Aiër Chapter 15 Part 2
The next day was much like the one before, except that Shëanon was even more frustrated and anxious. She rode between Aragorn and Gimli again, stopping at dusk and setting up for the night, and still Legolas was nowhere to be seen. She was truly perturbed, sure that he was either avoiding her or Aragorn or, even worse, that Aragorn had sent him to do something dangerous. She didn't know which was more likely, though she could not imagine why it would be kept secret from her if Legolas had had to leave for some reason. As the stars began to come out overhead, she became ever more certain that his absence had something to do with what had happened in Edoras. Had he and Aragorn simply been acting civil the following morning at breakfast while truly harboring further animosity towards each other? That didn't seem like something they would do. She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking Gimli where he'd gone, for she knew that her voice would betray her feelings to him and the notion embarrassed her profoundly. Instead she picked at her food at dinner and then busied herself as much as she could with any task she could think to do.
How ironic that Legolas was gone when only the morning before she had thought to herself that she wanted to hide from him all the way to Helm's Deep. She rather regretted the sentiment as she helped some of the women collect the large pots that had been sent around with stew for supper. Looking down at the food inside, she hesitated.
"One of my companions has not yet eaten," she murmured in the common tongue to the old lady who was washing out the cauldrons. Her face was weathered by hardship but was not unkind, and she turned her murky eyes towards Shëanon's face. "May I save this for him?"
Her face reddened as the woman looked her over.
"You mean that other Elf?" the lady eventually asked. Shëanon realized distantly that she had not even learned the woman's name. Reluctantly, she nodded.
"Save it for him then, if he will deign to eat it."
Shëanon gave a quiet but sincere thanks and turned to bring the pot back to its original place over the fire that Aragorn had kindled earlier in the evening; neither he nor Gimli said anything as she replaced it and left again. Finally, late at night when hardly any of the Rohirrim were still up and she could find nothing else to help with, she decided to lie down and at least pretend to go to sleep. Aragorn was beside her and seemed as restless as she, smoking his pipe and gazing into the grass for many hours, but Shëanon grew so absorbed in her own thoughts that she did not even notice when he finally stowed his things and hefted his blanket over his shoulders. In her mind's eye, she was in Moria again, and Legolas was holding her. Her thoughts began to wander…
The fire was burning low, dim flames flickering over the glowing embers, when Shëanon realized that she was no longer the only one awake. Sensing that someone was moving around behind her, she opened her eyes and rolled over to find Legolas kneeling on the ground, rummaging through his pack in the semi-darkness. A thrill—Surprise? Anxiousness? Pleasure?—ran through her. She watched him for a moment in silence, but he must have felt her gaze, for he glanced at her as he went to rise.
"You should not be awake, aiër," he quietly admonished. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Go back to sleep."
With that he turned and walked away, though she saw him sit before the dying fire. Shëanon blinked, disconcerted by his sudden reappearance and yet somehow unsurprised. For one brief moment she considered doing as she'd been told, but she knew that it would have been futile anyways. Quietly she stood, her blanket still wrapped securely around her shoulders to protect from the cold wind, and crept over to where Legolas sat gazing at the burning cinders. There were strange emotions swirling turbulently inside her: relief, for one, just to be able to look at him and perhaps be near him, and a bizarre comfort, for in truth she had begun to feel rather strange without his presence beside her all day after so long in his company. But there was also worry, and uncertainty, and timidity.
She stood watching the low light flicker harshly on his profile, his back straight and his shoulders broad.
"I saved you some dinner," she whispered hesitantly, when he did not acknowledge her standing beside him. She wondered again if he was angry, but if he was his impassive face made it difficult for her to tell, especially in the dimness.
Legolas glanced up at her.
"It's in the pot," she murmured, anxious. "I tried to keep it hot but it looks like the fire has died, so I don't know if... That is, if you're even hungry. I wasn't sure if you'd just have lembas instead, or if you were even going to be here, and the stew is very simple, but..."
As she rambled she watched him move towards the food, setting aside the lid of the pot and stirring the contents a bit. Some steam rose from within, and Legolas ladled the stew into one of the wooden bowls stacked nearby.
"It is still hot," he assured her. "I thank you, aiër. I am indeed hungry."
In silence he began to eat, and, unsure what to do, Shëanon sank to her knees beside him on the damp grass and tried to poke some life back into the flames with a long stick. His quiet was discomfiting. She had barely seen him for two days, and the last time they had been alone together, she had thought... Well, she'd thought he was going to kiss her. Perhaps he could tell what she'd thought and had been avoiding her for that reason, Shëanon suddenly realized with a flush of embarrassment. She was just about to abandon her attempt at reviving the fire and leave him, when Legolas spoke.
"I apologize for waking you."
Shëanon glanced over her shoulder at him, blushing still with what she had been thinking.
"You didn't," she said softly. "I was already awake."
"Why is that?" he asked lightly. He sounded like he already knew.
Biting her lip, she turned to him.
"Where have you been?" she asked instead of answering. "You disappeared for two days." She tried to keep her voice calm and her tone easy, but there was a rather anxious undercurrent that she could not quite hide. The sound of it made her grimace, and Legolas set aside his empty bowl, his gaze boring into her.
"I have been going ahead to scout," he said simply.
"You were scouting last night?"
Legolas smiled at her.
"You sound concerned," he pointed out with a quirk of his brow, and Shëanon looked back into the smoldering wood chips and piles of ash.
"I just wondered where you were," she whispered.
Legolas's gaze was too keen for her comfort as he looked her over. He tilted his head. "This journey is dangerous, aiër."
Did he think she hadn't known that already? Shëanon frowned. Obviously it was a dangerous journey. There were countless women, children, elderly, and sick people; they outnumbered the warriors by a large margin. That wasn't what bothered her, though. For some reason she felt that he was lying to her. He had been scouting for two days straight, without even breaking to confer with Aragorn? She didn't believe him. Her frowned deepened, and she looked down at her hands.
"Well, the Rohirrim are fortunate," she murmured, "to have your vigilance."
She dropped the stick, feeling foolish, and would have stood if Legolas did not suddenly sigh.
"I have had much on my mind, Shëanon," he admitted in a low voice. "I have been keeping watch, but I have also done much thinking these past few days."
She stared at him, wondering distantly how he always managed to look at her so directly that she shook. Much on his mind. For a moment she didn't know what to say. He sounded worried—certainly there was much to be worried about—but she wasn't sure if she should (or could) ask him to elaborate. It was different from asking about his thoughts regarding their mission; his tone of voice made it clear that whatever was bothering him was of a more personal nature.
"Thinking?" she repeated.
"Yes."
His voice sounded so honest and open, and yet he offered no further information. Shëanon was intrigued. She was stricken by how badly she wanted to hear his thoughts, to learn what concerns occupied his mind, but she was wary of asking. He was her superior, a prince. Would she have been overstepping? Two days ago, on the rug before the fire, she would have asked. After his abrupt absence, however, she wasn't sure where they stood.
"Oh."
"Are you having trouble sleeping again, aiër?"
It was Shëanon's turn to sigh. Was he changing the subject on purpose? She glanced at him again, meeting his eyes, which had remained trained on her face, and bit her lip. She nodded.
"What has been keeping you awake?" he asked while she fiddled with her blanket. Unlike her torn leggings and tunics, it was as soft and whole as it had been on their first night outside Rivendell.
She hesitated.
"If I tell you," she asked cautiously, "will you tell me what's been on your mind?"
The words hung in the quiet air for a moment, and she watched his eyebrows rise.
"Are you bargaining with me?" he almost smirked, the gleam in his eyes catching her off guard. His pleasant reaction was like a soothing breeze, and she might have grinned, but the moment felt too heavy, his gaze too intense.
"No," she replied honestly. "I will answer your question whether or not you wish to tell me, but I just thought I'd ask…"
Legolas leaned forward, apparently considering that; his contemplative expression sent tingles of anticipation down her back. Then his face became serious again, the corners of his mouth turning down as he beheld her.
"The subjects of my concerns are of no matter to you, aiër," he said soberly.
Shëanon bit her lip. Was that a no, then?
"And my worries are of no consequence to you, either, and yet you still had me speak of them," she reasoned, referring to the night in Edoras but not wanting to speak more specifically than that. "And I told you."
He stared at her, but for once she did not fidget or avert her gaze. She was too fascinated by the way he was looking at her; she could almost see the thoughts playing across his eyes—almost, but not quite—and she wanted to take in every tiny change of his expression. A few heartbeats passed during which they did not speak, until Legolas at last propped his elbows on his knees and she saw the resolve of decision settle upon his features.
"Very well, aiër, I will share my thoughts with you, but I will up your terms."
"What?" Shëanon blinked. "I said I wasn't trying to bargain."
Legolas shrugged. "Perhaps not, but I am."
He watched her calmly as she turned his words over in her mind, wary for some reason but unsure why.
"Alright," she murmured hesitantly, still trying to understand exactly where he intended to go with the exchange. Was he kidding with her? She couldn't tell. "What do you want?"
At her words, he smiled. It wasn't at all self-satisfied or mischievous, as she suddenly realized she had expected; it was gentle, as though he could tell that she'd been anxious about what he might propose.
"I will tell you whatever you wish to know if you will try to get some sleep after," he said.
"Only if you will lie with me when I do."
Shëanon had never seen Legolas shocked before; at least, she had never shocked him herself, or he had simply never let it show on his face. There was no denying, however, the effect that her words had had on him. He was undeniably taken aback, but Shëanon was even more stunned than he was. She had no idea where such boldness had come from, the words seeming to fall past her lips of their own accord, but they were not brashly or hastily spoken. Instead, her voice had been quiet and soft, and she almost clapped her hand to her mouth as she realized what she had said. Her face began to burn; she had to look away from him, instead gazing in mortification at where her knuckles were white from gripping her blanket so tightly.
"Certainly I will," Legolas said after a moment, "if that is your wish."
Could she have done anything more foolish? Shëanon balked at the notion of lying with him, for Aragorn and Gimli and all the Rohirrim to see, and she couldn't bear to think what Legolas must have been thinking. Still, he had not refused. He had not even protested at all, and that fact seemed to tug at something deep in her stomach. She hesitantly peeked up at him and found that his eyes were roving over her face. Her throat constricting as she tried to swallow, she nodded.
"Very well," he repeated with a small smile that did not reach his eyes, which indeed appeared dark and fathomless. "You first, then. I believe I already know the answer, but I will ask you again nonetheless. What keeps you awake this evening, aiër?"
"If you know the answer, then why bother asking?"
He quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Indulge me," he murmured.
Another gust of cold wind swept through the camp as she opened her mouth to answer.
"I keep having… this dream… over and over again. I do not care to relive it again tonight." The words felt awkward as she spoke them, but she ignored her discomfort as she cast a sidelong glance at her companion.
"You mean a vision." It was not a question.
"Yes," she murmured as she leaned forward to wrap her arms around her bent knees and rest her cheek upon them.
"What is this vision that troubles you so?"
With a shrug, Shëanon explained the images—the battle and the explosion and the death—just as she had to Aragorn the night before. Like the ranger, Legolas did not reply right away.
"You believe this battle will take place at Helm's Deep," he said at last.
"Yes, I think so," she confirmed quietly. "But I cannot be sure. And if I am right, I do not know what meaning to take from it, or what course of action to pursue."
The elf frowned sympathetically, the crease between his eyebrows reappearing as he seemed to consider what she'd said. Then Shëanon felt a light pressure against her back, warmth spreading over her skin from where he laid his hand between her shoulder blades. She should not have been able to feel the heat through her clothes and her cloak and the fabric of the blanket, but she could. It was like a flame, scalding her, and she shivered.
"Perhaps you will find more clarity in the days to come," he said calmly.
Shëanon shivered again.
"I think it must be important," she confessed to him anxiously, ignoring the awareness of him that she felt, "otherwise I would not keep seeing it."
"The ways of the Valar often seem strange to us, but they will make their meaning clear if it is so important. Worry not," Legolas replied solemnly. His hand slid to her shoulder instead, and she shivered once more. This time, however, he seemed to notice, for he frowned again when she trembled. His grip on her shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. "Remember that you are not alone, Shëanon."
Impossibly, his words seemed to touch her in the same way that his hand did, landing on her body, warm and solid and affecting her below the surface of her skin. Shëanon had never before felt as she did just then; she almost wanted to ask about the night on the rug, to inquire what he had been thinking and find out if it had meant to him what it had to her. But the words would not come, and the way he looked at her distracted her. She could see such emotion in his eyes but she could not discern what it was. She cleared her throat and sat up straight, feeling his hand sliding from her body.
"Your turn," she whispered to him, noting the flicker of shadow across his face and the way his expression changed. He sighed and she got goosebumps; the sound was weary in a way he had never before seemed to her.
"My worries are tedious and futile, aiër," he told her monotonously. "Are you sure you wish to hear them?"
Tedious? Shëanon felt a surge of something strange inside of her. It was almost anger, but it was not directed at him. All she knew was that no thoughts of his could ever seem tedious to her, and she wanted to say so. Instead she looked at him more directly, meeting his gaze with more confidence than was usual for her—his words making her bold.
"Yes," she whispered.
For one more moment he continued to look at her, and then he turned to gaze out at the stars. He looked very fair to her then, with the starlight and the firelight on his skin and the cold wind stirring his hair, and her heart fluttered in anticipation of what he was about to say.
"I went to Imladris as a messenger, aiër, and as a representative of my father and my people. My duty was to relay what had transpired in Mirkwood and to hear what Lord Elrond had to say. After the council, I was to return to my homeland," his eyes flickered briefly over to her. "Obviously, I did not do so. I do not regret my choice to join the company, nor do I doubt my father's support of my decision, but we set out on a journey to Mount Doom—to destroy the One Ring—and now instead we go to battle among the race of Men."
His words, though quiet, resonated in her mind. Shëanon frowned as she listened to him speak, not quite understanding the direction of his thoughts.
"You do not want to go to Helm's Deep?" she asked carefully, still curiously looking over his profile.
Legolas glanced over at her again.
"Do not misunderstand me, Shëanon," he said gently. "I would not forsake these people who are so desperately in need of help, nor would I abandon you or Aragorn or Gimli. I am steadfast in this. I only worry over the fate of my own people. War comes to Rohan, but I fear that the enemy will march also upon the borders of the Woodland Realm. As prince and captain and the son of my father, I should be there to defend our borders. I should be there to protect and lead my people."
His words became harsher and harsher until at last his voice was bitter and hard—it was not exactly in his tone, but in the way that he clearly had to force the controlled calmness with which he spoke. Shëanon hardly knew what to say to him. She sat in silence for a few heartbeats, shoulder to shoulder with him, as she mulled it all over in her head.
"You truly think the Woodland Realm will be attacked soon?" she asked finally. For some reason, despite all Legolas had already told her about the darkness that plagued the forest, she had never really considered a full-fledged siege on the wood elves. Perhaps it was due to the isolation and safety of her own home among the Eldar, but she had always felt that her people were impervious to the outside world. Clearly, however, the darkness that Legolas had spoken of in Lothlórien was a more immediate concern than she had initially guessed.
"While Sauron's forces have been amassing in Mordor, Dol Guldur grows stronger as well—a blackness that no light can quell. I told you once that the south is overrun; it will not be long now before a siege is made to take the rest of the forest."
Shëanon frowned at him.
"I would hardly consider this tedious," she said quietly.
"Fruitless, then, because I can do nothing whether I worry or not," Legolas answered. "I know not how long we will tarry now, nor where our path will take us, but I know that I will not soon return to my people. I could not go back even if I wanted to. I suffered no guilt when we were aiding Frodo, for to destroy the Ring and defeat Sauron would have been helping my people and all of Middle-earth. Rescuing Merry and Pippin, too, was a different matter, for they were our companions and we could not have given them up. Now, however, as determined as I am to do all that I can for the Rohirrim and for Aragorn, I cannot deny that I fear my duty is elsewhere."
"Gandalf would not have had you stay with us if he felt that the need of your people was greater than the need of the Rohirrim," she said at once.
Legolas smiled wanly at her.
"Perhaps not," he agreed, "but I am not a Man, nor am I the prince of Rohan."
To this, she had nothing to say. The fire finally flickered and died before them as his words hung in the stillness. Shëanon's mind raced as she processed all that he had told her. Somehow, despite always having known that he was a prince, despite always having taken his title into consideration, she had never really thought on the implications. He had always seemed so confident and noble and sure of himself that she had never imagined that he might feel burdened by his responsibilities. He had an entire realm that looked to him; she could not imagine how that felt and she certainly did not know what advice she could possibly offer.
"Aiër, these are but vain misgivings. My loyalty lies with Aragorn and Mithrandir and our company's purpose, whatever that may be," he murmured. "If that is wrong of me then so be it, for I do not think I have a choice in the matter."
Shëanon shook her head.
"Your loyalty lies with your people, otherwise you would not be troubled in such a way," she said softly. "You keep telling me to trust the Valar—to trust Ilúvatar. Perhaps it would help you to do the same."
Legolas said nothing for a moment, instead watching her intently.
"Perhaps," he agreed at last, and she bowed her head.
"What does Aragorn think about your… 'misgivings'?" Shëanon asked, partly because she wanted to know his opinion and partly because she wanted to fill the silence.
"I have not spoken to him about them."
Shëanon felt her surprise showing on her face.
"Have you… spoken to Gimli?" she dared ask, and to her consternation, Legolas grinned softly.
"I have spoken to no one but you," he said simply, regarding her in a very strange way. She had the impression that he was waiting to see how she would react to that news, and she bit her lip, considering.
"I suppose I am the only one presumptuous enough to ask, then," she breathed.
Hi eyes glinted.
"I suppose so," he agreed, still with that strange expression. It brought heat to her cheeks. "I apologize for disappearing on you," he murmured suddenly, after his gaze had swept over her from head to toe. His tone of voice changed, his expression taking on a new kind of thoughtfulness—a new seriousness that made her very nervous. "It was wrong of me."
"I wouldn't say that," Shëanon frowned. "It's not like…" Her voice trailed off as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken, and she didn't have the courage to finish the sentence. She cleared her throat.
"My absence caused you distress," he pressed, leaning closer to her. "After our last conversation… Forgive me. It was not my intention to worry you, my lady."
His words incited a panic and anxiousness in her that would have caused her to look away if it had not been for the way he had addressed her.
"Lady?" she asked in surprise, hearing the apprehension in her own voice.
"Yes."
"You never call me that," Shëanon pointed out. Again she fidgeted with her blanket.
"I stopped addressing you in that way because you asked me to," he reminded her calmly. "But you are a lady, Shëanon, and I thought that perhaps I should remind you of it."
She remembered anxiously telling him that she wasn't truly an elven lady, and blushingly she wondered if he was alluding to that conversation. It certainly seemed likely, as he had already brought it up.
"I prefer 'aiër,'" she told him after a moment of hesitation.
"I noticed," he said thoughtfully. "That surprises me, for you do not generally enjoy being reminded of your youth."
She realized that he was right, and her cheeks turned scarlet. For all her protestations that she wasn't a child, she had never once said a word about the way he called her "little one" on a daily basis. She knew why she allowed it; it made her feel special and endeared to him, that he would call her that.
"I usually tell myself that it's a reference to my height rather than my age," she said instead in a tone that she hoped did not convey the depth of her feeling. "It's slightly less insulting that way," she quipped.
Legolas smiled.
"Yes, you are rather short," he remarked, making a point of looking her over.
Shëanon scoffed and nudged him with her shoulder in the same manner she might have used with Aragorn, and Legolas glanced at her in surprise.
"The Dúnadan has had a poor influence on you," he grinned.
Shëanon blushed.
"I would take more offense to that if I didn't know that he's your best friend."
"My best friend?" Legolas asked skeptically, leaning back and tilting his head. "Are you sure about that?"
Taken aback, she glanced over at where Aragorn lay sleeping and realized, with a start, that she actually wasn't so sure. She knew virtually nothing about the elf's personal life. For all she knew, he had much closer friends in the Woodland Realm. In fact, this seemed likely. Certainly there were many ellyn from his homeland that he would have known for much longer—other captains in the guard, perhaps. The notion left her disconcerted, for he and Aragorn seemed so close to her…
"I am teasing you, Shëanon," he murmured close to her ear, and she turned to see that he had followed her gaze. "You are quite right. That mangy ranger is indeed one of my closest and most trusted companions. There is much love for him in my heart."
Shëanon suddenly wished to know what exactly he had for her in his heart, but she merely glanced down at her lap. A long pause followed and she felt a sudden surge of panic, fearing that he was about to hold her to their bargain and thus lie with her on the cold ground, but instead he lifted his hand and brought it close to her shoulder. She watched in silence as his fingers brushed over her blanket, near her collarbone.
"This is something of a habit of yours?" Legolas asked quietly, drawing his hand back. Shëanon watched the motion with displeasure.
"What?"
He nodded at her huddled up form.
"The blanket."
She glanced down at it, wound tightly around her body.
"You were bundled up like this on the first night of our journey," Legolas observed. His gaze brought heat to her face as he watched her reaction. "Do you remember?"
She did. It had gotten tangled around her legs, and she'd been embarrassed when Legolas had helped her stand.
"Yes."
"Even in your sleep you do it," he told her. "You almost knocked me out of bed in Lothlórien trying to tug it around yourself."
That was the first time either of them had ever brought up their sleeping arrangement so directly, and Shëanon was startled by the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice—so quiet and private and satisfied, like he was enjoying some great secret and found it to his liking.
"Did I?" she asked, feeling tingly all the way down her spine. Her voice sounded higher than usual.
"Yes," he grinned. "You were like a little burrowing animal."
Shëanon wrinkled her nose. "A burrowing animal? As in a rodent?" she asked in disbelief, and Legolas grinned more broadly at her indignant tone.
"Or perhaps a snail," he murmured, and even though she could tell by the light in his eyes that he had said it on purpose, she still could not help but feel wounded. Had he picked the ugliest creature possible just to upset her?
"A snail," she repeated, scowling. Legolas raised his eyebrows again.
"Yes," he confirmed, and then he smiled once more as she cast him a mutinous look.
"In behavior only, aiër," he said quietly, his warm gaze heating her all the way down to her toes. Something about the way he was looking at her made her feel like he could tell exactly what she was thinking, and she laughed nervously.
"I do not act like a snail," she protested. She pulled her blanket closer around her shoulders in spite of herself. His eyes flickered down at her hands as she did so, his gaze becoming almost predatory, and she sat frozen as Legolas leaned closer.
"You think not?" he asked lowly. "I disagree. You wear your little shell like armor, and each time I think I've gotten you to come out, your retreat is more frustrating than the one before."
Shëanon gaped at him, blushing all the way to her hairline. What in Arda…? Desperately she cast about for something to say, but he had caught her so off guard that she was practically speechless.
"You're not talking about my blanket anymore, are you?" she managed at last.
"No."
She trembled.
"Then you should speak more plainly." Her voice was barely a whisper; her words slipped out before she had even thought them through, but thinking had become impossible as she beheld the intensity of the elf's expression.
"Plainly?" he asked dangerously, and Shëanon almost jumped out of her skin as he leaned so close that their bodies pressed together. He whispered in her ear.
"Plainly, I think you are frightened of me, aiër."
Her heart was hammering in her chest. His words sent tremors down her back and his breath brushed against her neck in a way that stopped the air in her lungs. She didn't dare move, and he stayed still as well, not speaking again until it was clear that she would neither confirm nor deny what he'd said.
"Are you?" he asked, but again she said not a word. Instead she turned to him, and because of his proximity to her the action brought their faces impossibly close, so that she was breathing his breath, their noses only an inch apart, their foreheads practically touching. Even so close, she could discern his features—the furrow of his brow and the darkness of his eyes. She was paralyzed.
He brought his hand up; she thought she flinched as she felt his fingertips against the side of her neck. His thumb brushed against her jaw. Everything felt hot, but she could not tell if his touch was burning her or if she was burning for his touch. Perhaps it was both, but he did not seem to notice. He was looking at her lips. Her stomach plummeted as she realized this. Was he going to kiss her? By the Valar, what was happening? She didn't know what to do.
"Shëanon—"
"Yes," she squeaked, but she still could not move. She saw him frown.
"Yes?" he asked in confusion, and she thought she might die just from being so close to him.
"Yes, you frighten me," she said in a horrible, paralyzed panic. "You are frightening me right now."
The effect of her words was not instantaneous; it seemed to take a moment for Legolas to realize what she'd said. He drew away from her slowly, his hand still hovering near her face, and the severity of his regard truly did frighten her in the most profound, raw way possible. He must have seen it in her eyes, for he abruptly straightened, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tensing; every aspect of his body language became rigid and distant. In many ways it reminded her of the way he had glared at Éomer—when he'd stepped in front of her so protectively—but beneath the coldness his eyes lacked the terrible hostility she'd seen that day. Instead they were soft and remorseful even as they pierced her like a dagger through her heart, and the impulse to throw herself into his arms was suddenly so powerful that she actually felt her limbs tremble.
"Forgive me," Legolas said stiffly. He was frustrated; she could tell. With whom? With her? With himself? She wasn't sure, but her heart was throbbing.
"No," she said fiercely, catching his wrist as he pulled his hand away from her cheek. This was a mistake, for once she'd gotten hold of his arm, she wasn't sure what she'd meant to do with it. Her fingers released him almost at once, and both of them glanced down in surprise. Shëanon flushed.
"I mean, I am the one in need of forgiveness," she said tremulously. "Forgive me, please."
"For what, aiër?" he asked softly.
She shook her head, at a loss for words, and ran a shaky hand through her hair. She wanted to hide from him, to pull her blanket over herself and sink into the earth.
"I don't know," she stammered. Breathlessly she scrubbed her hands over her red face, her burning neck. Her voice sounded dreadfully small. "I don't know. For being a coward."
There was a silence. She couldn't look at him.
"You are not a coward, young one," he said finally. "I apologize for my behavior."
Shëanon did not want him to apologize for anything he had done or said that night. In fact, she felt rather dismayed to think that he regretted any of it. Or perhaps she was confused and had misunderstood everything or—
"There are a few hours left before dawn. You should try to sleep," he said gently.
She felt a sharp pang as she remembered their agreement.
"We made a bargain," she whispered uncertainly, looking into his face. It was almost back to normal; the dangerousness and the severity were mostly gone, but some of the intensity lingered. She watched it flash across his features as she spoke.
"I will not hold you to it," he murmured, "though it is still my wish that you sleep." The disappointment that flooded her chest stunned her considering how their deal had initially caused her such distress, but his next words swept it away in an instant. "Tell me then—all bargains aside—what would you have me do, aiër?"
Shëanon's heart began to pound again as she understood what he was asking. She tried to read his face, to gauge his thoughts and understand what he wanted her to say, but she could decipher nothing. She took a shuddering breath.
"Come with me," she breathed, her fingers curled painfully into fists against her ribs. Their gazes locked and held for a moment longer, both of them weighing the situation, and then Legolas gracefully stood and held out his hand. Every line of his face was solemn as he helped her to her feet, but it was too late for Shëanon to change her mind. The blanket had apparently slipped from around her at some point during the jarring exchange, and it fell to the ground as she rose. Legolas picked it up before she had the chance to, tucking it under one arm while still keeping hold of her hand. They picked their way around the cold ashes of the extinguished fire, and a thrill coursed through Shëanon's nerves as she realized that he had twined his fingers through hers.
They approached the place where she had lain before, next to Aragorn and not far from Gimli, and she hesitated, glancing up at Legolas to see what he would do, but he had only paused to snatch up his pack. His face remained entirely impassive, and if it weren't for the little squeeze he gave her hand she might have thought that her trepidation had gone unnoticed. Rather than joining their companions, however, Legolas led her past them and towards the edge of camp. Shëanon was more glad to be an Elf in that moment than any other time in her entire life, for Aragorn was a very light sleeper and she was certain that she and Legolas were the only two beings in a fifty mile radius who could have walked past without waking him. The idea of rousing the ranger just then made her want to die.
Steady in his steps, Legolas led her several paces away and behind a large stack of barrels and crates—supplies that had been unloaded earlier in the evening when the caravan had stopped to make camp. The spot was still not exactly secluded, but it certainly provided some privacy from the many others sleeping not very far away; she was so relieved and grateful that he had understood what she'd wanted that some of her nerves left her and she managed to shrug away some of the tension in her muscles.
Legolas glanced down at her, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them before, and laid his blanket over the grass. The two of them lay down—Shëanon's movements much more halting than his—and then to her surprise he covered her with her blanket.
"I will wake you if you begin to stir," he assured her, looking down into her face. With the stars like a halo behind him, his hair silver and his eyes black in the night, he looked both magnificent and wicked, the majesty and nobility of his bearing influenced by the darkness. For that reason it was a surprise to realize how comfortable she felt. Then he reclined beside her, lightly brushing his hand across her arm, and Lothlórien came flooding back to her so that she couldn't believe she had been so foolishly nervous with him again. Her regret was so powerful that she wondered if he could feel it radiating off of her in waves.
"Legolas?" she whispered, for his eyes had been skyward and his thoughts seemed far away. He looked her way, and even though their faces were so very close again, she didn't feel any panic. Only remorse.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I think you were right," she said tremulously, adjusting her blanket so that it covered her neck.
His eyebrows drew together, his expectant expression quickly becoming one of bemusement.
"About what?" he asked in his low, fair voice.
Shëanon squeezed her eyes closed.
"I think I am a snail," she confessed miserably, knowing that it was true, that even though she had claimed so many times to trust him, she had withdrawn from him again and again.
Legolas raised his eyebrows at her for the briefest moment. Then, to her astonishment, he laughed.
"If that is true," he murmured, his eyes dancing with mirth as he shook his head, "then you are surely the fairest snail in all of Arda."
"I am serious, Legolas," she protested, though she blushed with pleasure to hear him say such a thing, even as strange a sentiment as it surely was, and her voice did not sound nearly as fierce as it very well could have. If anything, she sounded contrite. Defeated. And Legolas grew solemn once more.
"I know you are." He smoothed down her blanket where it had bunched near her shoulder, his gaze never once leaving her face. "But I am patient, and you are worth the wait."
Shëanon blinked at him. "The wait?" she repeated uncertainly, fascinated when the corner of his mouth turned up.
"Shall I keep up the metaphor?" he whispered, smirking. "I mean that I will wait for you to come out of your shell."
The playfulness of his tone was belied by the intensity of his eyes and Shëanon felt a strange mixture of pleasure and anxiety course through her veins. She looked up at him, wondering over the implications of what he'd said, and he suddenly laid his hand against the small of her back to bring her more closely against him.
"I know not what you fear," he swore, "but I will not hurt you, Shëanon."
She believed him. In spite of everything, she did. In answer she simply leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, trying and failing to hide the way her breath left her in an unsteady, shuddering manner. But Legolas did not even need to speak to her for her to feel the effects of his presence; just as in Moria and Lothlórien she felt that undeniable calm stealing over her, the sense of warmth and safety washing through her blood like the strongest draught, and the last conscious thought she had before she fell fast asleep was that Legolas still had his arm around her.