. Helm's Deep. It was a fortress, Aragorn had told her, and there they would go to await their fate. That much he had made clear; they would leave on the morrow with the rest of the city. They would defend the Rohirrim when the time came.
Shëanon tied off the end of her braid and let the thick mass fall back over her shoulder. Never in a hundred years would she have imagined that she would find herself walking miles and miles to some keep in Rohan, to do battle side by side with Men. Even when they had set out from Rivendell, she would never have predicted it. They should have been heading towards Mordor to destroy the One Ring, but that was no longer their path. So much had changed since leaving Imladris. Dully, she wondered about Frodo and Sam. Were they safe? Were they any closer to their goal? There was no way to tell.
Drawing in a deep breath, she leaned back against the wall. Not for the first time, she felt a powerful wave of homesickness. She missed her father and her brothers and sister. She missed the comfort and safety of her bedroom at home, the sound of the Bruinen and the taste of the air. She longed for the simplicity of her life when she and Aragorn had sat together against their tree. And all along, all the while that she was happily firing arrows on the practice fields and arguing with her father to send her on patrol, the villages of Rohan were being overrun, and children like Freda and Éothain were left homeless and parentless. Legolas had called her innocent, and she had bristled to hear it. But he was right, she decided. A few run-ins with some orcs and the death of her companions did not change the fact that there were so many things she did not know and had never lived through. Not like Aragorn and Gandalf and the others.
Sitting up, Shëanon peered down at her palm. The thin cut there had healed, but a scar had been left behind. Shea traced it with her index finger, recalling how Legolas had bandaged it for her; his hands had been so large and strong, so much bigger than her own, but he had taken such care to be gentle.
With a groan, she rose and began to pace the room. The arrival of Gandalf and Théoden with the children had distracted her from initial distress, but alone in her room the conversation plagued her.
Beautiful. He had called her beautiful. He did not even say that the Rohirrim stared at her because they thought her beautiful. No, he had stated it simply, like a fact. Shëanon flushed scarlet, wishing she had a mirror and mentally analyzing her features by memory. Anxiously she tried to imagine how she might look to him. Did he truly think she was beautiful? She had never really considered herself as such; all her life she had lived with the knowledge that the Elves were the fairest people in Middle-earth; surely being only half-Elven would have diminished that elven grace. Her mortal heritage had resulted in a more average appearance. Always she had believed this. Of course, Elladan and Elrohir and Arwen all had mortal blood, but not nearly as much as Shëanon, and they were also descended from the Maia Melian and the beauty of Lúthien Tinúviel. Indeed growing up beside Arwen's unquestionable loveliness had not been without consequences.
Feeling rather distressed, Shëanon reached around and unwound the plait that she had just finished, running her fingers through the dense waves of her hair. The auburn mass hung to the middle of her back, thick and curling. Anxiously she thought of the long, dark locks for which Arwen was so famous, and of the golden tendrils of Galadriel that Fëanor himself had coveted. Her own hair was wild, always appearing tousled no matter what she did, and for this reason she often cut it rather than let it grow down to her waist. Surely her hair was not so beautiful. Even the color was all wrong, for elven hair was either raven dark or flaxen fair, golden or platinum.
'It isn't like it matters,' she thought scathingly. In her mind's eye, she saw Legolas's noble features—his strong jaw and clear eyes and fair hair. He was handsome even compared to other Elves. Perhaps he had still been teasing her when he had said she was beautiful, she thought, but a frown came to her face as she considered it. She knew him well enough to know that he would not have mocked her that way if he were insincere. Wracking her brain, she tried to remember if he had ever paid her a compliment before, but she was at a loss. He said once that she'd fought well, but that was not at all the same thing. The longer she thought on the subject, the harder her head began to pound. Why did it even matter? She should not have been allowing herself to dwell on it at all, for after all it would do no good.
Because pacing in the small space had gotten her slightly dizzy, Shëanon eventually decided that a walk would be more beneficial. It had gotten dark outside, but the hour was not so late that she expected her companions to be asleep. For this reason she was both surprised and disappointed to enter back into the main hall and find that Aragorn was not there. In fact, Éowyn was the only one in the room. The woman sat on a low bench in the corner, warming her hands by the fire there and appearing as pensive as Shëanon was. She hoped that maybe she could slip past her unnoticed, but the lady looked up almost at once.
"Lady Shëanon," she murmured, her eyes roving over Shea's face. Seated in the corner, she seemed much less intimidating than before. In fact, she looked rather lonely.
Shëanon inclined her head in the woman's direction, wishing suddenly that she could have offered some condolence in the wake of her cousin's death but not knowing at all what to say. In any case, she also suspected that Éowyn did not want her sympathy.
"Do you know where Aragorn is?" she asked instead, but the girl shook her head.
"I do not," she replied. "I am sorry."
Shëanon nodded again and took her leave, having nothing else left to say, but she did notice that Éowyn looked even more troubled as she left.
The night air was like a balm to her, and her headache left at once as strolled around the corner of the building. The sky was again cloudy and the moon obscured, but at least there was no mist high on the hill. Shëanon prowled around in the dark, wondering where her companions could have gone. If he truly was not inside and already sleeping, would Aragorn have gone down to the stables maybe? She decided that she would venture down the steps and hope to run into him. With such uncertainty awaiting them in the morning, she yearned for the familiarity of his company. All day after the funeral, she had wanted to hug him, and while she still did not think that she would do that, she wanted simply to be near him. Shëanon had hardly gotten down to the road, however, when she became aware that someone was following her. At once she turned, though she was almost certain who it was, and sure enough she came face to face with Legolas.
"Where are you going?" he asked calmly, but there was a demanding note in his voice that she caught at once.
Warily, she lifted her chin.
"I was looking for Aragorn," she explained. His lack of a reaction indicated that he had already guessed as much, and he continued to glare at her.
"Aragorn is at the south side of the city," he said. "A healer was needed, so he went."
Shëanon stared at him, her insides clenching with worry. Her first thoughts were of orc attacks and pillaging Dunlendings. Was someone badly injured? How would they make it to Helm's Deep?
"Has someone been hurt?" she asked, studying his face. Other than the odd look in his eyes, she could discern nothing.
"There is a woman in labor, but the birth goes ill. The midwives called for aid."
"Birth?" she repeated, startled. "The city is to empty at dawn."
"Yes," Legolas nodded, his tone somber. "Let us hope that the child is born quickly."
Feeling almost dizzy again, Shëanon looked down at the ground. A baby? There was a baby being born in the middle of all the hardship and fear?
"We should go back inside," Legolas murmured when she did not speak, but she shook her head.
"I want to go for a walk," she explained. Mostly she did not want to be trapped alone in her room again, locked up with her thoughts.
"Then I will accompany you," he said at once, and finally Shëanon looked back up at him. Still there was that strangeness to his expression, but although she knew she had seen it before, she could not quite figure out what it was. She hesitated. The whole reason that she had gone outside was to escape the torture of thinking about him and what he'd said to her.
It was clear that Legolas could see her reluctance.
"I will walk with you or I will see you back inside, but I cannot let you go alone," he said firmly, but even as he spoke he was no longer looking at her, his gaze moving past her and down the hill, into the shadows. To her bewilderment, he stepped closer and laid his hands upon her arms, still staring over her head.
"I would not go far," she began to protest, blushing at the feel of his hands on her body, and at these words his eyes flashed.
"Shëanon," he said lowly. That was all he said, but she could suddenly tell that something was wrong. The revelation was like being doused with ice water, and at once she abandoned all intentions to argue.
"I will go back to my room," she whispered, and Legolas released her. In silence they turned back towards the hall, climbing the steps and crossing the stone platform. Rather than use the large double doors at the front of the building, however, Legolas guided her through the dark to a door that opened directly into the corridor where her room was. Clearly he had taken some time earlier in the day to scope out the area. Without looking at him, she slipped back inside and headed down the hallway, but he followed quietly at her heels and when they reached her door, it was like Lothlórien all over again. She hesitated near the doorframe, unsure what he intended. Silently, he turned the doorknob and gestured for her to step inside. If Shëanon had not trusted him so deeply, she might have been afraid of the look on his face; it looked like concealed anger. Cautiously, she crossed the threshold, and he followed her into her room.
Even after he closed the door, he said nothing. Shëanon stood before the fireplace wondering what on earth could have happened, but he remained unmoving just inside the door. They regarded each other in silence until at last Shëanon had to look away.
"This is not Lórien, aiër," he said finally. His voice was strained, but she found that he spoke with none of the anger that she had feared. In fact, he sounded gentle. For some reason that just made her even more uncomfortable. "You cannot wander alone late at night."
Shëanon studied his face warily, wondering if she should protest. She was quite capable of protecting herself; had she not proven that earlier in the day when she incapacitated Gríma Wormtongue's thugs? They had spoken of her violence before dinner. Legolas had seen what she'd done. Still, the look on his face was so intense that she could not bring herself to argue. He was watching her so strangely.
"These are troubled times, aiër," he murmured when she did not speak. "Rohan and its people suffer war and hunger and uncertainty, and not all Men are like Aragorn."
"I will not go out alone," she conceded. The words came out as barely more than a whisper. She had meant for it to come out grudgingly, for she did not care to be treated differently from her companions, but for once she could not help but feel that she should not mind it this once. Clearly Legolas was concerned for her safety, was he not? She considered the way his eyes glinted as he looked at her, his manner of speaking apologetic but his resolve clear. Did he feel protective of her? She wondered over this frantically. Surely he was no more concerned for her wellbeing than he would be for Aragorn or Gimli, and in this circumstance she realized that there was danger for her here that her companions did not share. She blushed before the warmth of the fire, not knowing what to say.
"Let us speak no more of this," he said at last. Shëanon wondered if he could tell how tense it had become in the room. The two of them stood in silence once more, but she was certain that he did not feel the same uncertainty that pounded in her veins. No, his gaze was even and sure as he stood in the doorway. "Shall I go?" he asked quietly. "We leave early in the morning."
He reached again for the door, turning away from her, and when Shëanon spoke she surprised even herself.
"Wait," she said hastily. Legolas paused and watched her patiently, as she wavered in her decision. She could not ask him to stay with her. It may have become something of a routine in Lothlórien, but as he had said, they were in Rohan and things were different. Even so, his sudden appearance had stirred something within her, and while before she had been desperate not to think of him, she suddenly didn't want him to go.
"I had hoped for some company," she explained at last. "And since Aragorn isn't here…" her voice trailed off, and she found herself gesturing vaguely towards absolutely nothing, but she didn't really know what else to say. To her relief, however, Legolas relaxed his posture and grinned.
"You sound as though you suffer my company only because the Dúnadan is unavailable," he said with a shake of his head, but as he spoke he moved further into the room. "I really should not indulge you, being only your second choice."
"Oh, you are not my second choice," she grinned nervously. "But Gandalf I'm sure is very busy."
"You wound me aiër," he smiled, and then to her astonishment he gracefully sat down on the rug before the hearth, resting his forearms casually over his knees. Automatically she moved as well to sit down beside him, all the while wondering if it had been a mistake to ask him to stay. After all, their last moments alone together had been catastrophic.
For a moment the crackling of the fire was the only sound, but she was long used to companionable silences with him and thankfully, the ensuing quiet was not as strained as moments before.
"What do you think of the king's decision?" she asked eventually. Legolas had not spoken much earlier in the hall, but she knew that he was not without an opinion.
"Helm's Deep is not the wisest course of action, from what I have heard," he replied. "Nonetheless Rohan is badly in need of help, so we must do what we can."
Again the silence fell between them, and Shëanon found herself fiddling idly with the soft fur upon which they sat. The furs were soft and thick, so that she was comfortable even as she sat upon the hard flagstone floor.
"I take it there have been no elflings in Imladris in recent years," Legolas commented, drawing her from her thoughts. Surprised, she glanced up at his face. Then she remembered what had happened with Freda.
"Was it that obvious?" she asked in dismay, remembering how utterly useless she had been with the little girl. It troubled her that she was more confident in dealings with orcs than with innocent children. "That poor little girl got handed off to the most incompetent person in the hall. Gimli could have comforted her better than I did."
Legolas smiled softly, but she did not miss the mirth that crossed his face.
"I thought you did well," he assured her. "But you looked horrified."
Shëanon only shook her head at him. "Do you think their mother will come for them?" she asked. That was what had most bothered her in the hall. Her instincts had told her to assure Freda that all would be well and that her mother would keep her promise, but it seemed likely to her that the woman was dead. She had not wanted to lie and have the child be heartbroken, and so all that she had managed were some vague hushing sounds that probably had not soothed the girl at all. The shadow that passed over Legolas's face only confirmed her suspicions, and she bowed her head. How horrible.
"Let us hope that she will go to Helm's Deep and be reunited with her children," he said somberly. He moved to add a log to the fire, and she watched him attend to it for a moment without speaking.
"Children need mothers," she agreed in a whisper, but she found that there was a lump in her throat.
"My mother is dead," Legolas said suddenly. "Did you know that?"
Shëanon stared. He had spoken calmly and quietly, but still she was bewildered. Mutely, she shook her head, taken aback, eyebrows furrowing as she wondered what had spurred such a confession and yet wondering too how on earth she could have possibly not known.
"What happened?" she asked cautiously. He had turned to gaze into the now hearty fire, and she was unsure if he was upset—the idea stunned her, but as he turned to her again she could see no signs of lingering anguish. Only a type of quiet sorrow, and wisdom, and something so much like tenderness that she couldn't even think.
"She went to Mandos long ago, when I was very young," he explained. "Her father and brothers had been slain in battle, and when the days passed and my own father had yet to return from war, she believed that he had been killed as well. No one was able to convince her to have hope, and she was… Her grief clouded her judgment. She began to fade very quickly, but in the end she took her own life."
In horror, she covered her mouth with her hands. She couldn't decide what was worse, that this terrible thing had happened or the steady way he had revealed it to her. It made her heart throb terribly. How had she never learned of this? Her father and Erestor and her other tutors had taught her the histories of the world; surely something so awful as the queen of Mirkwood's self-inflicted death was important enough to be recorded, but she knew that she had never read about it. She would certainly have remembered. Legolas was watching her closely, and in some bizarre turn of events it seemed that he was concerned for her reaction when surely it was he who was deserving of compassion and sympathy, he who had just spoken of his own mother's suicide. Shëanon swallowed thickly. It occurred to her then that despite all the times they had spoken of his father, he had never once mentioned his mother before. Subconsciously it seemed she had noticed, but she had never questioned him. Perhaps it was because she herself had never had a mother that she was not so terribly confused that he spoke only of his father. At the most, she had maybe imagined that perhaps the elleth had gone west, like the Lady Celebrían. Certainly she had never suspected such a tragedy.
"I am so sorry," she managed at last, but as sincere as she was, the platitude made her grimace. What else, however, could she have said? He had sprung it on her so quickly and calmly that she was too bewildered to think straight.
"My father returned but days later, wounded and with hardly any soldiers left under his command, and learned what had happened. He was never the same after."
"That is terrible," she breathed, but Legolas only smiled sadly.
"It was," he agreed. He shifted his weight on the carpet, until their bodies were closer together than before and he was facing her rather than the hearth. The way he looked into her eyes made her entire body freeze in fear and in dread, as though he was looking directly into her heart, and then he spoke again.
"I was angry for a very long time, aiër. I hated my mother for leaving me, and I hated that I was not enough reason for her to live. For many years I carried that grief."
Shëanon could not bear to look at him, and yet it took all of her strength to look away. Her blood rushed in her ears and her eyes were stinging terribly. His story all but shattered her, for it was her story as well. Was that why he told her this? Did he suspect the way her own thoughts had tormented her, the way she had wondered all her life if her family had simply not wanted her? Oh, she had tried to convince herself of many things: that they had died a horrible death, sacrificing their own lives so that she might live, that they were parted from her by some terrible circumstances out of their control, but always late in the night when she remembered the master who had so cruelly abused her, her fear seemed all too true. She had not been good enough to keep. For some reason, her mother or father had not wanted her.
"Not until centuries had passed did I begin to consider that there are more forces at work than it seems, and that there was more to what had happened than I understood. I knew that my mother loved me dearly, and I stopped believing that what she had done refuted her love."
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked in a ragged voice, still not looking at him. She was afraid to look into his eyes, and she did not want him to see how deeply his speech had affected her.
"I thought you might benefit from the tale," he said simply, and although the heat of the fire washed over them both, Shëanon felt cold and numb beside him, as though her thundering heart was no longer pumping blood.
"Why did you think that?" she asked hesitantly. Her fingers had curled into fists, and she saw that her nails had left deep indentations in the palms of her hands.
There was a long, deep silence during which she felt rather inclined to flee, but her limbs kept her rooted to the spot. The only movement she seemed capable of was to wring her hands in her lap.
"Would you like to speak to me of your parents, aiër?" he asked finally. When he spoke, it was as if all other noises were gone from the room; as though the fire no longer crackled and the wind no longer howled and the sound of his voice was the only thing she could hear.
"There is nothing to say," she insisted, and she was proud that her voice did not shake. "I know nothing about them. I've told you that before."
"It is clear to me that this matter weighs heavily on your heart," he replied gently, so that although she could not see him Shëanon could easily picture his face. She drew her knees closer to her chest. "In Fangorn—"
"Don't," she said sharply, meeting his gaze at last. The firelight had turned his hair and skin to gold, his eyes to sapphire. "Do not speak of Fangorn," she begged before she could stop herself, and she watched him frown.
"No?" he asked, his eyes roving over her face, boring into hers. "There are many things about those few days that we should discuss."
Shëanon grimaced, torn between regret and extreme apprehension. She now truly wished she had not invited him to stay; she would not have asked for his company if she had known what she was in for. Anxiously, she averted her gaze to the fire.
"I speak not to upset you," he said. "I will not force you speak about that which you would rather keep to yourself. My intent was only to give you an opportunity to speak if you wished. You once said you trusted me."
The honesty of his words made her want to groan, for it would have been an easier situation for her to handle if she could have gotten angry. It was clear however that Legolas was not trying to manipulate her with guilt, and she knew that he had of course been sincere in all that he had said. He still sat beside her even though she had half-expected him to stand up and leave. The patient silence with which he waited made her even more agitated; it was as though he knew she would give in. His presence beside her was like a warm pressure in her chest, and then she felt so very tired. Resigned. She would have told him eventually. She would have had to, and he knew it was well as she did. Her breath leaving her in a sigh, she bowed her head and spoke in a voice so quiet and lifeless that even she did not recognize it.
"I have the gift of foresight," she said dully, and, as she had expected, Legolas was clearly unsurprised. Indeed, she had all but admitted it herself when she had wept at Gandalf's feet in the forest, but she knew that Legolas had known long before then. "But I am not yet in control of it. I began having visions pertaining to the Enemy in Rivendell, and on the night before the council, I reached out to the One Ring accidentally with my mind. Sauron spoke inside my head and that is why I screamed; his voice has haunted my dreams ever since. In Moria I wouldn't sleep for fear that I would have a nightmare about it and cry out again, and I feared that I would endanger the company. The day I tripped on the ledge was because I had a vision about Khazad-dûm, but I didn't want to trouble anyone and in truth I was embarrassed by what had happened. It wasn't until the Balrog came that I realized my mistake. If I had but spoken, Gandalf might not have fallen.
"At Amon Hen I noticed that Frodo was missing, and I watched Boromir follow him up the hill. I remembered what you'd told me, about how he was falling to the Ring, so I went after them both. Frodo put the Ring on, and somehow it was like before. Sauron was in my head again. I thought my entire body was on fire. By the time it was over, we were under attack. Aragorn and Gandalf know most of it, but I have not told them everything."
Rather than feel that a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, Shëanon only felt it settle in her stomach instead. She stared resolutely down at the fur, waiting for Legolas to react. Unfortunately he did not respond for several long moments, and each second that passed made her feel worse and worse.
"You have suffered needlessly, aiër," he murmured when he finally spoke. "If you had but spoken of all this sooner, you could have avoided much worry and sorrow."
"I know," Shëanon breathed. Her arms and legs were visibly trembling, not from fear but from shame.
"Why did you feel that it had to be a secret? Why did you not explain in Fangorn when I asked?"
His question asked more than what he'd said, she could tell. He wanted to know why she had never confided in him during the entire journey, for clearly in Fangorn he had worked most of it out on his own. Shëanon wished that he would sound angry or accusatory, but he sounded only like he was trying to understand. She covered her face with her hands and lay back on the carpet; the fire was suddenly much too hot, as if it burned her face and neck.
"Is it not enough that I am telling you now?" she asked, barely able to do more than peak at him between her fingers. "Legolas, I hate discussing this. Honestly, this is the most I've spoken of it to anyone."
The elf gazed down at her somberly, her new perspective throwing his features into relief before the flickering flames, and his eyes were practically smoldering.
"Foresight is a gift," he reminded her.
"It is a curse," she said fiercely, but he did not react to her ferocious tone. His eyes seemed only to smolder hotter, his brow furrowing, and to her consternation he lowered himself onto his side, propping his elbow on the rug and his head in his hand, and their faces were alarmingly close together as a result. This proximity of their faces, however, was remarkably not what struck Shëanon about the movement. Instead, she sensed oddly that he was lowering himself before her not only physically but also in a more profound way. She no longer spoke to the prince of the woodland realm or to her wise, deadly companion. Somehow instead he had become the ellon who had slept in her bed in Lothlórien, easing her fears with the sound of his voice.
"Why do you say that, aiër?" he asked her softly, and Shëanon had to take a deep breath.
"My foresight has caused more harm than good," she told him tremulously. "All I have managed to do is be a burden to Aragorn, almost pull you over the ledge in Moria, and kill Gandalf. I have no control over any of my abilities. Nothing I see makes sense; it's like the Valar torture me purposefully, and I do not know how to handle it. Of all people, I am the last person who should have been given such a skill. Foresight is for High Elves like Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, not for blundering children like me."
Legolas smiled gently, but the action did not reach his eyes. "I thought we had decided that you are not a child," he said lowly, but his expression quickly became solemn once more. "You are doing the best you can, aiër, and that is what matters. Your father has faith in you, as do Galadriel and Gandalf and Aragorn, otherwise you would not be here."
"Their faith is misplaced," she lamented, gazing up into his face. For the first time all evening, he seemed surprised by what she'd said.
"Do you truly believe that?" he asked her seriously. "Are they not the people you hold in highest esteem? Do you not trust their judgment?"
Shëanon swallowed, fidgeting uncomfortably. She had never considered it that way before.
"It is myself that I doubt, not them," she whispered.
"Because you are half-human?" he asked carefully.
"Because I am no one," she spat. Their conversation had drifted into dangerous water, but Shëanon had started and found she could not stop. Speaking the words seemed to have broken something inside her, for she found herself confiding thoughts to Legolas that she had not even spoken to Aragorn, and yet his eyes were so warm and the words just kept coming and coming. "Legolas, I am not truly an elven lady. I am not Lord Elrond's daughter or Arwen's sister or Lady Galadriel's granddaughter. I am probably the product of the lowest of elves and the lowest of men, and I am so young and I have made so many mistakes…"
Legolas held up his hand to silence her, but even after she had stopped speaking he did not say anything to contradict her. For a moment she thought that he agreed with what she'd said, and feeling so utterly wretched, she began to turn her face away from him. Before she could roll completely onto her side, his fingers caught her arm and gently he urged her back onto her back.
"It matters not if you are Noldor or Sindar or Sylvan, nor if you come from farmers or kings, Shëanon," he said firmly, his eyes holding hers. "Your blood does not define you. It is your spirit that is important—your actions and choices. Do you forget that the fate of Middle-earth lies currently in the hands of a hobbit? Not in a mighty elf of Elder times, but a hobbit of the Shire. And perhaps you have made mistakes, but there is not a being in Arda who has never erred, no one save Eru Himself, and it is He who has granted your foresight and He who has given you to the world. If you will not trust yourself, trust in that."
Shëanon blinked back tears, moved near to weeping and unsure what to say. She abruptly realized her position, prone before him on the floor and trying not to cry, but not once had he acted scathingly; not once had he looked at her with judgment or scorn. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"How did you come to have such a low opinion of yourself? I find it hard to believe that anyone in Imladris would have instilled in you such a feeling of worthlessness."
That was it. His words, spoken so calmly and so close by her ear, seemed at once to repair the wall that she had broken through. She felt her body go rigid, and when she opened her eyes she could tell that the expression he saw was one of alarm. She had reached her limit, and he was venturing over the line. Everything she had just revealed to him seemed to hang in the air before her, so that she was appalled by what she had confided; she wanted to take it all back into herself and safeguard it all, and keep her awful, disgusting past buried deep in the middle, never to be unearthed. She felt like she was back in Moria, in the pitch-blackness, only even more vulnerable, and Legolas apparently sensed the change come over her.
"Never mind," he said at once, and she was shocked to see him backtracking in such a manner, for he was always sure and confident in what he said. "Never mind," he repeated. "That is enough for one night, I think."
Shëanon watched him hesitantly; still the panicked feeling had not left her. It was not, however, because she thought he would chip away at more of her secrets, but rather because she could tell at once that something between them had shifted—something intangible that had not even budged when she'd slept in his arms in Lothlórien or when he'd been so close to her in Fangorn had faltered and fallen away, and somehow, instinctively, she knew that the change could not be undone.
Legolas was looking at her as intently as she was looking at him, but he seemed much more at ease than she felt.
"I… I'm sorry," she muttered. "I don't…"
"Let us speak no more of this, aiër," Legolas said gently, and how she managed to pull herself together, Shëanon never knew.
"I'm sorry about your mother," she managed, recalling then what he had confided about himself. "You have spoken so often of your father, and I never asked…"
Legolas shook his head, and despite the composed way he had spoken earlier, Shëanon was reluctant to continue.
"I have never heard of anything happening to the Queen of Mirkwood," she whispered, and then frowned. "I have never heard tell at all…"
"It was long ago," Legolas said quietly.
Shëanon paused.
"What was her name?" she whispered, rolling at last onto her side, only this time she had moved so that she was facing him, and to her surprise he lifted his hand to her waist. Shëanon was momentarily alarmed by this sudden closeness, but then what was this compared to those hours she had spent sprawled across his chest? Perhaps it was because he had been the one to reach out and touch her, and maintain the contact so that the warmth of his hand permeated her clothes and radiated against her flesh. Her eyes, she realized, had flickered down towards where he touched her, but glancing up again she saw that his were still trained to her face, and that she had never before seen him look so… unguarded.
"Her name was Lumorniel," he murmured. "She was the exact opposite of my father. She laughed often and sincerely, and she was slow to anger and swift to forgiveness. My people loved her. I remember that any errand I accompanied her on took twice as long as it should have because she stopped to speak with everyone she saw. Her kindness and compassion were unparalleled, but so also was her wit. I have seen my father laugh without restraint only a handful of times in my life, and each time he laughed it was because of something she had said."
Shëanon's heart constricted as he spoke, and unbidden into her mind came an image of Legolas as an elfling, crying because his mother had taken her own life. The thought was disturbing.
"Do you still miss her?" she asked quietly, very aware of the way that he had begun to move his thumb back and forth along her side. Really though, what she wanted to know was if such terrible pain could ever go away.
"I will always miss her," he said regretfully, "but I will see her again, either in Valinor or Mandos or at the ending of days."
Shëanon mulled that over in silence, wondering what it would be like to endure endless years without someone she loved. Would it have been worse than the hollow ache inside her as she thought of the parents she was sure had abandoned her? Worse than those memories that woke her from her sleep, from a time to which her skin still bore witness? Just the weeks following Gandalf's death had been awful, just as bad if not worse, and surely the death of a mother would hurt even more.
"How are your ribs, really?" Legolas asked, his hand gliding over the injured bones but exerting no pressure. "If there is to be battle, you cannot fight if you are injured."
"They really are healing quickly," she assured him, but her skin tingled and her heart pounded the more he touched her, and her words came out sounding breathy and strange. He must have noticed, for his gaze was drawn away from her flank and back up to her face. Shëanon's resolve left her entirely; all her insistence that she could not allow herself to want the prince of Mirkwood flew out of her mind. The way he looked at her made her feel hot all over, hotter even than the fire that burned near their feet, and his face was less than a foot away from her own. Then his hand moved again, away from her ribs and up near her face, and she did not dare move as he caught a strand of her hair between his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. She had forgotten that she had unbound her hair, and Legolas toyed idly with the pieces that fell over her shoulders.
"I was surprised earlier," he said slowly, still brushing his fingertips over the curling tendrils, "to see that your hair was not braided."
Shëanon flushed, biting her lip.
"Surprised… as in displeased?" she asked hesitantly, and she felt his fingers pause as his eyes flicked back to hers once more. For a moment he only looked at her, his expression unfathomable, and then his hand moved instead to touch her shoulder.
"No," he said lowly, and she felt herself tremble. She wished then that she hadn't asked the question, because how was she supposed to reply?
"We have a long journey tomorrow," she said nervously, glancing from his eyes to his lips and back.
"Yes," he agreed evenly, his palm rubbing lightly up and down her arm from shoulder to elbow. Shëanon wanted nothing more than to move more closely against him, to rest against his chest and feel his arms around her, and the unsettling desire made it difficult for her to speak.
"We will probably not rest much until we get to Helm's Deep," she continued, but she was entirely transfixed by the way he caressed her. Her mind seemed to choke on that thought. Surely he was not caressing her. She had not been caressed before, so she must have been mistaken to think that that's what he was doing…
"Probably not."
Shëanon could hardly breathe.
"We should rest," she whispered, unmoving, and Legolas's faced pinched with concern.
"Are you tired, aiër?" he asked softly, ceasing his movements along her arm, but Shëanon could not speak, for his eyes were so very dark and his lips were so very close and he was still touching her…
She shook her head, holding her breath, wanting to flee the room and yet wanting to close the distance between them, and Legolas was staring at her, too, in a way that he had never before looked at her, as though he could see nothing other than her face—
"Shea?" A single knock sounded upon the door.
Shëanon drew away so quickly, so startled and horrified, that she banged her head upon the footboard of the bed, the collision so forceful that it was as loud as the knock had been, and she yelped in pain and surprise. The door flew open.
If ever there had been a time when Shëanon had been more embarrassed, she could not remember it. Similarly, she was sure she had never been so displeased to see Aragorn in her entire life. He stood, wide-eyed and bewildered, only a few paces into the room. One hand was still on the door handle, the other on the hilt of his sword; clearly he had heard her cry of pain and had thought something was amiss, else he would not have barged in on her. She lay immobile on the floor, bent awkwardly against the bedframe, one hand having flown back to cover the part of her skull where the shooting pain had pierced her. Dumbfounded, she stared at Aragorn, and Aragorn gaped, unblinkingly, at the scene before him. The only person who was apparently not suffering from extreme shock or discomfort was Legolas, which Shëanon only noticed because he was trying to speak to her.
"Are you hurt, Shëanon?" he asked calmly, for what she distantly could tell was the second time, and as he sat up he moved to pry her hand away from her head. Shëanon blinked at him. Did he not realize what had just happened? Did he not notice that they had been lying in each other's arms on a fur rug before a roaring fire, and that Aragorn had just walked in on them?
"What," Aragorn began and then stopped. He appeared either to be at a loss for words or to have decided that he didn't want to ask his question after all.
"I hit my head on the bed," Shëanon managed, her voice strained. Aragorn looked at her like she had completely lost her mind.
"I can see that," he said through gritted teeth, and she noticed that his hand had not left his sword. She felt the blood drain from her face, which, she was sure, was an accomplishment in itself considering how violently she had been blushing.
"Aiër," Legolas said again, his fingers now probing beneath her hair, checking, apparently, for some injury. He was completely unperturbed, and Shëanon was convinced that it was actually he who had gone mad. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," she squeaked as his fingers brushed the spot she'd hit, and the high-pitched sound seemed to rouse Aragorn.
"I will be the judge of that," he said sharply, striding quickly across the small chamber and crouching beside her to look at her head. Shëanon saw immediately that his chosen spot was directly between Legolas and herself, but she kept her mouth shut as he found what she was sure was a bump forming on the back of her head.
"This needs ice," Aragorn said with disgust, his hand closing around her arm and hauling her to her feet. Legolas had also risen, and the three of them stood in a circle. Shëanon was flushed with mortification, and Aragorn could not seem to decide between astonishment and fury, while Legolas wore only a concerned frown that was evidently caused by the swelling bump on her head. No one moved.
"I will get her some ice," Legolas said after a moment, and Aragorn scowled.
"I will get her ice," he said coldly, lifting his chin, and then finally Shëanon saw displeasure flit over Legolas's features. He and Aragorn stared at each other, equally wary and angry, it seemed.
"Very well," Legolas conceded. He turned then back to face her, but she could hardly endure his gaze. "Would you like me to wait with you until Aragorn returns?"
"I will take her to get ice," Aragorn snarled, and the sight of his anger almost brought tears to her eyes. The tension between the elf and the man was practically palpable, crackling in the air like the wood in the fire.
"I can find my own ice," she began, but both of them turned to fix her with glares so powerful that it was all she could do not to turn and run.
"I will see you in the morning, aiër," Legolas murmured, but his eyes remained trained on Aragorn. "Rest well."
With that, he strode from the room. Aragorn stared after him, and then finally he turned his attention toward her.
"Come on," he huffed, and she followed him into the hall without hesitation. Legolas was nowhere to be seen, and Shëanon was glad, both because of her embarrassment and the animosity she had just witnessed. Aragorn did not say a word to her after that, not while he led her into the cellar nor when he pressed the damp towel to her head, nor when he walked her back to her chamber. When dawn broke a few hours later, Shëanon had a pounding headache and she had not slept even for a moment.
A/N: Well, there you have it.
First of all I would like to address the fact that it has obviously been quite a while since my last update, and for that I am truly sorry. I won't go into the details, but please know that it is never my intention to be neglectful of my story or my readers. Thank you so so much to those of you who read and review and who have been so patient. You guys are truly amazing and I cannot put into words how wonderful you are. Please forgive me for making you wait; I don't mean to take advantage of your support and I apologize if it seems that you guys haven't been my priority; however I have had a lot going on. A three chapter update I'm sure doesn't make up for it, but I wanted to give you guys as much as I could after making you wait for so long. Hopefully you enjoy it! I would also like to promise you that I will NOT abandon this story. I started this and I will finish it, and I will endeavor to do so in a timely fashion. Again I am very sorry. My situation has changed since the summer, and I will be trying so hard to write as often as I can.
That being said, you may have noticed that this entire chapter was Shea-Legolas dialogue. Please let me know what you think! Their relationship clearly just sort of... Well I don't even know what to say happened in this chapter, but you'll be getting the aftermath soon. Honestly writing the Shea/Legolas scenes is my undoing. I become a psycho when I write scenes like this because I love their dynamic. If you feel like they've been taking severals steps forward and then back, it's because they have haha. This chapter I guess was like a leap though? Hmmmm.
Anyways, I love you guys so much and I am honored that you enjoy my story! I hope it's as much a pleasure to read as it is to write! Thank you again so much and feel free to share your thoughts! 3 xx