The first time he'd seen her had been in Lothlorien. His darker thoughts had preoccupied him on his stumbling walk in the forests, a place that had always given him an inner peace. But peace was not to be found on this day.
Images of the slaughtered, the looks in their shocked faces haunted him. Their mortal vulnerability haunted him as well. He could not escape them. Random faces flashed at him, their masks slipping to reveal surprise, the ultimate realization of oncoming death. He'd seen it, and learned not to look, to avoid his eyes before releasing them from their existence.
And then she appeared. Quickly, suddenly, she'd run across the path, her foamy white robes rippling in the wind, her silver hair flowing, lifted by rushing air. He lifted his head up long enough to see her smiling features, and then she'd run off the beaten path. He had followed, pulled by a force he could not place.
Shaded by the trees, she had flitted from shadow to shadow, grey eyes flashing, beckoning. He'd given chase, almost flying, but all he could see of her was her glorious hair, reflecting the sun as she whipped around the next corner.
And then, suddenly, she stopped. Just stopped, turned around and looked at him. He'd stopped too, kept his distance, ("unsure of myself," he told himself later.") stared into her eyes. He had seen the desire and had felt the pull. He stepped towards her, and she'd moved quickly, dodging around the trunk of a nearby tree. He ran, no sprinted, but she was gone. A chord of laughter resounded in the air, enfolding him in its coldness. He spun staring in all directions for a glimpse of her, but she was not to be found.
Two days later, he'd staggered out of the forest, bedraggled, clothes torn, covered in scratches and dirt. His friends flocked around him, demanding answers he did not want to give. Pleading exhaustion, he'd escaped to the Lady's garden, stared into the distance, ignoring everything but the roar in his ears and the moon. The moon, luminous in its glory, shone on him, bathed him in light and pulled him towards something he could not name.
The Lady had found him there, staring at the silver orb, watching it as if his life depended on it. He'd noticed her, but only just, as if she were in a different dimension, pausing only a moment to ask if she knew a girl made of silver mane and "grey eyes like the sea."
And then she knew.
The second time, he never expected to see her. There, of all places! He'd given up on his search for the mysterious, and had devoted his mind and thoughts to other more important matters. He found other women along the way, attempted to find that strange and compelling connection, but it never came .He looked deep into their grey eyes, (they were always grey), only to find familiarity and warmth. They were too human.
So he left. Just packed up and gone on his quest, following his dark friend till they'd finally reached the granite walls of Helm's Deep. Pressured by time, he ran around preparing for war. He ignored the sense of foreboding. So few men only meant that they would fight harder for what they believed in. He'd believed this until he'd seen the actual troops. They were so old, so young, so decrepit, so useless. These were no trained troops. They hadn't fought together through countless skirmishes, proving themselves in battle over and over again.
These were no warriors.
Disappointment and fear had settled in his stomach and he had lashed out, making the situation worse, terrifying his friends and troops with what was to come. How were they to make it through the night? How could they survive the massive onslaught against them?
And so he'd run. Run to the very top of the battlement, pelted by the rain, tasting the salt of his unmanly tears. He'd whipped out his bow, killing a few Orc scouts, hoping that he was helping in some way, any way. He'd turned around, wiping his face on the deserted battlements. The salt stayed in his mouth, and he was comforted by its taste as he wiped his eyes clean of sleep and exhaustion.
And suddenly, she was there. She was standing all alone, staring at him from only a stone's throw away. He felt his heart leap, and found himself walking towards her, feeling a need to close the gap, He wanted to stroke her hair, immerse himself in her softness, feel the comfort he knew she could give him. He wanted to know her name, wanted to know the way she would say his name, hear the soft timbre of her voice. He wanted to touch her, make sure she was real.
He was so close to her, so close. The distance was really only 10 feet, and he was almost-
But she'd stopped him with an icy glare, chilling him to the bone. He somehow knew he could not come any closer.
"Who are you?" he cried out in frustration. "Please, tell me your name!"
She only shook her head, and then she'd pointed to the ridge. He turned and saw the millions of black bodies, marching steadily towards the granite wall, their formations sprinkled with the light of torches meant to burn. Something inside him snapped, and he found himself angry.
Turning, ready to walk forcefully towards his mysterious woman, he found she was gone, disappeared into the rain that was being thrown down from the sky like rocks. Not knowing what else to do, he knelt down and prayed for the lives that were going to be taken tonight, and prayed for a miracle of some kind.
Running down the stairs to warn his friends of the impeding danger, he knocked into someone, and they both fell over. He watched as the Elvish helmet landed next to his head in the mud, followed by its wearer.
They were saved.
It seemed a year or so later. He cannot be sure, for he lost his grasp on time a while ago.
All he knew was that he was in the South, and that he was following his friend on a dark path. He has been tested on this journey, and he could feel the stress taking its toll on him. But he followed, as he knew he had to, for it was his duty.
So he has followed. He has been tested by darkness, tempted by light, seduced by the mysterious. And until that point, he has stayed headstrong, always continuing, placing his trust in their most competent leader who he is proud to call friend. But he has a choice to make, and he knows he must make it quickly.
"Alright," he says, and stands up, brushing the dirt off his legs. "We should leave now. We need the element of surprise."
"Are you sure?" his friend asks hesitantly. "What about-"
"It doesn't matter," he says abruptly. "This is more important."
His friend pulls him into a hug, a rare sign of affection, and the two men allow themselves to be support by each other for a while. They break apart, and his friend signals the masses of transparent troops, bringing the moment of emotional rawness to an end. They have some ships to catch.
Death is all around him, but he is not scared, because he knows that it is not he they will harm. They are too eager to please, too eager to finish the curse place upon them eons ago, that they do not notice the live flesh within their mist. Their transparent shapes are barely visible to him in the blinding sun, and he suddenly realizes that he is no longer walking on firm soil. The ground is almost beach-like, covered in tiny particles of sand. He feels his heart quicken, and wonders if perhaps it is not too late to go back on his word. He separates from his friends, pulled towards a sand hill, and begins to mount it. He climbs over the last dune, and then he sees her.
She is frolicking in the sand, near the water's edge, splashing in the waves. Her face is joyous and she reflects the sun like the glittering sea stretched out before him. She naked in the sand, and as he watches her beautiful form dancing around, he knows that he has finally seen her, not a transparent wisp like before, because this is where she belongs.
He stumbles blindly down the dune, bringing himself closer to her, and she waits for him patiently, smiling at him with knowing grey eyes, covering herself modestly, but not too modestly in a flowing robe of white and blue and green that seems to shimmer and meld together.
And he is getting close-so close-and then he is there. They are staring at each other, eyes locked in a battle of wills, and finally he looks away, and is ashamed that he has lost so quickly. But then she speaks to him.
"I've been waiting for you."
"But who are you? How did you find me?"
He looks deep into her eyes, and suddenly he understands. The waves aren't being reflected in her eyes: they are in her eyes. She seems to shimmer in front of him, and her body moves fluidly, taking off her robe, and she steps forward with arms wide open. His body sags, and he too strips down and he reaches out and touches her.
Like a lightning bolt, a deep longing fills him and he steps closer, pressing his body against hers, feeling all the curves and forms to her body ripple beneath him. He runs his hands all over her body, and he knows he is trapped. His desire and longing grows tenfold, and he knows the only way he will quench it is if he immerses himself in it, feeling her all around him.
She kisses him tenderly on his cheek, his jaw, runs her hands down his chest, and the coolness of her fingers makes his hair stand on end and his nipples pucker. She giggles, and he starts to feel some relief, knowing that all this will be over soon, He cautiously puts a hand over her naked breast and she moans, but he can barely hear her over the roaring and crashing of the waves. He knows he cannot go much longer: he has to do it now. He lays her down carefully at the water edge and climbs on top of her. She is there, so close and he leans down to kiss her-
A wave crashes over the both of them, and he watches horrified as she disintegrates into sea foam before his very eyes. He scrabbles around; madly trying to… he doesn't know what he's trying to do. He just sits in the sand and sobs, so filled with longing that he is overwrought. He just needs some way to quench this desire, make the painful arousal stop, but he doesn't know how. He wants to swim after her, drown himself in the green-blue water to find her again, but he knows he cannot.
Numbly, he picks himself up, and puts his clothes back on. He has a duty and a job to finish. But afterwards…
He will come back.
"Legolas Greenleaf long under tree
In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!
If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,
Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more."
This is a little story I've been thinking about for a while, and I'm really glad to get it down on paper. Um, I just thought I might explain the moon symbolism in the first encounter. The moon controls the tide of the the sea, which is kinds why she is silver I guess as well. And the poem at the bottom is what Lady Galadriel sends Gandalf to tell Legolas, so I kinda made up a reason why she knows that.
My other stories are definitely on hold right now: I really just don't have time. If anyone out there would like to take over them, please contact me and we can work something out. They need a lot of work ,so beware!
I am also currently searching for a beta, who would probably not really have a full time job, cause I only update about every 6 months…
Please review! I really like this one shot, even though it's not very canon. I really just used the places and made up my own happenings.
And as always, these characters do not belong to me, but J.K.R. Tolkien.
Loads of Love