Anor - the sun; Isil - the moon; the Valar - the forces that created the world; Istar - a Wizard
Disclaimer: All rights for Lord of the Rings go to its proper owner.
Legolas could remember when nighttime meant freedom, beauty, and the never-ending shine of stars from above. Nighttime meant lying in the palace gardens with his mother and father showing him the constellations and whatever stories they could tell before he fell asleep on one or both of their laps. Nighttime meant dancing on the Green with friends under the light of star and moon until the sun rose and he collapsed, exhausted, on his bed. Nighttime meant songs in the darkness, music and beauty weaving together until they created a wonderful chorus that set the trees whispering and the very air humming.
Now nighttime was a time of dread, of wariness, of lying down to sleep wondering if you would rise with the sun the next morning, or if your body would lie, still and cold as the earth, forever.
As Legolas waited before the Black Gates of Mordor, calming his horse with a gentle touch and a murmur of steady words that he was surprised he could produce, the vicious clouds of the Shadow churning overhead and blotting out even the light of the sun, he felt that nighttime had once more descended on the land. The Shadow that descended from the Black Land had covered the sky since Minas Tirith, casting their march east in darkness.
The army behind was halted but not still. The Men shifted anxiously, murmuring to their comrades in hushed tones that filled the filthy air with a sound like several hundred snakes all hissing at once. At the front, Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, stood their horses near each other, and were conversing in tones low enough even for the Mirkwood Elf to not hear. Gimli had slid off Legolas's horse and was speaking tensely to Aragorn, fingering the head of his axe. Legolas shifted in the saddle and once more glanced up at the low clouds.
"The sun is still there," a voice said, so strong and full of wisdom. Gandalf had urged his horse next to Legolas's, and was also gazing up at what was supposed to be the sky. "Anor still travels her path above the Shadow."
"I know," Legolas answered softly. "But I cannot see her light or Isil's. It is as if it is a night of the new moon, and yet I feel that it should be daytime."
Gandalf lowered his eyes to gaze sadly at the Elf. "You used to love the night," he said mournfully. Legolas nodded.
"I still do, for the most part. Perhaps when this is over…" He shook his head. "One way or another, I will love the night again, from within Mandos's Halls or without."
The Istar laid a comforting hand on the Elf's shoulder. "One way or another," he repeated, then looked ahead at the Gates. "We must have faith," he murmured.
"In the Valar?"
Gandalf huffed a quiet laugh. "Yes, in the Valar. But we must help ourselves, now. No, we must have faith in Frodo, and Sam, that they will complete the Quest."
Aragorn started to make his way towards them and Gandalf turned away. Legolas's mind drifted, now that he had no one to distract him. Yes, he had loved the night once…
"Look!"
The childish voice echoed in the still air of the gardens, spiraling up and up towards the night sky. The child that had produced the command lifted one small hand to point at the stars far above, scattered in the inky black dome.
The child's mother laughed and drew him down beside her. Her husband settled himself on the grass on the child's other side. "We see them," the mother said, then lifted her own hand and pointed with one slender finger. "That is Eärendil's star, do you see?"
Legolas nodded enthusiastically, then studied the bright star with a single-minded determination. "Why is it so bright?" he asked. "None of the others are."
"It has the light of a Silmaril," his father replied.
"How did it get there?"
"A long time ago, late in the first age, Eärendil took the Silmaril that Beren and Luthien managed to wrest from Morgoth's crown and set sail with it. The Valar took his ship and cast him up and up and up." Thranduil bounced Legolas a little with each 'up'. The child giggled happily. "And now his ship continues to sail, just as the sun and moon continue to rise and set each day."
"Did you know him?" Legolas twisted to look around at his father. "You are old, aren't you?"
The Elvenqueen smirked at her husband, who subtly prodded her ribs with his free hand. "I did not know him," he answered, and Legolas's face fell. "But I did know of him. He was quite well-known, after all."
Legolas yawned, and snuggled down more comfortably between his parents. "Why does he stay up there?" he asked sleepily. "Isn't he lonely?"
"He is not," his mother said, running one hand through her son's hair. "He watches over all of us from his place high above."
"But he has no one to talk to," the child protested. He blinked heavily in a valiant effort to stay awake.
"Anor and Isil cross his path every day and every night, and they trade words then." Thranduil looked down. "He is asleep."
His wife smiled. "Then we should get him to a proper bed." She made to stand, but Thranduil reached out and took her arm, stilling her movements.
"Stay. Let us enjoy this night." The Queen laid back down, and the three stayed out late that night, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky.
Graceful forms darted across the grass, swaying and spinning in an attempt to keep pace with the music. A lithe form broke off from the crowd and made its way over to a group of Elves laughing near the trees. The newcomer immediately had a glass of wine pressed into his hand, which he gratefully took a sip from. One Elf, a male with black hair shimmering in the light of the lanterns hung in the trees, draped an arm across his friend's shoulders.
"So, how did it go?" he asked teasingly. Legolas grinned and made to tip the wine over the Elf's head. He hurriedly backed off. "No need to waste good wine!" The other Elves in the group smirked.
Legolas laughed and took another sip. "She was lovely, if that is what you are after. But she is, sadly, betrothed."
His friends groaned. Naedir shook his head in mock pity. "It is a shame," he drawled, "that the good ones are already taken. There is no one left for us young bucks."
"Speak for yourself," one of the Elves grinned. "Just because you are doomed to live forever alone does not mean the rest of us are so terrible with the ladies."
A general chorus of "Oh!" rang out, and Naedir blushed. "It was not that much wine!" he protested. But the Elf wasn't done, and he wasn't about to let the warrior escape that easily.
"Her dress was stained." He paused and winked. "Although, I understand why you felt the need to 'stumble' and pour your drink down her front. She did have a rather nice figure."
"She does," Naedir mumbled, face still flaming red. Legolas took pity on him.
"Come, let us see if we can improve our chances this night!" The others roared their agreement of this suggestion and followed him out into the dancing crowd.
Several hours later, the sun was tinting the eastern horizon gold when Legolas split apart from his friends and made his way back inside the Mountain. He had somehow managed to avoid drinking too many glasses of wine that evening, although he doubted Naedir's ability to safely maneuver a horse. The thought produced a grin.
When he reached his rooms, he did not even bother to remove his tunic and boots before falling down upon the bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The door slammed closed behind him with a satisfying bang. Legolas tossed his quiver roughly onto the bed then aimed a swift kick at the chest at the base of his bed with one booted foot. The chest scraped across the floor until it bounced against the wall opposite. The unlatched lid sprang open. With a frustrated growl, Legolas stalked across the room to shove it back into place.
He paused. Nestled within the trunk was a large, black case containing his violin. It was shoved to the side of the chest and covered in a fine layer of dust. He hadn't played it in months…
The instrument was still in good condition. All the strings required tuning, but none were frayed or snapped, the bridge held no cracks, and all the fine-tuners were still in their proper places. He ran his thumb lightly over the bow-hair, looked at it, and decided it needed more rosin. Very soon, almost without knowing what he was doing, the instrument was prepared and ready to be played. He set the bow to a string, fingers curling over the fingerboard – and hesitated.
Was he still able to create when all it seemed he was capable of doing was destroying? Someone like him – a warrior – did they have the ability to lose themselves in music like they so often did while fighting? He shuddered.
Legolas was tired of fighting, of killing, of blood and death and injuries. For tonight, just tonight, he would put that aside and become someone who could do something beautiful. Tonight, beautiful would not mean blades flashing in the sun or arrows singing death in a dark cloud. Tonight beautiful would mean swinging notes, upbows and downbows, turning the hairs towards him to get a misty sound.
Once again he rested the instrument under his chin and set the bow to the strings. And then he played.
It was one of the first songs he had ever learned, but was no less beautiful because of it. The notes, smooth and clear, resounded in his bedroom, echoing off the stone walls and gradually slipping away only to be replaced with the next, and the next, and the next. Legolas closed his eyes as he played, fingers and arm remembering the next note and the next stroke and reacting with a mind of their own. He played a short scale, slid back down, and extended his arm for a tremolo, fingers and wrist of his right hand trembling.
As he played, his mind drifted, away from the memories of the most recent, bloody patrol, away from his duties as warrior and Prince and Captain. He remembered the forest as it was in his childhood: green and beautiful and full of life. He remembered playing with his friends, listening to his parents read him stories, sneaking into the kitchen to steal a snack.
He was no longer listening to the music – it resounded in his heart, filling it with such calm that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Pausing briefly to open the balcony doors and step out into the cool night, he shook his left hand on a long whole note, the music warbling out and twisting into the dark sky. He briefly fancied that Eärendil himself was listening, far above as he was in his ship, before shifting into second position. He was playing a more difficult song now, and had to concentrate to keep his fingers from fumbling. Now his mind was at peace, nothing but the next note and the next stroke holding his attention.
When he finished, his fingers red from pressing down on the strings, he slowly lowered his instrument and sat on the balcony rail, looking up at the night sky. Legolas idly plucked the strings in a gentle rhythm that took no thought to keep. A gentle breeze blew into his face and stirred his hair. Legolas lifted his chin.
He would go back to being a warrior in the morning. He would go back to the worry and blood and blades when the sun rose. But for now, while the stars and moon claimed the sky, he would be a musician, with nothing pressing to do except play that next song.
He raised the instrument and continued to play.
A horrible, ear-shattering shriek jarred him from his thoughts. Legolas sat up straighter, his gaze immediately going to the Black Gates. They were opening torturously slowly, a small crack appearing and gradually widening. And then the split was wide enough to allow a horse and its rider through. Legolas and the remaining members of the Fellowship urged their horses forward. As he rode, his eyes lifted up to the clouds.
The sun was still there, as Gandalf said. The Shadow may temporarily block out her light, but it could not extinguish it completely. It would pass, and a true night would fall. A beautiful night.
Legolas slowed his horse before the Black Gate and the Mouth of Sauron, the fingers on his left hand tapping out a beloved melody.