| Subject: Reflections |
Author:
Legolas
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Date Posted: 12:15:03 06/08/02 Sat
Strangely pensive that morning, Legolas looked unseeing out of his window, contemplating many things, bith past and present. Between he and Lómódë had developed a kind of unspoken agreement not to speak of her past. He gave her friendship and companionship on the days when her eyes danced with starlight and she drew light and happiness to her like moths to a beacon, and offered her comfort in the ever-increasing times when she was melancholy. He had learnt never to question her by now, and she offered no answers for her changes in mood.
Dutifully, he had reported all that he knew of her to Aragorn, and the king himself had spoken with her. If possible, Lómódë had been even more reticent than usual. To other eyes her carriage in front of him had been self-assured, her answers, while neatly diverting all his questions, polite- almost, but not quite, to the point of being deferential. He didn't think that anybody else would have noticed the way she refused to meet Aragorn's eyes, or the all but refractory untertone that had crept into her voice when asked exactly why she had been in the forest. Predictably, she had given no concrete answers.
That gave Legolas something else to think about. Despite her appearance of respect towards him, she hadn't troubled to invent a story to explain her presence- almost as if she didn't judge the king to be a threat to her.
And when he had taken her arm, he had sensed the tension that resonated throughout her svelte figure. As soon as she'd been dismissed she had retreated to her rooms and remained there for several days, emerging only, a pale wraith, when she had overcome some private torture she chose to reveal to none.
Although lacking any explanation for her behaviour, Aragorn had had no actual evidence to suggest that she had committed an offense against him, so he had had no choice but to allow Legolas to return her palantir to her and tell her she may leave if she wished.
Strangely though, she hadn't left. Why, he wasn't sure, but she had chosen to linger on in the palace. And every day that she had stayed, her hold on him had grown. To Legolas she was a flash of light which remains on the eyelids long after the falme has died. She was the song that lived on in the head, to play and be replayed when all music has ceased. She was the scent which invades the nostrils and the mind, and endures all assaults to cling with a lingering touch. She had accepted his friendship with an almost childlike gratitude, treating him with affection, almost as she might treat a brother. And as such he had tried to keep his love towards her fraternal, rather than risk losing her by revealing his growing, and possibly unwelcome, feelings.
It really was amazing, he reflected, that they managed to find anything to talk about, so long was the list of topics that one or other of them wished to avoid. Somehow though, they did, and they would converse for hours at a time.
Lómódë had begun to teach him Quenya, her natural language. Although the words were not really that different from Sindarin, he often felt awkward as he struggled with the musical words. His impatient teacher laughed often, reverting to teasing him in a language he did not yet fully understand.
Sighing, he shut the window, trying to banish her pervasive presence from his thoughts as he did so. Taking his bow, he headed down to the training grounds. There was to be an archery competition in a few days, and he wanted to win. Attractive Lómódë may be, but that didn't mean he was prepared to be beaten by her in contest.
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