Main Characters: Legolas, Éowyn
Rating: PG
Pairings: N/A
Genre: Drama
Length: Short story
Summary: Legolas is about to find out how quickly the White Lady's emotions change.
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She thinks only the gloomy and desolate nighttime sky of Rohan can see her, but Éowyn, daughter of the Mark, is mistaken. She has left Théodred’s tomb hours before, yet to the Shieldmaiden it seems like mere seconds. Wistful thoughts and accurate realities fight a stalemate battle in her head. Nothing, not the warm tea left in her chambers or the comforting memories of her cousin could cause the hollow feeling that creeps down her spine to cease. She refuses to admit that she is restless. She refuses to admit that she can barely feel the chill in the early March wind.
"Why does the Shieldmaiden walk under the moon by herself?"
Startled, Éowyn turns her head, cursing her swollen red eyes and deaf ears for not alerting her to Legolas Greenleaf’s entrance. Since his initial arrival the Prince of Mirkwood has said very little to her. She wonders why he chose this time, when she supposes it is obvious she wants to be alone.
"It is only you, Master Elf. I thought you might have been someone else," she replies to her intruder. "I felt the need to be by myself."
"You grieve for the lives that no longer be," he says, idly, and steps toward her. He does not pick up on Éowyn’s coldness. "Or do the tears in your eyes mislead my sight?"
She feels a nonexistent blade hit the mark of her emotions. "You speak the truth," she murmurs quietly. "I mourn for all those hurt. Théodred. Selfishly, I cry for the weak. In short, myself."
"You manage power and ability, Shieldmaiden of Rohan. One can see the marks of a warrior on your palms. The people of Rohan admire-"
"Stop," she cries, backing away from him, as the gears in her mind shift backward. Tears are resurfacing as she remembers the regrettable nights, and now she can finally feel the icy breeze. He has confusion in his eyes. "Do not go on. Your words are the echoes of Wormtongue's. Do not try to woo and flatter me with them!"
Legolas bows his head, touching his hand to his heart. He extends his hand toward her. "It was not my intentions to offend you. Forgive my interruption, my lady. I am nothing but a foreign stranger to you."
He turns to leave, and as his first step falls, a rush of loneliness envelops her. Words from a recent past echo in her mind, as Éowyn realizes his intentions may be clean and thoughtful.
"My lord, I beg your pardon." Éowyn sighs inwardly, and studies the Elf. Attempting to smile, she says, "My eyes rain for my own purposes. Principles, which I doubt you, Master-Elf, would understand. You have your answer."
He pivots and is quiet. As the seconds progress this peace provokes her. How dare he remain so collected and calm? she cannot help but think irately. His stillness mocks me. I should have let him walk away.
"How would you understand unattainable emotion, Master-Elf?" she demands, with a mild degree of surliness woven in her voice. She pauses, and even in the foggy night he can see her willing herself desperately not to shed tears. "Your kind has no emotion. Your kind knows nothing of it. Nothing."
He looks towards the stars as if they have the answers. "If you insist so, my lady, although it is not wise to speak so assertively of things you do not understand."
Éowyn is silent, and her mind tells her she is foolish for pushing away the comfort he has to offer. She tells herself that she does not need comfort. She is lost for words, yet still refuses to drop her eyes. "Why are you so patient?"
"I am trying—some may also say failing—to understand the mind of the Shieldmaiden of Rohan."
Éowyn does not show her surprise. "There is a struggle in my head. I cannot even translate what I think."
"Is it a lover or have you been standing the night too long, my lady?" He says it as a statement, not a question.
She glares at him, hating and admiring his integrity. She wonders if she is that transparent. She opens her mouth to speak; she means to come up with a string of sentences in defense. "A lover who does not return the feeling," she replies instead, her emotions taking the best of her.
The Prince merely nods his head. "Aragorn’s heart is held by a maiden headed for our haven. The bond they share will not be broken till she sails. Do not torture yourself over the inevitable."
"How can you see such things?" she mutters with slight exasperation.
"Elves have excellent vision." A small smile appears on the Elf’s face. "Be at peace, Éowyn," he says quietly. "Navaer."
She nods, he leaves, and they say no more.