Disclaimer: I do not own any part of LOTR.

Warning: A bit of what might be considered mushy stuff ahead, people. If you aren't happy with it then I'm sorry, but romance (or at least non-melodramatic romance, for all of you who have read my gothic fantasy L'epoux cadavre -coughshamelessplugcough) is not exactly my forte. Rest assured, this is not going to turn into a romance fiction, for reasons seen at the end.

And, yes, more of things hinted in a previous chapter. Ku ku ku.

3007

The sun was already sailing on her evening arc when Beregond at last heard the noise of cloth that moved slowly, and let the worry that he had held for such a great time go from him in a sigh. Elené moved even more slowly than other women when she was thoughtful, a habit that she learned from his mistress, and surely no one in the citadel or in Minas Tirith moved more slowly than the Lady Nienor. He sat up from where he had leaned back against the wall, setting his helmet down upon the ground and doing his best to look as if he had all but forsaken any idea of their meeting this evening, and that he would go back to the barracks and wait another sennight to see her close and hear her words spoken to him, rather than to the one she attended.

The late sun set her brown hair on fire as she stepped into the courtyard, and it traced across the curve of her cheek and her forehead as her head turned and she looked about for him, before her eyes alighted upon him where he sat upon the bench. She smiled in greeting, a soft smile that gently curled her lips as she made her way over to him, her skirts rippling behind her as a wave did in the wake of a boat. How she could do such a marvelous thing he could not reckon; many of the other maids and ladies merely held their skirts out before them when they needed to climb or run.

"Greetings, lady," he said, rising to greet her. She put her hand upon his arm even as he was steadying himself and he sat again, the feel of her flesh warm and burning even through the cloth of his tunic. It was truly strange how he could behave like such a green youth whenever she was near. There had been other girls before Elené, certainly, but never had he felt as if the fever that had nearly killed him as a boy had returned to heat his bones whenever he saw the cold blue of her eyes.

"Please, good Beregond, do not call me such a thing. I am not a lady, but rather a lady's companion, and partly a handmaiden too. If I were the first rather than the last two, it would have taken even longer for me to reach you, for I may go where a lady may not." Elené seated herself decorously at his side, after moving his discarded cloak to lie between the two of them, and the cloth of her dress brushed against his leg above his boot. "Have you been lonely without me at your side, my favorite guard? I am sorry that I did not come at our customary time and caused you to wait, Beregond. Have you it in your heart to forgive my fault?"

"Need you ask? Think of all the times that you have sat in wait yourself for my arrival that would not come because my duty called, and then consider that we have evened our score by a little." He stretched out his legs to relieve himself of the distraction of her skirts, the stone cool under his heated palms and the air soft upon his face, and the scent that she carried with her, the smell of old forgotten rooms and what lay within them. There were streaks of dust upon the swell of her bodice, bright against the dark green cloth, and now that he looked at her clothes rather than her face he could see that there were deeper patches upon the sleeve of her right arm as she brought her hand up to her brow.

Swiftly he brought his mind back to her words, for now she spoke. "What have you done since last we met, and what has happened to you? What is the greatest news amongst the Third Company of the Citadel? Oh! Did you see and speak to the Lord Faramir when he returned to the citadel this morn, after his travels in Ithilien?"

"Not so quickly!" Beregond raised his hands to quell the gush of her words, smiling all the while. "Indeed I did see the Lord Faramir, for I was on duty when he ascended the steps to the great hall to speak with the Steward, and I heard later that there are more and more servants of the Enemy abroad from Mordor; but I did not speak to him, for such as me do not speak at such times to such as he, and certainly not in the presence of his lord father."

"Oh, yes." She frowned at all of that, her brow now lined. "I forgot myself. I may speak freely in front of my mistress, but I do not do so in front of the Lord Denethor, of course not. Well, will you answer my other questions?"

"But of course. In the time since we have parted," he went on, counting on his fingers, "I have moved into new and more spacious barracks, as I am no longer among the lowliest of the guards, if indeed there is such a thing as a lowly Tower Guard. I have been congratulated on having gained my new rooms, and for coming thus far with such success. And the greatest news amongst the Third Company is that some members who shall not be named here were discovered to be gambling and winning at dice."

Elené clapped her hands as she grinned in mischief. "You lead a quiet life indeed, Beregond, and you sound as if you are not greatly pleased by it. Would you prefer to go back to being an ordinary soldier of the plains having never been discovered by the Lord Faramir, if only to taste excitement and adventure once more?"

"No, I thank you; I am quite content to stay in the citadel with beauty in every garden and hall and every courtyard." Too late he realised what he had said, and looked over to his companion quickly to see her reaction. Though she grinned still it was slighter than before and the bridge of her nose between her eyes had wrinkled as she looked at him, as if she would question what it was that he had said. Quickly he went on speaking. "And tell me, what have you done? Has your time been well spent?"

"Indeed!" He listened as she spoke eagerly of journeys to the great library, of the visits that had been paid to her lady by many law-men, and of all the things that she planned to do and to achieve as he asked of each one and of how further Denethor's daughter was to gaining her wishes. Valar forgive him for thinking such a thing, but the Lady Nienor could not know how fortunate she was to have someone who spoke so highly of her, who let their regard for her show so plainly, and such a woman as Elené!

And then there were the things that the lady had chosen to study for that week. "And we have been learning the shared language of the peoples of the Haradrim, for they have a common tongue even as we do, did you know that?"

"The common tongue of the Haradrim? Is it hard to learn such thing?" And there in that small courtyard that had known so many discussions and arguments, his own small sun taught him some of the words of the lands of the far south, guttural sounding words that she assured him meant types of greeting and earth and fire and other things that made up the world, and she gazed up at the sky in wistfulness as she told him that her mind had been drawn by what she had heard of the lush forests that lay in those far of countries, and how unfortunate it was that she would not see them.

"There is still Ithilien," he suggested, but she shook her head.

"If things are as bad as you say, then there will soon be no more merry holidays to ride out upon."

"That is true." He shook his head as he remembered his times outside the city, travelling though lands so beautiful and yet so deadly, constantly looking enemies that had claimed the woods as their own. "For my part, I love the trees and yet I do not love that which they might hide, all unwilling. If a forest is dark, then I would long for it to be light once more."

"So would I, for we are of the race of Men and delight in the sun, while the Elves are happiest in starlight and shadow. Is it not so sad? The only trees I will ever see in any number are the forests of paper in the library. When I was younger, my father would chase me in and out of the shelves, pretending to be a great flapping crow."

Her father. It was rare that she spoke of that man, and perhaps she did so only in front of him. "You miss him still, do you not?"

"I miss who he once was, and what he meant to me. I miss the one who taught me to read, and to write, and to speak in Sindarin. There are times when we pass him in the library, my lady and I, and he looks at me, and I feel nothing." There was the sharpness within the sweetness that so few people saw, but which had first truly caught his attention when they had first met, as much as the becoming blush that had covered her face after she had defended the choices of her mistress. Elené had known her share of failure and disappointment, and it had given her resolve that lent strength to their agreements and their disputes.

But at last he felt the need, for his curiosity had been growing ever greater, to ask, "What befell your sleeve, Elené? Surely that was not the design that it was fashioned with?"

At first Elené did not reply, for all that she opened and closed her mouth as if she wished to do but could not bring herself to say the words. But in the end they came. "The Lady Nienor. She…was out of temper. She was in much pain this day and her hands were stiff, and by mischance she knocked ink over some pieces of parchment that were very valuable to her, and over my arm for I was sitting by her. She was angered and she slammed her hands against the table, and she could not use them for much time for the agony that she felt." She looked away, and her eyes opened and closed rapidly as she gazed into the evening sun. "I stayed to give her comfort, and that is why I am so late to meet you. She is dour and sad. She needed my presence."

The sight of her face as she turned back to look to him was enough to make him turn away his eyes, as his chest grew tight. There was no peace on her face, no contentment, but only thoughtfulness close to dreaming, as if she were no longer with him but back in her lady's chambers, seated by her and giving her, as she said, 'comfort'. For all the times that they had met together and talked together, laughed and argued, had he ever caused such an expression to come to her face?

"Is the lady plagued in such a fashion, then? I have heard that always she is calm and reserved."

"Not always, Beregond, not always. She masters her pain and indignities very well, but there are times, certain rare indeed, when they master her." Elené looked down at her fingers, short and stocky. "Once, when she had upset some papers across the floor, she swept a glass that had held wine I had placed at her side off the table to break on the floor; and then she wept when I cut my hand picking up the remnants and she wept more for she could not help me with my wounds, for she now lacks the skill for delicate work of any kind." Looking up to him again, she went ever onwards. "I should not have told you such a thing, but it is true and it is but a small outburst against such that would have a weaker man or woman wretched and bed-ridden."

"Is it not difficult for you at such times?" He had not known of this. Why had she not told him such things? Why had he never seen any cuts upon her hands, and why had she not shown them to him? Warily he reached over and touched her palm, and she did not pull away but let him see her fingers and the white lines that still ran across two of them. "How do you bear it, when she is so vile tempered?"

She pulled away at that, and she stood up and turned away from him. "She is not. Do not dare to say such a thing! Oh, I should not have told you!" She put her hands to her face and flinched away from his fingers as he hastily stood up and reached out for her shoulder. "I know what the ladies say, for they are spiteful crows and jealous that she does not care to have their service. They say that she is proud and of a foul mood, but she is not! And you, Beregond, even you who are so kind and good, my great friend who loves my lady's brothers so well, how can you say that of their sister?"

Beregond caught her as she turned to push at him and held her by the arms, dimly aware that he had never done such a thing to a woman, treating her as he would a rowdy drunkard, not least because he smarted at being, to her, only a friend. Was this all that their meetings of the past two years had come to; nothing but friendship on her part? "My apologies, Elené, for I did not mean to insult your lady. But what of you? Is it right that you should serve her alone with none to help you when such things happen?" And he felt her hands upon his chest as she tried to push herself away from him, and watched as her frozen eyes melted somewhat.

"But I do not care, Beregond! All of those women think that I am simply grateful for her choice to make me her companion rather than any other, but it is far more than that." Her smile as she looked up at him was painful, perhaps for her as well as for he. "You know what it is that I say, do you not? The Lord Boromir and Faramir raised you up, and yet you love them for more than that, not for what they have done for you but for their own selves, for their goodness and wisdom, and you love them as you would your own brothers, your own father-"

"Forgive me, Elené," he cut in, releasing and drawing his hands to his sides once more, "but I would not speak of such things."

"You would not? But why?" She drew away from him, her smile gone. "Is it not true, then? You have no regard for them save for bringing you to greater renown? I had thought…"

"No, Elené, you mistake me. I do hold the Lords Boromir and Faramir in great honor in my heart, as you hold the Lady Nienor in yours. But I had thought that there would be room for others in your heart as well."

He had not dreamed that he would confess his love for her in such a way. The fever died from him as he saw her confusion, her parted lips so close and yet so far from him, her warm breath upon his chin as she breathed out. "You, Beregond? You think that you would be in my heart above all others?"

"Yes, but I see now that it will never be." He let her go and turned from her, and after two or three heart beats he heard something catch in her throat or her very mouth itself, he did not know which, and then she turned and fled from the courtyard.

Beregond sat down upon the bench once more and, man of one and twenty as he was, had to fight the urge to weep. She would not come back to him. How could he have been so foolish as to say such things to her? And about the one to whom she owed so much, whom she adored. He had ruined their companionship, and without that how could love ever follow?

"Bloody void," he muttered, not trusting himself to blaspheme with any other words. "O bloody, stinking void."

The shadows were growing ever greater as he made his way back, at length, to the barracks, where he had been teased so about his lady love and where now, if anything, he would be the cause of his comrades' jokes for losing her without reaping any benefit of the chase. He doubted that he would even heed their words. What did it matter that they had never kissed, that their only embrace could hardly be seen as such? They would never meet in close quarters again, for her love for her lady was the greatest that she could muster and she would not wish for that adoration to ever be given against her will to another.

Could he choose another, another person that he might wish to share his life with? After he had dreamed, however foolishly, of the children that they might have had – such a foolish thing to think; how should they have raised children, with the threat of the shadow growing ever greater in the sky and in the land. It had been a dream, however beautiful, and now he had awoken and must face harsh reality once more.

He could not even recall the name of the warden on guard duty at the entrance to the barracks, but the guard clearly knew him for he smiled and called out as he approached. "Welcome back, Beregond! What, truant for all the evening? Where have you been, besides with your lady?" He wished that whatever the man had eaten before he had gone on duty would rise up his gullet and choke him.

"None of your concern," was all that he said, as he made to walk past the guard, but a grip was suddenly upon his arm as the man pulled him around and pointed back from where he had just come.

"Clearly you were somewhere, for look! – You left one behind you who follows even now."

Beregond turned, and thought for an instant that he dreamed again; for Elené walked up the street towards him with the last dying strands of Arien's light at her back and the flicker of the newly lit torches bright upon her face and in her eyes, giving her the look of one almost fey, a songstress or a maiden riding into battle and death. But what caught his own eyes the most was her hair; for, tidy and ordered as it had always been, now it was as if she had thrust her hands into the design and worried it as a dog did a bone, and yet had not torn it loose from the bindings. One straggling lock fell down by the side of her face, and it blew gently with her own breath as she marched to and halted in front of him.

"I wish to speak with you further, sir, to make apology for snubbing you earlier this evening." Her voice was thick and throbbing, and he wondered if she had been crying, though there were no traces of tears upon her cheeks.

He let her lead him from the entrance as the guard hooted behind them, calling to Elené to deliver him back soon so that he might sleep and be fresh in the morning. Into the dark shadow of some building thy walked, so dark that he could see only the barest glint upon the surface of her eyes, and for all that she had come to him it was he who touched her first, his hand brushing the cloth of her sleeve, hardly believing that she was here and had come willingly. Her fingers grasped his and lifted them to be buried deep in her hair and touch her warm scalp, and he knew what it was that she wanted, and he knew that he would give it to her.

He meant to ask if she was certain, but the only word that passed his lips as he pulled her close was a faint question. "Why?"

"I wish to know," was her reply as she pulled at his collar and pushed back his helmet to fall from his head and land upon the ground with a clatter. "I am ready. Show me, Beregond."

What has happened? Why has she not come back? Why has she been gone for so long, after returning for such a short time? And when she does return, what will I say, and what will I do? I need her aid, loath as I am to admit it. And I need her to tell me of what she did, and why she did it, for I must know.

My lips are dry for I have pulled off a glove to feel them. They are dry and chapped by the wind that I walked in today. My hands still pain me, but I may feel at my fingertips. I must pick up all that I have spilled when I stood up in my shock, throwing her back

Why should she do such a thing? Did she fear anger on my part for what she has done? I could not be angry at her, for certain I would not, I simply wish to know why. I wish to know why she should march in here after meeting with that guard she seems to like so well, the one called Beregond, and seize my face in her hands, and press her lips to mine.

I have been kissed before, on the cheek and the brow and upon my hand before my burning, but never in such a manner. And by Elené! Elené, my maid, my friend, and my companion in my long days of work, one whom I thought that I knew, and one that I did not know as well as I deemed.

Why? Why did she do it? For what reason should she wish to do it? Why should she wish to touch me in such a way, why should she wish to do such a thing? What was in her thoughts when she did so? And her eyes, oh, her eyes as she looked into mine all the while as her face was pressed so close to mine, her nose against mine, her lips upon my own!

The heat of her skin is still here, for all that the kiss was so quick, so rushed; a quick fumble and then the coolness of the air as she fled.

I will sit and wait for her. I could not leave even if I wished. Where would I go to? I will wait for her to return once more, and then I will ask her why she chose to do such a thing. It will be a reason that I greatly wish to hear and understand.

So many twisted thoughts! Let me think clearly.

I sit by the table as the need for candles grows ever greater. I am still angry, I remember, for I cannot light the candles for myself. I am angry that I could not bear to wield even a small flame, I am angry that my hands hurt, and I am angry that I have done the work that I had hoped I would do this day, for my pain would not let me. I sit and I wait for Elené, for will make all that is wrong right. She has gone to see that guard, the one called Beregond, as she does every sennight, for they are great friends. I do not let myself care if she does so, save that she is free to choose friends where she wills. All I wish is that she returns soon, for otherwise I must hobble to call for one of the ladies I do not care for to light the lamps and the candles, for I wish to do at least some work before I must retire.

As I sit there I think of many things that now seem worthless; trade agreements that Boromir has told me of, customs in law courts long since abandoned, words of the Haradrim of the south that I have learned with Elené. I think of many things, of an argument I might construct and then take apart to make again anew, of whether a translation of an ancient story that I have read is as well put as it might be, of all the parchments that I must sort anew. I think of all the things that I wish to do and to achieve. I want to have reached the glory I swore to myself that I would have, when I was a little girl of six, and I wish to fulfill the oath I made three years later. I will do more in this life than be burned by the flames of the Enemy and survive.

I long for Elené to return.

And here she comes at last, opening the door with swiftness and quick words. "I am sorry for causing you to endure so long a wait, my lady." The set of her mouth is hard, and I wonder if she and her friend have quarreled. My Elené is not often roused, but I know that she can be roused indeed. Perhaps Beregond has made mention of her father? Surely he would not be so great a fool as to do that.

"It is no great matter, Elené." I point to the lamps that remain unlit. "Bring me light, if you please, before I lose the use of my eyes as well as my hands."She bows and moves to do so, but I see that her hands are shaking and that she has trouble striking the tinder and lighting the brand. She does not look away from her work, and as the brand is at last lit the shadows move across her face. She is troubled, and I wonder what it is that I might do to lift her spirits. Perhaps she has no wish to hear or recite further lore this day?"Would you rather," I continue, as I close the book that I have not looked at for the last while, "that we cease the work for this night, and turn our minds to other matters?"

She looks up at that and away from her task as she protests. "Oh, no, Lady Nienor! I would not wish to take you away from your reading. We have taken many days to find all of these books for your study, and there are still some hours until your time of rest. Now that there is light, you might go on long into the night."

"It is not I that I think of, but you," I retort, and her fingers halt in progress to another candle. "You are in ill humor, for my eyes are still useful and have shown me thus. What is it that troubles you, my Elené? You know that you might tell me anything, anything at all, and it would not harm you in my sight?"

My words do not bring her peace. Her fingers hold the brand until it burns all away and she gasps and drops it, and then quickly treads upon it so that no spark shall spread. She holds her fingers; the very hand that she cut a year ago and which I cried over. I do remember now. "We have not had great luck with our hands this day, have we, my lady?"

"We have not indeed." I have never had great luck with my hands, it would seem. I hold them out. "Here. Let me see. Perchance I can ease your pain, as you have eased mine."

And then it begins. Elené turns to me and the light of the few candles shines in her eyes, and her mouth opens and closes and her breath quickens in her breast. Now she looks almost wild, and I worry for her, for perhaps the pain is greater than I thought, and perhaps there is something more than that in my worry, and I rest one hand upon the rest of my chair and push myself up and to my feet.

I would ask her what is wrong, but she steps forward, so swift that I step backwards and would stumble were it not that I keep my hand upon the rest. And then I feel her hands, warm upon my cheeks as they have been warm upon my back and about my waist, a mix between harshness and softness, and strangely damp too. And then her face is close, far too close as she stands upon her toes to reach, and strands of her hair trace across my skin, and her lips brush against mine and she kisses me.

It lasts for a heartbeat, perhaps two, and I look into her eyes and she looks into mine. And then her warmth and her touch and some of the light is gone, for a candle blows out in the wake of her flight and I hear only faintly a whisper of regret, a plea for pardon that she does not believe will be given. I am left in the room with two candles alight and the memory of her upon my cheeks and brow and lips.

Why? Why did she do such a thing? Why should she want such a thing? What does she want of me, what does she wish of me? What can she want of me? And what can I give her, wounded and broken thing that I am?

I wait in the dark as the last of the candles goes out once more. I know that if she returns, when she returns, something will have changed between us. And what shall I do then. She is my dearest friend, closer only less than my brothers. She is part of what I am.

I could not countenance living out my days without her. But how could I live with this, unresolved and unnamed, between us?

I do not understand. Here, in the dark and in my loneliness, I do not understand.

This isn't going to turn into a slash fic either. Calm yourselves if you're outraged, and sorry if you're disappointed.

In case anyone is wondering what on earth just happened, I believe the phrase is 'shagging yourself straight'. Or whatever the Middle-Earth equivalent is. I personally don't know what on earth Elené's sexuality is; she was a rather slippery character when it came to this issue. She could be bisexual, homosexual or simply very confused, it's up to you, although the latter seems most likely.

The one who has caused her such confusion, however, I have a definite idea about. This hopefully answers a question one reviewer asked a while back; yes, I believe that Nienor is something of an asexual. (Take note: this does not mean that she is a slug, for anyone wishing to be funny. Asexuality is a term meaning that some people apparently simply do not experience sexual attraction. Whether it's true or not is, again, up to you. Makes perfect sense to me.) It's somewhat in her nature in any case, but remember that while she was growing up she wasn't exactly surrounded by the positive aspects of romantic relationships. Yep, the whole business of Felia and Boromir is still having repercussions, to say nothing of her parents. Even if she hadn't been burned, there is very little chance that she would have been interested in a physical relationship with anyone. Fortunately for her (in a way), she now has an excuse to keep the boys - and girls - away; she isn't in any condition to be making wild passionate love, nor will she for a long while, if ever.

Note on the swearing: in the Middle Ages, parts of the body and the functions thereof were not really considered swear words, but saying something like 'bloody-" or "God's wounds!" or even "Jesus!" was a real no no, since – guess what? – that's taking the Lord's name in vain, folks! But people most likely did it anyway. Middle Earth doesn't have much of an equivalent of Hell, but I thought the Void would do just as well.

Finally, a last minute apology for anyone who wasn't expecting what will probably be the only kiss in this thing until we get to book four! You poor starved shippers…

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