The Exile's Daughter

Before the Morning

He stepped towards me again and I handed him the piece of parchment, folded, and messily sealed with tallow wax. Legolas' name was written in elvish script on the front. "If I don't make it out of here, give him this. He deserves more, but I cannot put it into words."

Aragorn stared down at it for what seemed like an age. "I cannot take this." He said eventually. I took a step back.

"Please, little brother. Do this for me."

Aragorn swallowed. "When did you write it?"

"Before you came in. He needs something from me if I can no longer give myself."

"And what makes you think I will survive if you do not?"

"You must." I said softly. "You know you must."

"I won't have to give this to him." He said eventually. I was surprised at the determination in his voice, undercut with a trace of desperation. "You will live through this, as you did through your father's assassination, and through the kidnap."

"Then I look forward to burning it when we return to Imladris," I mustered a smile, and Aragorn returned it sadly, "the first chance we get."

Aragorn nodded slowly, his grey eyes looking steadily into mine. The flicker of fear was gone, replaced by his usual cool, lordly gaze. "My own will follow it into the flames."

"You've written to Arwen." I muttered.

"Of course. How could I not? Elladan has it."

"Thank you." I said, and I meant it. "You know I love you, don't you, Estel?"

Aragorn took a step forward and pulled me into a gruff hug. "I love you too. We'll be okay."

"There's no choice in that." I smiled grimly. "When this is over we should sit under the stars, with Legolas and Arwen, and perhaps we can be merry again."

Aragorn grinned, opening the door to go. "I look forward to it."

***

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aearon!"

Legolas was leaning against the willow tree, letting the mix of slight spring rain and starlight dance upon his skin. The tree had begun to bloom, and delicate pink petals fell infrequently onto his hair, and his clothes, and the ground around him. For once, he looked exhausted. His silver voice, as pure and as clear as the river he sat beside, floated towards me through the cool air. The hymn was slow and quiet, but nonetheless its hallowed words, and he who sung them, lifted my heart to bitter joy. I let him finish the verse before coming out of the shadows and making him pause.

For a moment we stared, wordlessly, at each other, but after a while he rose and walked towards me. He framed my face with his hands and kissed me silently, deeply. Though we were as gentle with each other as we had always been, there was a taste of desperation, of fear, in my mouth. I wrapped my arms around his neck and edged closer for time uncounted. Eventually, when we pulled away, he wrapped me warmly in his arms, his head sinking to rest on my shoulder, and mine on his.

When I could bear to tear myself away for a moment, I led us over to the willow, and he lent his back against it again, guiding me to sit between his legs. He pressed me into him. "It's so quiet without them." I whispered.