Disclaimer: Legolas is not mine... LOTR is not mine... I don't own anything.
Summary: Set a short time before Legolas leaves to cross the Sea. Legolas's thoughts as he walks through what was once Lothlorien.
Author's Note: Yipe! My first fan fic posted on the list! cringes This one is un-beta'd, but I did edit it; so I hope you will excuse any mistakes. Thou Shalt Review!
WINTER'S REST
By Iridia
Night is falling; and though I do not feel the cold in my body, I feel it in my heart. Winter is coming to the woods of Lorien... true, deep winter that has as much to do with the passage of the years as the turning of the seasons.
But I remember what I was taught by my mother, when I was very young: Winter is not death; it is a change, a time of rest. In my many years in Arda I have always felt that to be true, sensed it in the endless rhythms of the earth. Every fall, the trees sigh in relief, settle into a much-needed sleep; the wood is steeped in silence and the voices of the trees dwindle until they are no more than a quiet presence.
I have been in the far south, where there is no winter. There, I saw the house of a great captain. He must have enjoyed the beauty of the trees of my own country, and had some saplings brought home and planted in his gardens. But the trees were small, brown, stunted... aged, beyond their years.
For them, there was no rest; only the long, endless struggle for water, for life. There is no sleep for them: They ache for a winter they have never seen--a winter that those who do not listen to the trees may ignorantly call a sort of death.
But winter is not death; it is renewal.
I understand those trees now, feel compassion for them; though then, when I first saw them, I could only feel pity.
I, too, long for rest; though for me, that rest comes not with the turn of the seasons, as it does for the trees; or with the passing of years, as it does for the race of Men. No; for me, that longing is for the Sea, for the great change, the journey to a new country I have never seen--yet long for. In the reckoning of my people I am not considered to be of any great age; yet, somehow, I feel ancient.
I have spent long years in battle. Here in Arda, there is always evil to be fought; and we have opposed it wherever it sprang up. I remember Mirkwood... Greenwood, I should say... in my younger days; when a child could wander there without fear. And I remember the coming of the shadow, which I fought even before I had come of age, before anyone knew what it was.
As Men count our ages, my people are ancient; but even we cannot remember a time before the war--not the skirmishes fought with the creatures of the shadow, nor the larger wars, as when Sauron was destroyed and a great blow dealt against evil. No; the war I am speaking of is the Great War against evil itself; the battle which will be waged until the world ends and all is put right. I have fought in that battle since I was--even as Men count years--young.
Ever has there been another battle; another enemy; another creature of evil; and ever, with my friends at my side, have I taken up that challenge.
Many years have passed since last I was the joyful young warrior in the spring of the world; many things I have seen that I would not wish even upon the foulest of the creatures of evil I have battled.
But always, always, I have fought; even knowing that, before the world's end, even the greatest victory could never be final.
At first, I did not know why I bothered; it all seemed useless, if evil would only spring back every time it was beaten. But now I know: Those who choose the warrior's life are the guardians of good; they are the protectors against those who would hurt the innocent. The struggle must exist; or else life itself--true life; for slavery is worse than death--could not exist.
Just as it is in a tree's nature to seek the sun, it is the nature of the free peoples of Arda to love good; and the nature of those who love good to protect it. And, despite the difficulty, the frustration, the grief, the pain... I would not choose any other life than the one I have lived.
My people know our battles are over. Our winter has come; and we must leave the guardianship of Arda to others. Though for many long years I distrusted Eru's second-born children, friendship has taught me the truth of the race of Men. Even now, the son of one such friend is taking up the guardianship. I trust him; he, too, is a warrior, as his father was. We leave Arda in good hands.
I do not feel sorry to go. My struggles have been long and hard, and I am tired. The Sea calls, and now, with all the links to this place gone, I have no more power to resist--and, indeed, little desire to do so. Another friend will accompany me; he, too, is old; and he, too, seeks for an end to this war... an end, at least--a winter's rest--for us.
There; now the stars are appearing; I can see them through the canopy of golden leaves above me, slipping in and out from behind the clouds that half-cover the pristine midnight-blue of the sky.
And, slowly, hesitantly, snow begins to fall: Winter has come to Lorien.
I find myself smiling; all around me, the trees once again settle into the quiet peace of winter. And I look forward to the relief that comes from sleep after a hard day... from rest, after a hard life.
Winter, as I know more surely than I ever did, is not an end: it is a renewal.
Summary: Set a short time before Legolas leaves to cross the Sea. Legolas's thoughts as he walks through what was once Lothlorien.
Author's Note: Yipe! My first fan fic posted on the list! cringes This one is un-beta'd, but I did edit it; so I hope you will excuse any mistakes. Thou Shalt Review!
WINTER'S REST
By Iridia
Night is falling; and though I do not feel the cold in my body, I feel it in my heart. Winter is coming to the woods of Lorien... true, deep winter that has as much to do with the passage of the years as the turning of the seasons.
But I remember what I was taught by my mother, when I was very young: Winter is not death; it is a change, a time of rest. In my many years in Arda I have always felt that to be true, sensed it in the endless rhythms of the earth. Every fall, the trees sigh in relief, settle into a much-needed sleep; the wood is steeped in silence and the voices of the trees dwindle until they are no more than a quiet presence.
I have been in the far south, where there is no winter. There, I saw the house of a great captain. He must have enjoyed the beauty of the trees of my own country, and had some saplings brought home and planted in his gardens. But the trees were small, brown, stunted... aged, beyond their years.
For them, there was no rest; only the long, endless struggle for water, for life. There is no sleep for them: They ache for a winter they have never seen--a winter that those who do not listen to the trees may ignorantly call a sort of death.
But winter is not death; it is renewal.
I understand those trees now, feel compassion for them; though then, when I first saw them, I could only feel pity.
I, too, long for rest; though for me, that rest comes not with the turn of the seasons, as it does for the trees; or with the passing of years, as it does for the race of Men. No; for me, that longing is for the Sea, for the great change, the journey to a new country I have never seen--yet long for. In the reckoning of my people I am not considered to be of any great age; yet, somehow, I feel ancient.
I have spent long years in battle. Here in Arda, there is always evil to be fought; and we have opposed it wherever it sprang up. I remember Mirkwood... Greenwood, I should say... in my younger days; when a child could wander there without fear. And I remember the coming of the shadow, which I fought even before I had come of age, before anyone knew what it was.
As Men count our ages, my people are ancient; but even we cannot remember a time before the war--not the skirmishes fought with the creatures of the shadow, nor the larger wars, as when Sauron was destroyed and a great blow dealt against evil. No; the war I am speaking of is the Great War against evil itself; the battle which will be waged until the world ends and all is put right. I have fought in that battle since I was--even as Men count years--young.
Ever has there been another battle; another enemy; another creature of evil; and ever, with my friends at my side, have I taken up that challenge.
Many years have passed since last I was the joyful young warrior in the spring of the world; many things I have seen that I would not wish even upon the foulest of the creatures of evil I have battled.
But always, always, I have fought; even knowing that, before the world's end, even the greatest victory could never be final.
At first, I did not know why I bothered; it all seemed useless, if evil would only spring back every time it was beaten. But now I know: Those who choose the warrior's life are the guardians of good; they are the protectors against those who would hurt the innocent. The struggle must exist; or else life itself--true life; for slavery is worse than death--could not exist.
Just as it is in a tree's nature to seek the sun, it is the nature of the free peoples of Arda to love good; and the nature of those who love good to protect it. And, despite the difficulty, the frustration, the grief, the pain... I would not choose any other life than the one I have lived.
My people know our battles are over. Our winter has come; and we must leave the guardianship of Arda to others. Though for many long years I distrusted Eru's second-born children, friendship has taught me the truth of the race of Men. Even now, the son of one such friend is taking up the guardianship. I trust him; he, too, is a warrior, as his father was. We leave Arda in good hands.
I do not feel sorry to go. My struggles have been long and hard, and I am tired. The Sea calls, and now, with all the links to this place gone, I have no more power to resist--and, indeed, little desire to do so. Another friend will accompany me; he, too, is old; and he, too, seeks for an end to this war... an end, at least--a winter's rest--for us.
There; now the stars are appearing; I can see them through the canopy of golden leaves above me, slipping in and out from behind the clouds that half-cover the pristine midnight-blue of the sky.
And, slowly, hesitantly, snow begins to fall: Winter has come to Lorien.
I find myself smiling; all around me, the trees once again settle into the quiet peace of winter. And I look forward to the relief that comes from sleep after a hard day... from rest, after a hard life.
Winter, as I know more surely than I ever did, is not an end: it is a renewal.