Building Ithilien [Legolas] LOTR

Until Now

An exquisite mixture of anger and guilt tinged both Miredhel and Legolas' sentiments as they unflinchingly gazed at one another. Neither knew how to react. Finally, the lady spoke first.

She heard herself whisper in a voice not quite her own, "You are leaving?" It was more of a statement than a question, for she knew now with unparalleled certainty that he was indeed leaving.

He answered anyway, nodding miserably. "Miredhel, I was going to tell you myself..."

"When?" she interrupted flatly. "Tomorrow? As you rode away?" She shook her head. "I am fortunate to have a brother that informs me of these minor details."

"I do not see why you would be so affected by my leaving. Since we are in your words, 'merely friends,'" he said plainly.

"You mean much more than any friend, Legolas."

"That is not what you would have you brother believe," he said.

"I am sorry that my words pained you. 'Twas not my intent."

"Regardless of your intent," Legolas broke in, "why not simply speak the truth?"

"How dare..." Miredhel exclaimed, but then stopped, squeezing her fingers into a fist until she could feel her nails digging into her palm. She took a deep breath and tore her eyes away from him, toward the blue-fringed treetops. Legolas crossed his arms in front of his chest, awaiting her reply. She exhaled slowly and then lowered her eyes to his visage, her lips drawing into a thin line.

"I hardly think that you are the one, dear prince, to extol the virtue of speaking the truth. Her even tone turned acidic, and her eyes challenged him to speak—to apologize or vindicate himself. Let him try.

"I never lied to you," he said carefully. He returned her fiery gaze with one so cool, so calm and expressionless, like a woodland lake first kissed by winter's frost.

Miredhel shivered despite herself, and though she would not look away, her pride was far too great for that, her anger sagged in the face of his melancholy. "But you," her voice wavered, "you were not honest with me."

"No," he agreed. "I should have told you."

"Why did you not?" she asked simply.

Why indeed did he not tell her? What did he fear in the revelation of the truth? Legolas knew there were far too many subjects he would rather not speak of, too many topics he did not care to address. His gaze faltered, and for the first time, his proud, youthful facade slipped, and he seemed to Miredhel as one who had seen too much of death and toil; her question drained his vitality from him, as blood that seeps from a wound, and he felt the full measure of his long years, his relationship with his father, the war, and the calling of the sea pressing upon him as he pondered his response. The sea! Legolas closed his eyes, and he could hear the gulls again. The gulls, their plaintive screams amidst the pulling crash of waves, and he wondered that the very maiden who had helped him to forget could also force him to remember them. He sighed and turned away from her. She should not bear witness to his pain, to his weakness.