Longing.

The only word I can think of to describe it. That is not strictly true -- want, need, desire, yearning, craving, hunger... many words. But longing -- just saying it aloud, one can't help but feel the desperation, the pleading tone. The first syllable stretches out plaintively; the second reluctantly cuts off the emotion, just as I do when I've felt it for too long. Cut off, because the feeling makes it impossible to do anything else wholeheartedly, but with regret, because it is the only thing connecting me to that which I desire but cannot possess. As painful as it is to long futilely after something, it is worse still to relinquish that emotion -- to push aside the deepest, truest part of yourself, which knows what it lacks.

And so I indulge this longing, even though it makes my face an open book for any of my Companions to read. Indulge, but am careful to make my expression a neutral mask when he looks at me. I know that he is an intelligent and perceptive Man -- it is what will make him a great King one day. But although he was raised among the Elves, he has never mastered our ability to pull back, to keep our emotions to ourselves, nor learned to recognize it. Any Elf who knew me would be able to see that I am hiding something, but he will not notice. I half wish he would, for though it would necessitate a long, painful conversation, being forced to give up this terrible longing would make my heart considerably lighter. However, it would certainly cause him pain, and distract him from his duty, which will become infinitely harder before this quest is through. I cannot justify making this journey more difficult for him, merely to relieve my own aches.

And yet, I find myself wondering if he might, perhaps, return a small fraction of my feelings... For if that were the case, unburdening myself to him would make it possible for us to share some small measure of comfort along the way. Of course, I do not delude myself that he could feel about me as I do about him -- that he could want everything I would offer him, everything in my heart and body which longs for him. I cannot bring myself to contemplate what it would be like, if he wanted that. But if he can accept my feelings, if he can allow me to give him whatever companionship is possible, it might lighten his own heart just a little -- perhaps it would not be too great a disttraction, for I would not demand anything but what he offered me.

But this is rationalization, and not very convincing at that. For I know that if I were to open myself up to Aragorn, show him what was in my heart, he would know as surely as I do that I could not bear giving him my love, but holding back. He would see that to be permitted any of the intimacy I crave would make me long all the more for the rest -- 'twould be worse than this unfocused longing by far. To give and yet hold back is a thousand times more painful than never letting even a tiny bit of that love escape the confines of one's own soul. And Aragorn would certainly know this. I think it is why he remains somewhat removed from Arwen. I think he fears releasing all of his emotion to her, because he fears that she does not truly want to see it. And he is right -- she loves him, it is true, but more as a sister or friend, as someone he grew up alongside, as a confidant and source of strength. This kind of love is a great thing, and a rare one, but it is not the emotion Aragorn holds in his heart. I do not know whether he is in love with Arwen, or if he simply expects himself to be, but he will not chance releasing the full flood of what he feels, for fear that she will not accept it.

So he will see. And he will feel for me, he will understand what it is to love unrequited, and he will know my pain. He may be regretful, he may become upset with me for introducing this new problem, he may try to ignore it, but the knowledge that I am filled with hurt will haunt him, for I know he cares for me in other ways. It will make what is already an impossibly difficult task worse for him -- I cannot do this. I cannot cause him more pain that he already carries, and I cannot do anything that could impede the success of our quest. It seems as if our mission is already doomed, so many obstacles and tests stand in our way, but if there is any chance in Middle-Earth for success, I cannot endanger it. Will not.

So it is to be -- I will make sure he does not see --I am an Elf, I can do this. If, by the graces of some benevolent Fate, our quest succeeds, and Middle-Earth is freed from the threat that now faces us all, perhaps then. Perhaps there will be time for confessions then, time for emotions. Time for longing to turn to fulfillment, my heart urges. But if not, then at least time for it to wither away into a calm, final sadness, which will turn gratefully to the West.