Disclaimer - I do not own the characters/places/whatever in this story
(would love to though. owning Legolas? Great idea.)
Legolas tried to urge the sweating horse on, faster.faster. The White City resolutely seemed to stay frozen on the horizon, out of reach. The sun reflected off Minas Anor, but even from here the elf could see that the flags and banners flew at half mast. he could not be late, he must not miss his friend. This would be the last time.
Word had come to Lothlorien; where Legolas had been residing, away from his own Mirkwood. A pair of men had come riding in hard, on fine grey horses from Edoras, but the horses' flanks were sweat-soaked and the men were urgent. They had refused to await an audience with the Lord Celeborn, but had asked for Legolas immediately. They had been messengers from the Queen Undomiel.
Grimly, Legolas recalled his surprise at this - he would have expected to receive messages from the King, his particular friend, not his wife, despite her elvish kinship. But the Queen had summoned him, and Legolas had not even thought to refuse. His friend Aragorn, the King Elessar, Strider. He would not live long. He was going to die.
It was his decision, Legolas reminded himself. And Aragorn was wise beyond the race of men. He would make a wise choice, the right choice. The way it had to be.
And the right way was never easy for men.
But even Legolas, for all his reason, felt the harshness of this choice. and that his friend had not even written to him, explaining. telling.and bringing Legolas to him was sore. Hard, fast blinks held the tears back - they should not be needed. Tears accomplished nothing - actions and deeds did that. And his action was this: to ride to his friend; to be there as one of the last of the Fellowship passed away.
He was growing nearer and nearer; he could almost hear the sorrowful buzz of the city. Surely he had not missed seeing his friend one last time? Could not Aragorn *wait* for him? Legolas was wry and bitter. The Gift of Men. The Doom of Men. No gift to their friends, no doom for their friends. Only emptiness and loneliness.
The horse jolted and then reared back, almost throwing the elf as he wandered in thoughts. Trying to carefully bring the horse down to all feet, he dismounted. The horse seemed well. But then its tossed its head, pulling back away from him holding its reins firmly. It tried to back away on only three hooves, hobbling.
"Ai! Elbereth!" Legolas cursed. As he inspected it, he found that the horse had dropped a shoe and was lamed. Progress towards that city would be slow now, and this was so urgent.
But Legolas took the time to care for the horse properly, improvising as best he could with what he had with him. He bound the horse's hoof, and persuaded it to continue with him, on foot. He focused his anguished gaze on the city *willing* it to come closer as his forced his feet towards it, leading a reluctant and pained horse. But his thoughts were still focused on his friend Aragorn. Was he still alive? Might he think of Legolas, his faithful friend? What passed through his thoughts now he accepted the Gift of Men, forsaking his people, friends, his Queen?
Where would Arwen turn?
* * *
She waited with him now, but almost ignored. Many people crowded the room in which the King stayed, making precious farewells. No one there remembered the war that had established this King. Elessar had outlived the people who had stayed loyal to him then, and none of his Fellowship had come. Boromir was slain long since, Merry and Pippin were dead. Gimli and Legolas, it seemed had had to remain with their kindred, Sam had followed his Frodo, the Ringbearer. Gone into the West in her stead, with Mithrandir, Galadriel and *her father*.
'The Ringbearers should go together'.
A dull quote. But they took the fair folk; the elves were leaving, Rivendell and Lothlorien were now desolate. *Her father had gone without her*.
No; she had let him go. She had stayed, deserting his side. All her fault, all her choice.
Her choice was Estel, who sat nearby. He was not yet so old as to not be able to support himself. He could stay or go at his choosing now. He should stay, he should stay! Her heart insisted. But if she thought of the future years, seeing him sink into old age. Youthful vibrance and then timeless wisdom both fading, and this man - King, dying aged and disrespected.
It was right. For him, and they. The people. What was right for her?
Instinctively she turned her face to his and met his eyes. He clasped her hand, but she saw desperation in his face; he did not know what was next in *their* story.
* * *
Legolas struggled on - the way seemed to get harder and harder. This last favour for a friend, surely he would not fail? The road seemed to stretch on and on, though in reality it may have been only a mile. Could he be seen from the walls of the city? Would the King. or only his Queen be alerted to his coming?
* * *
Finally Estel was beginning to weary, as the people at last began to leave. It seemed many tears were shed behind concealing hands, but the eyes of he and her were dry. But what would she do now? Would she go on, without him? Leaving him as only a memory. She could maybe still turn to the West, where he would never follow. He met her eyes, and saw the struggle of her thoughts. He could not tell her what she should choose. he could not say what he wanted her to choose. He did not know.
He wanted for her happiness. she had placed that with him when she had chosen to remain with him. But he. would go. Like everything else she had ever focused her emotions on. Her father. Her mother. Rivendell. Lothlorien. Where could her affection turn now?
He was in the tombs, and sat upon the place that would become his death-bed when he finally lay down. His son, Eldarion came to him. The new King. He was almost dead now. Almost gone. Almost forgotten? Arwen stayed with him, but could she still look at him? For all her wisdom, tears trickled their way over her ivory skin.
Were her affections always misplaced?
He could stay. He could stay to comfort her. But he would not. He would not. He could not do that last thing for her. His son was leaving, and he was going.
* * *
Legolas was at the gates, finally. The horse was left with the guards. He was making his way to the King.
The elf was becoming frantic. His limbs trembled with exhaustion and anxiety. Aragorn was close by, dying. And, at the last, he did not have last words of comfort and farewell.
Plzzzzzz r/r :-) Then I might finish & publish the end.
Legolas tried to urge the sweating horse on, faster.faster. The White City resolutely seemed to stay frozen on the horizon, out of reach. The sun reflected off Minas Anor, but even from here the elf could see that the flags and banners flew at half mast. he could not be late, he must not miss his friend. This would be the last time.
Word had come to Lothlorien; where Legolas had been residing, away from his own Mirkwood. A pair of men had come riding in hard, on fine grey horses from Edoras, but the horses' flanks were sweat-soaked and the men were urgent. They had refused to await an audience with the Lord Celeborn, but had asked for Legolas immediately. They had been messengers from the Queen Undomiel.
Grimly, Legolas recalled his surprise at this - he would have expected to receive messages from the King, his particular friend, not his wife, despite her elvish kinship. But the Queen had summoned him, and Legolas had not even thought to refuse. His friend Aragorn, the King Elessar, Strider. He would not live long. He was going to die.
It was his decision, Legolas reminded himself. And Aragorn was wise beyond the race of men. He would make a wise choice, the right choice. The way it had to be.
And the right way was never easy for men.
But even Legolas, for all his reason, felt the harshness of this choice. and that his friend had not even written to him, explaining. telling.and bringing Legolas to him was sore. Hard, fast blinks held the tears back - they should not be needed. Tears accomplished nothing - actions and deeds did that. And his action was this: to ride to his friend; to be there as one of the last of the Fellowship passed away.
He was growing nearer and nearer; he could almost hear the sorrowful buzz of the city. Surely he had not missed seeing his friend one last time? Could not Aragorn *wait* for him? Legolas was wry and bitter. The Gift of Men. The Doom of Men. No gift to their friends, no doom for their friends. Only emptiness and loneliness.
The horse jolted and then reared back, almost throwing the elf as he wandered in thoughts. Trying to carefully bring the horse down to all feet, he dismounted. The horse seemed well. But then its tossed its head, pulling back away from him holding its reins firmly. It tried to back away on only three hooves, hobbling.
"Ai! Elbereth!" Legolas cursed. As he inspected it, he found that the horse had dropped a shoe and was lamed. Progress towards that city would be slow now, and this was so urgent.
But Legolas took the time to care for the horse properly, improvising as best he could with what he had with him. He bound the horse's hoof, and persuaded it to continue with him, on foot. He focused his anguished gaze on the city *willing* it to come closer as his forced his feet towards it, leading a reluctant and pained horse. But his thoughts were still focused on his friend Aragorn. Was he still alive? Might he think of Legolas, his faithful friend? What passed through his thoughts now he accepted the Gift of Men, forsaking his people, friends, his Queen?
Where would Arwen turn?
* * *
She waited with him now, but almost ignored. Many people crowded the room in which the King stayed, making precious farewells. No one there remembered the war that had established this King. Elessar had outlived the people who had stayed loyal to him then, and none of his Fellowship had come. Boromir was slain long since, Merry and Pippin were dead. Gimli and Legolas, it seemed had had to remain with their kindred, Sam had followed his Frodo, the Ringbearer. Gone into the West in her stead, with Mithrandir, Galadriel and *her father*.
'The Ringbearers should go together'.
A dull quote. But they took the fair folk; the elves were leaving, Rivendell and Lothlorien were now desolate. *Her father had gone without her*.
No; she had let him go. She had stayed, deserting his side. All her fault, all her choice.
Her choice was Estel, who sat nearby. He was not yet so old as to not be able to support himself. He could stay or go at his choosing now. He should stay, he should stay! Her heart insisted. But if she thought of the future years, seeing him sink into old age. Youthful vibrance and then timeless wisdom both fading, and this man - King, dying aged and disrespected.
It was right. For him, and they. The people. What was right for her?
Instinctively she turned her face to his and met his eyes. He clasped her hand, but she saw desperation in his face; he did not know what was next in *their* story.
* * *
Legolas struggled on - the way seemed to get harder and harder. This last favour for a friend, surely he would not fail? The road seemed to stretch on and on, though in reality it may have been only a mile. Could he be seen from the walls of the city? Would the King. or only his Queen be alerted to his coming?
* * *
Finally Estel was beginning to weary, as the people at last began to leave. It seemed many tears were shed behind concealing hands, but the eyes of he and her were dry. But what would she do now? Would she go on, without him? Leaving him as only a memory. She could maybe still turn to the West, where he would never follow. He met her eyes, and saw the struggle of her thoughts. He could not tell her what she should choose. he could not say what he wanted her to choose. He did not know.
He wanted for her happiness. she had placed that with him when she had chosen to remain with him. But he. would go. Like everything else she had ever focused her emotions on. Her father. Her mother. Rivendell. Lothlorien. Where could her affection turn now?
He was in the tombs, and sat upon the place that would become his death-bed when he finally lay down. His son, Eldarion came to him. The new King. He was almost dead now. Almost gone. Almost forgotten? Arwen stayed with him, but could she still look at him? For all her wisdom, tears trickled their way over her ivory skin.
Were her affections always misplaced?
He could stay. He could stay to comfort her. But he would not. He would not. He could not do that last thing for her. His son was leaving, and he was going.
* * *
Legolas was at the gates, finally. The horse was left with the guards. He was making his way to the King.
The elf was becoming frantic. His limbs trembled with exhaustion and anxiety. Aragorn was close by, dying. And, at the last, he did not have last words of comfort and farewell.
Plzzzzzz r/r :-) Then I might finish & publish the end.