Saqarra sat silently before the fire, Tristan at her feet; the dancing flames holding her in thrall. There had always been something about fire that intrigued her, that had held her enraptured. Despite her power to bend it to her will, she still found a magic in the way that it danced. Without thought, a ball of fire flared to life in her palm; swirling lazily as she began to give it form. It twisted and turned, casting shadows upon her face; streaking her hair with amber highlights. It seemed to breath, whispering to the night in a language that only the exiled elf knew. Her thoughts took fiery form, an archer emerging from the shapeless mass of flame. With bow at the ready, it sent tiny arrows into the campire.
"Intriguing.", a voice whispered beside her.
She turned quickly, the fiery archer dissolving into the night. Aragorn was standing beside her, a grin plastered across his face. She smiled sheepishly at him, feeling her cheeks turn to crimson.
"Just a parlor trick.", she replied. "Perhaps."
"What does that mean?"
"Maybe nothing, maybe more than you would like."
"Why is it that men prefer to speak in riddles?", she asked coldly.
"And why is it that elves refuse to acknowledge what is in their hearts?", he shot back.
"What would you know of elven hearts? And what would you know of mine?"
"More than you might think, in answer to your first question. And as for the second, I know nothing; since you have seen fit not to share it. Though I would greatly like to know."
"What is in my heart....would surely break yours, were you to know it." "That is the paradox of love.", he whispered.
Saqarra remained silent for several moments, her eyes once again focused on the campire. Aragorn waited patiently for her to speak, sensing that there was much she wished to say. But he would have to be patient, wait for the right moment. He was coming to understand that Saqarra was like a wild doe, soft and yeilding; but easily startled. If you were patient enough, coaxed her enough, she would eat out of the palm of your hand. But if you moved too quickly, startled her; she would always be leery, your chance forever shattered. There were things about her that intrigued him, mysteries waiting to be reveled. But you had to reveal them slowly, like the delicate layers of a rose; waiting to bloom in its own time. If you didn't, she would keep her secrets; forever locked away behind golden eyes.
"Love, you speak of it as if it is so simple.", she whispered.
"Isn't it?", he asked.
"Love is many things Aragorn, but simple is not to be counted among them. Love is pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow. It builds you up, only to tear you down. It allows you to soar on gilded wings, just to watch you fall. Love is folly."
"I can not believe that."
"Of course you can't, for you have never seen the dark side of the emotion. You have never seen love turn on you, never seen love bring evil. You have never watched the one person you loved more than life suffer for YOUR sins. You have never spent a lifetime wrapped in wickedry that knows no bounds. To have your love beside you every moment of every day, close enough to touch. And yet, to be unable to do so. To be always together, and forever apart.", she continued; her hand straying to stroke the head of the ebony wolf.
It was Aragorn's turn to lapse into silence, his heart pained by her words. He could not imagine how it would be to be in her shoes, to live the life that had been thrust upon her. He wanted to say something, to give her comfort. But, he found that there were no words with which to do so. There was nothing that he could say to her, for he did not begin to understand her pain. Lacking words, he simply wrapped his arm around her shoulder; drawing her closer. For the briefest of moments, she allowed him to comfort her; allowed the walls around her to drop. In that fleeting instant, he caught a sense of the gentle elf she had once been, the vulnerable child. But, as quickly as it had come; it was gone. The defenses went back up, and she pulled away from him. She stood up from the campfire, smiling gently at him. He smiled back, knowing that he had seen a part of her that none would ever see. He watched as she walked into the night, the wolf at her side. He was struck by the knowledge that, no matter what came in the days to come, that was the image of her that would forever stand in his memory. The wayward princess and the loyal wolf, disappearing together into the night. That was the image that would, from that day forward, rise in his mind when he heard the legend of the Morning Star.
*********************************************************
Legolas sat on a fallen log, aimlessly refeathering an arrow. His thoughts were elsewhere, the arrow nothing more than a task to keep his hands busy. As usual, his thoughts were centered around Saqarra. Ever since she had decided to journey with them, he had found himself able to think of little else. When he slept, she haunted his dreams. When they walked, his eyes always found her. She would often ride ahead of them, Tor being too high-strung to walk at their pace. She would range ahead, circling back and coming up from behind several times a day. And in those minutes, and sometimes hours, when she was out of his sight; he found himself worried that she would not return. Only the constant presence of the hawk above them soothed his fears, for the hawk would not stay without her.
Hearing soft footsteps approaching, he turned and saw Saqarra move from the shadows. There was a sadness reflected in her eyes that caused his heart to ache, for he wanted nothing more in life than to see her happy once more. She smiled softly at him, taking a seat beside him on the log. Tristan eyed her for a moment, whining softly. She reached out, cupping his massive head in one delicate hand. Their eyes met, something epic passing between the two. Legolas suddenly felt out of place, as if he was witnessing something that he had no business seeing.
"It is alright, go.", she whispered to the wolf.
With one final whine, he turned and disappeared into the night; a low howl rising on the chilly wind. Legolas sat quietly, content to merely be near her. She remained silent as well, her thoughts her own for the moment. As they sat side by side, Legolas found himself watching her. He saw her every day, but still she had the power to hold him entranced. The moonlight fell around her, turning her snowy hair to silver. The soft breeze picked up little strands, making them dance around her face. It was easy to see why so many had once adored her, her delicate beauty making her seem almost otherwordly; even for an elf.
The silence between them grew, becoming too much for him. Her sadness seemed almost tangible in the quiet night, as if he could simply reach out and touch it. As if, by touching it, he could gain some insight into what it was that drove her. But Legolas knew that hers was a pain that he could never bear, a pain that would shatter his soul. And yet, he wanted to know her; to know every nuance of who she was and who she had been.
"Do you miss them?", he suddenly asked.
"What?"
"Do you miss them? Your home and your family?"
"Yes. There has not been a day that has passed when I have not missed them, not a night that I have not seen the castle rise up in my dreams. Nor has there been a time when I haven't wished that things could have been different."
"Nothing is carved in stone Saqarra. You could always go..."
"NO. I can not go back Legolas. Argyle is little more than a dream to me now, a dream forever lost."
"They are your family."
"Yes, they are."
"I am sure that they would welcome you with all good gladness."
"Are you?", she asked; turning to look at him.
His eyes met hers, surprised by the darkness that now shadowed her golden gaze. Sadness and pain floated in those bottomless pools, joined by the darker emotions of anger and fear. A little voice inside of him screamed to leave well enough alone, to let it go. But he did not heed the warning, intrigued by the change in her demeanor. "Why would they not? You were their bright and shining future, the jewel in the crown." "I was not what they wanted me to be. I could not be that for them, could not bind myself to my father's dreams. I was more than them, more than they could understand. And so, they tried to mold me into the dream; to supress the darkness that they saw within me. They could not see that it was who I was, could not understand why I could not simply turn from those dark gifts."
"Would it have been so difficult? Were those gifts worth the price that you have paid for them?"
"Do not judge me Legolas Greenleaf, for you do not have that right.", she growled.
"Saqarra, I..."
"I thought that you were different, that you would see past that which they could not. But you...you are just like them. You think that you are beyond such things, that you could turn away. You think that it is simple, just as Aragorn thinks that love is simple. But you are just as wrong as he. You do not understand"
"Then help me understand Saqarra, for I want to.", he pleaded.
Saqarra stood, walking away from him. Legolas thought that he had pushed her to hard, that he had driven her away. In his desire to understand her, he had forever locked the door. Suddenly she turned back to him, her eyes darker still.
"You do not understand the need Legolas. You can not begin to imagine the things that I saw back then, the worlds that I walked. There was beauty, and there was darkness. There are many worlds, both gentle and savage. And while none of them could match the beauty that I saw in my Argyle, I could not simply forget that they were there. It was MY gift, and it was a part of who I was. Even now, it remains a part of who I am. How was I to turn from that? I did try, I tried to turn away. But the longing remained, a stinging ache that would not cease."
"I do not understand."
"Of course you don't.", she sighed. "Give me your bow."
"What?"
"Give me your bow."
Legolas did as she asked, warily handing her the inlaid bow. She walked a few steps away from him, her eyes locked with his. Her head was cocked to one side, as if she were waiting for him to react.
"Well?"
"What?"
"Do you feel it Legolas?"
Legolas paused, becoming fully in tune with his body. At first he felt nothing, save for the beating of his heart. But then, it began. Faintly at first, but growing steadily stronger. A dull ache deep within, as if a hole had been opened in his soul. It was the painful knowledge that something was missing, that a part of him was suddenly missing.
"Yes.", he whispered.
"It is merely a dull ache?"
"Yes. It is not unbearable."
"Wait, and it soon will be.", she said as she walked to him.
She placed the bow on the fallen log beside him, so that it barely touched his leg. As soon as it had come, the ache was gone. She smiled knowingly at him, a wicked gleam dancing in her eyes.
"Now, you understand that it is a part of you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now, armed with that knowledge, imagine that the bow is an evil thing; a gift from the dark lords. You can not use it, you can not touch it. It is with you always, a part of your soul. But that is a part that you must deny, a gift that you must never use again."
Legolas thought that she was insane, that it would be simple to merely sit there and not touch the bow. But, he soon found that was not the case at all. The dull ache had returned, sharper than before. And with it came a deep longing, the need to reach out and touch it. His fingers twitched, itching with the need. Sensing this, Saqarra moved to him; taking his hand in hers.
"You can not touch it, remember."
He looked into her eyes, seeing that same gleam. As the need grew stronger, he began to understand. He steeled himself against it, determined not to show weakness. He tried to focus on her, on what he felt for her. But that would prove to be a fatal error. For as his thoughts focused on her, on the love that he felt for her, he was overwhelmed by something new. A deep sense of betrayl welled up in him, directed at her. He loved her, more than she knew. How could she be so cruel to him, how could she so callously deny him what he needed?
"Saqarra.", he growled.
"It is wicked and evil, and if you use it....you will be no less."
Her words were like a knife, cutting him deeply. He jerked his hand from hers, shoving her away from him. He turned and picked up the bow, his free hand involuntarily drawing an arrow. He had the arrow notched, the bow aimed at her; before he realized what he had done. He looked from her to the bow in his hands, shocked by his actions. He released the arrow, dropping the bow to his side.
"Saqarra, I am sorry. I would not have hurt you, you must believe that."
"I know, you would not have hurt me deliberately."
He placed the bow back in his quiver, walking to her slowly. He reached out, gently touching her cheek. Her hand came up to touch his, her touch as gentle as the night breeze.
"Now do you understand?", she whispered.
"No. I have a vague comprehension of it. But I think that I will never understand what it is like for you.", he answered softly. She nodded sadly, her eyes locking with his. Gone were the anger and the fear, the dark gleaming; replaced by an emotion that Legolas did not dare name. He lowered his head to hers, his lips gently brushing hers. Her mouth opened beneath his, like a delicate flower. Her hands slid up his shoulders, encircling his neck as her body molded to his. All around them, the sounds of the forest fell silent; as if all the world watched the magic unfolding before them. From the shadows, a pair of golden eyes gleamed. The scene played out before him, a simple kiss that would forever change his future.
~Fin