Epilogue
Olsatanô erin Fenamarth (A Dreamsmith on the Threshold of Doom)
"Ai, he's a brute, this child of yours!"
"Is he? What has he done to you now, Beloved?"
"My legs are all afire and tingling as though stung by the retreat of deep and biting cold."
"I am sorry. Let me raise them up on the cushion."
"Nay! Be still!"
Legolas lay on his side, every limb limp and lax, head cradled in Elladan's lap, long golden mane bound and braided back from his face, which was pale and bore the effects of a lengthy and languishing infirmity. He was naked but for the golden chain and the talisman it held, reclining in the cool grass beneath the great oak tree he preferred over all others in this garden. His was not a relaxed or decadent repose, not resting after a wild coital romp with his mate. The posture described exhaustion bordering on collapse. Suddenly he tensed, legs jerking and hands clutching at the turf as a low, pained, exasperated moan issued from him. A spasm passed through his entire body and left behind a deeper fatigue than before, if possible. He lay quiescent again panting lightly, unwilling to try a new position and perhaps induce the babe to also move into an even more uncomfortable configuration.
"Sîdh," Elladan soothed, one hand cautiously caressing the strained spine.
Since he was neither physically nor verbally rebuffed, he took heart and settled his palm over the tight, round mound of the sylvan warrior's belly. A softly menacing growl mellowed at once into a grateful purr as the child moved in response to the contact and thus eased the present discomfort its position had caused his suffering Ada. Elladan smiled, feeling the firm shape beneath his touch that could only be the tiny soul's head. He knew better than to make any adoring comments no matter how much his heart soared at these indications that his son knew him already. Legolas was not, at this advanced stage of the pregnancy, very affectionate toward their maturing infant.
No longer comfortable in his body, he spoke often of having been invaded by their child, who seemed not to understand that all the shoving and kicking and stretching he was doing in there was painful. The size of the bulge in his stomach was not so great as some, a common enough trait among male life-bearers, but the amount of space the child claimed in the archer's compact and svelte body was. Elladan had consulted his father to be sure his mate was not carrying twin sons and the relief to hear this negated was terrific. Legolas would not be able to support two such vigorous and demanding sons. 'He's trying to dig his way out of me,' the weary warrior often mourned, 'and no jibes about my friendship with Gimli being more than it seems.' Poised here twelve days beyond the expected date of parturition, Elladan would not dare to even hint at such a jest.
Another groan seeped past Legolas' clamped jaws and another jerky contraction of his torso confirmed the sudden thrust of two tiny feet against his bladder. He cursed quietly and reorganised his lanky legs preparatory to arising, and Elladan at once assisted, taking him under the arms and hoisting him upright. The cutting glare aimed briefly upon him was all the thanks Elladan could hope to receive. When Legolas spoke to him at all these days, he was referred to as Ontâro (Begetter) in tones that were not complimentary in the slightest degree.
Elladan smiled; he didn't mind any of it. What his mate was enduring was probably the epitome of humiliation for someone endowed with such a strong, independent personality. Legolas liked to be in control of what happened to him and those he loved, and usually was. He passed a loving arm round the distended waist and used the other to drape the archer's right arm over his shoulder. They hurried toward a small cluster of shrubs preferred for such needs, Legolas' free hand supporting his protruding abdomen in which the source of his complaints did just as he pleased. Not unlike his Ada, the wilful little thing. It took effort to suppress the chuckle Elladan felt forming on the heels of this thought.
The sigh of evident relief as the bladder emptied made him frown, but he banished the expression and the disappointment creating it quickly even though he wished Legolas would not refrain from asking for assistance more readily. "Better?" he asked quietly and registered the slight nod and the sudden burrowing against his chest with great and joyful indulgence. Both arms wrapped round the oddly shaped frame and squeezed. "I love you," he whispered into the silken hair and felt an answering hug. Another sigh, soft and wistful, ruffled against his shirt and he passed his hand over the crown of braided tresses. "Want to lie down again?"
"Nay, let's walk a little."
They did so and the slow movements granted some ease to the sylvan's cramped muscles and strained back. They wandered to the brook and drifted along its bank; Legolas waded into the cool flow and they went on like that, Elladan on the shore, his mate in the water, hands clasped across feathery ferns and stiff reeds. Their sedate stroll carried them to the limit of the garden, a high hedge cut by the stream. Reluctantly, Legolas stepped out and indicated his wish to go back toward the old oak tree, but when they reached it he kept on, weary and tired though he was.
"He sleeps," he advised, unnecessarily for Elladan understood.
"Mayhap if I sing he will go on slumbering and allow you to rest a while."
Legolas shrugged and sighed heavily, not believing it for an instant but willing to try anything. He was beyond spent; the child was consuming him. He swallowed back a complaining moan as Elladan eased him down and he stretched out, hand bolstering his stomach the while, and gratefully extended his legs in a bone cracking stretch, toes pointed. He crossed one ankle over the other and settled his head against Elladan's thigh as the smooth notes of a lullaby filled the air around him. He never even realised he slipped into slumber himself, coaxed easily into oblivion by the lulling lyrics and the rhythmic caress of loving hands upon his belly.
Elladan watched him as he continued to hum the tune, concerned and anxious. His father was unable to explain the delay in the child's birth and though he tried to be positive, his tone and body language amply expressed his worries. Elrond had suggested that Estë's help might be required. Elladan had immediately agreed; she arrived and examined Legolas, confirmed that the babe was healthy and active and they need not worry over him. Then she embarked on an examination of a different sort, quizzing the sylvan prince closely.
"You and the child are tightly bonded already. What says he regarding the cause of the delay?"
"What? I don't know what you mean." Legolas had gone pale, eyes opening wide in astonishment at this query.
"Stop," the gentle Vala ordered and he immediately dropped a shame-faced countenance. "You and your little one have been through much. Is this why he does not wish to emerge or is it something more? Is this the wrong place and time for him, Legolas?"
"I don't know," confessed the weary archer. "We both thought it was right, but now I am not certain. What if I have brought him forth only to lose him again? I cannot endure it!"
"Legolas, what do you mean 'again'?" Elladan at once demanded, fear flooding his heart.
"Silence," Estë commanded but she did not make him go, for Legolas had his mate's hand in a crushing grip. The Vala sighed and reached out to take up the fair talisman round his neck. As soon as she did, a jolt rocked her slender frame and she gazed upon her patient in astonishment and wonder. "Oh, this is unexpected!" she exclaimed and immediately left them, ignoring Elladan's frantic questions neatly by vanishing into the ether.
He crouched before his mate and gathered both Legolas' hands into his, stared intently at the stubborn and intractable Wood Elf, knew he would get nothing out of him to ease his troubled heart. Elladan smiled, joined him on the bench, kissed him, wrapped himself all round the archer. His heart swelled with joy to feel their child moving between them. "I will not bombard you with questions, Beloved. Only try to rest, for he is well and Estë will surely return with good advise." He was immediately squeezed tight by the lean arms and a softly uttered Thank you met his hearing.
That had happened yesterday and neither she nor any other Vala had come to resolve his fears. Legolas tried to explain of his own accord, but the account he gave was filled with those contradictory and irrational statements for which he was unfortunately too well known. Elrohir was the only one honest enough to state what many believed, that Legolas was a little mad due to the ravages of sea-longing, so long endured before sailing to Aman, that and an unfortunate hereditary propensity for delusional behaviour. Elladan next queried Thranduil and received more talk in a similar vein of shifting fate and multiple lives.
Neither surprised nor dismayed, he had long ago learned to tolerate all these abnormalities, even when Legolas held him to account for words and actions he knew he had never done, never spoken. He was resigned to it and discovered it made no impact on the depth of his love for the woodland prince. After a wearing night of sleepless agitation, Legolas had decreed that none should pass the garden gate, not even his Adar or Gimli. Expressly forbidden were all of his mate's relatives.
"I need to be with you only. You have always been able to heal my spirit when my strength is wanting."
To this Elladan could but comply, gladly and proudly, for sometimes Legolas was too independent and seemed not to need him for much at all. There was no doubting the growing child's drain on his Ada's light was becoming insupportable. Legolas would not or could not hold back anything his child required of him and Elladan could do no less for his mate, but he didn't understand the degree to which the babe consumed this essential light. Elrond was equally ignorant of the child's excessive hunger and equally concerned by Estë's sudden departure and enigmatic words, but hadn't been able to console his son much for Legolas barred him even from conversing over the hedge.
Legolas suddenly gave a jarring jerk, legs kicking out and back arching, awake in an instant. He met his mate's compassionate eyes with a miserable groan. Under the rhythmic caress of gentle hands and soothing song, the babe settled and his Ada relaxed into light reverie again. Elladan bent over him and kissed him, smoothed his furrowed brow, rested one loving hand on the quiescent mound. If the child was not born soon, he feared Legolas would lose what little grip on reality remained to him. A thought filled his heart, one he had entertained with increasing frequency as the days passed.
Why should we not use it? The power within it is a healing force and should produce exactly the result required: a true healing slumber and the onset of birth.
Numerous were the times Elladan resolved to talk to Legolas about it, but each effort to discuss the ring and its potential were definitively rebuffed. Legolas declared he would not now nor ever in future use it, keeping it only as a remembrance of their earliest days together in Greenwood. He wanted to pass it on to their son someday. That was all fine and good, and Elladan declined to argue too much, yet to grant Legolas that deep sense of contentment and refreshed vigour he required was too great a temptation. Indeed, Elladan suspected Estë had gone to consult with her cohorts about this very thing and would confirm his thoughts.
Today, he took matters in hand and removed the ring from its golden chain, slipping it over the sleeping archer's index finger. Then he gathered Legolas into his arms and carried him to the stream, held him across his lap, and resumed the lullaby.
He came in out of the rain in a silent and sudden whoosh of cape wind, a graceful and agile leap carrying him from oblivion into their midst, trailing the storm from his sodden cloak, limned in faint blue flames, and startled them to their feet instantly, swords already drawn even as he threw back the hood covering his face, and the swords dropped their points to the ground. He glanced at those abashed and chastened blades, smiling a strange, calm, ironic expression, then up to the faces regarding him in astonished castigation. He said nothing nor could they trust their voices, caught too finely between believing their sight and incredulous assurance that no one had been anywhere near this cave in the seconds preceding his arrival. Thus, to the accompaniment of thunder and lightning and the lashing deluge, he disrobed.
Swords returned to the sheaths made for them and were set aside once more. Naked, he approached the blaze of a neat fire and crouched before it, paying no more heed, acting as though he was quite familiar with them, had come expecting to find them, and that they should be no more amazed at this than he.
"Well," one of them managed to announce, tone and brevity evincing his disconcerted thoughts, eyes watching this bewitching figure attempting to wring out a lengthy mane of gold.
"Well?" he glanced to the speaker, shifted to examine his companion, offered again that enigmatic smile, returned attention to the fire.
"Well met, then," said the second and made bold to advance, hand held forward, eyes alight now with appreciative regard more than the vague dread they'd exhibited before. He was rewarded with a dazzling smile and the visitor's instant acceptance of his greeting. The close of his fingers round the lean and wiry arm gave proof to the substantial nature of their guest, though Elladan was the one held captive as surely as if the grip was continuous and confining, instead of too short and just firm and warm enough to impart again that sense of knowing them, knowing him, distinctly.
"Well met," Legolas was highly amused to see the brothers so non plussed and resumed his efforts to order his mussed hair.
The braiding seemed to hold them mesmerised and he let a light laugh break the mood, only it did not, and of course he knew that, too. He broke into a soft and lyrical song, slow and sweet and seductive so that it combined with the quick motions of his nimble fingers moving through the drying locks and synchronised the undulating motion of the pale blue flames. He was weaving a magic around them, but it was of a kind they would not resist and even encouraged, silent and still though they were. He did not acknowledge them again until the plaiting and the song were both complete, satisfied he'd entirely wound them up just as neatly. He lowered his arms and turned his countenance upon them, motioned for them to come forward to the fire.
"Where did you come from, just now, tawaro? (wood sprite)" asked Elrohir at last, he and his twin moving as one to seat themselves beside the fair apparition.
"From outside," Legolas told him seriously.
"Aye, no doubt," snorted Elladan, "but that word encompasses a huge terrain. In all the surrounding territory we made sure there was nothing moving here; the storm has driven all to cover."
"As it has me," Legolas concurred. "Am I not welcome after all?"
"He doesn't mean that," Elrohir corrected him, watching the lithe figure keenly as he rose and retrieved his quiver and harness and the compact, unstrung strength of a hunter's bow, settling down cross legged to inspect the weapons before putting them aside none too close to the flames. "You know very well you coalesced from the very air, from the very Music of this old world, indeed."
"So I did," Legolas agreed with him, smiling, "and surely so have we all, no?"
"Enough," Elrohir had no wish to play at games, eager to have what was so blatantly offered to them. "It is both or neither."
"Both, then." Legolas inclined his head and let them touch him.
They did not pounce as predators; they advanced incrementally, and he watched as one hand trembling alighted upon his chest, one hand sure and grasping enveloped his penis, not yet tall and full but neither completely soft and lax. The manipulations of that sure and skilful hand brought him rapidly to attention. The other, less shaky now, tried his nipples and since they were already red and ripe, withdrew in favour of a licking tongue and sucking mouth. He sighed, an urgent exhale, and permitted them to play with him as they would, explore as they pleased, tease and tempt as they desired. Having brought him near the frenetic peak of delight, they stopped and stood, stripped down and presented themselves for his approval. How could he not approve? Looking upon them, bold and aroused and fair and avid for him, how could he not? Again he motioned with his hand and they set about ravishing him with alacrity.
They did not attend one another at all, each excited to have him, to spill in him and with him, and with perfect harmony managed to mount him, Elladan in front and Elrohir behind, each one's cock boring into the twinned enclosures uniquely provided to receive it. Squeezed between their writhing bodies he could do nothing; his pleasure was at their mercy and they didn't regard it in the least, revelling in exquisite abandon so new an experience as this, and it seemed to catch Elladan by surprise when Legolas' seed painted his midriff. He found the Wood Elf's eyes then, seconds before coming in a great rush of ecstasy and noise. Elrohir followed immediately and they all sat, for they had remained on their knees, all three of them, throughout the joining. The twins rested on their heels with Legolas between them, pinned atop their laps. So they remained for a time to recover their breath and composure, and then Legolas eased forward into Elladan's embrace as Elrohir withdrew, happy to be gathered against the elder twin's chest, held their by arms that were gently possessive.
More time fled away; Elrohir was in reverie, stretched out on the blankets beside the blaze, Elladan slowly running a hand over the limp frame in his embrace, still inside him, growing hard anew as he thought about that.
Soon he shifted, laid Legolas down next his brother and fucked him intensely, vigorously, silently as Elrohir slept. The completion was as subdued in sound, a frantic gush of a gasp and a long shuddering anguish that left him so giddy with joy that he heaved Legolas up to him and kissed him, kissed him, and kissed him. Then he came free finally and still couldn't let him go, taking his place on the other side and gathering Legolas close, held him against his heart smiling into blue eyes he loved as surely as the grey ones staring unseeing into dreams beside them.
"You belong to us both, but to Elrohir you are a lesser enticement, for his spirit is too much bound to me to give you much, while my heart is given over more fully to you. Mate to both, but beloved by me. What say you to this?"
"I say it is no more than I expected," smiled Legolas and traced the fair features, ruffled through heavy onyx tresses. "Now, where is my ring? I would have it from your hand, from your heart."
"A ring?" Elladan laughed, then stopped abruptly, thinking it was no joke at all, and arose. In no time he returned and in his hand was indeed a fair ring of crystal and mithril and music and light. He set it on Legolas' hand.
"Yes, that is what I wanted," Legolas nodded, examining it closely as the light inside brightened and twinkled in merry glee to be reunited with him. "Yet it must not be worn thus except at need." Now he rose and rummaged in the small pack he'd flung down by the entrance, returning with a fine golden chain in hand. To this he attached the ring and round his neck he settled it, finally turning his gaze to Elladan for assent.
"So be it; it looks well," Elladan smiled, and even as he stood to claim his mate anew, Legolas backed from him into the gloom beyond the firelight and vanished.
"It is not in any plan of mine," intoned Vairë, beyond disgruntled to find herself called to this council as though the whole ugly mess was her fault, as though she had become negligent, or worse, in the management of fate. "I have left the unwinding of the spindle of the woodland elves to Yavanna, as she expressly asked me to let them become an 'organic component of the spirit of Tawar', whatever that is supposed to mean."
"It means they were to be permitted to advance according to the design of Eru," snapped the Vala of all Growing Things and the sylvans' beloved Queen of Tawar. "This situation is not to be tolerated! If you are not interfering then who else has the capacity to do so?"
"I see you've completely exonerated Galion," the Weaver seethed. She pointed an accusing finger at Yavanna. "Why didn't you do something about him?"
"Me? Is he my disciple? I cannot believe you want to foist responsibility for that foolish creature onto me!" She stepped nearer, fists clenched. "How dare you!"
"Oh, you were only too glad to see one of my sons brought low by the attraction of a sylvan maid!" Vairë tossed her head sending a shower of bright stars careening off into the void. "You have always blamed me for the Melian situation and this was your revenge. Admit it!"
"Sisters, please!" Estë intervened, trying to get between them and prevent the discord from escalating into open warfare. The last time the two battled, entire Ages of time and fate perished before they could even dawn and three successive suns were doused. It had required Varda's power to quell the duelling ladies. "This finger-pointing does not help matters." The gentle Vala of healing and rest was patently ignored as the volatile pair squared off again.
"Melian is no daughter of mine!" scoffed Yavanna.
"She is your niece and we all know your precious little sister Vana went crying to you when her stupid child became entangled with Thingol. You blame me, but I had nothing to do with it!"
"If not you then who?" Yavanna repeated her charge. "Do you expect me to believe that the Weaver of fate had no hand in the downfall of my Sindarin King?"
"Did you not ask me to leave them alone? Of course it was none of my doing! What reason could I have for such a thing?"
"Revenge!" spat Yavanna. "It is you who were chastised by Eru once I brought the Miriel issue to his attention. I know you have hated me ever since!"
"I assure you, I never think about you one way or another," sniffed Vairë. "I've too much to do and not enough disciples to see it all properly done. As Queen over all Growing Things, you are permitting the population of Arda to increase faster than I can imagine the design of their fates, much less weave them soundly."
"So you admit you have let this matter unravel as it would, taking no pains to repair the damage," Yavanna exulted and laughed in triumph. "I think I am no longer needed here," she told Estë and moved to go.
"You are indeed needed," Estë pleaded, "do not abandon your sylvan prince so quickly. Is his suffering nothing to you? And what of the child?"
"It is not a child at all, or certainly not one of mine," Yavanna shuddered. "I know not what it is, but it wants to be freed and is using Legolas to achieve that end. I am not the one to oversee such kinds of energy."
"Are you not? Who, then, joined living light to the Two Trees if not you? No other Vala has ever managed to imitate such arts," Vairë was not pleased to let Yavanna escape her part in the blame.
"Of which you are so jealous you cannot stand to look upon me," Yavanna retorted. "Everything you do but adds disturbance and increases tension, thwarting fate instead of guiding it. Was it not you whose counsel precipitated the whole history of conflict among the Noldorin Princes?"
"Ai! Now you want to shunt the will of Eru onto my shoulders! Did I teach Feanaro his tricks? Talk to your own husband about that! I did what I could to soften the damage, but not even Manwë himself could reason with those people."
"You might have insisted Miriel return to her husband."
"The First-born are not slaves to my will nor even to Eru's. She said she would murder Finwë if I made her go back. He is no prize and I can tell you Namó has nothing but trouble out of him and all their bloody-handed descendants. They are so far from earning true peace and renewal that I doubt any of them will breath again until the world is utterly changed."
"Aye, but who was it pushed Miriel at Finwë if not you?"
"Have I not said it was none of my design? I meant him to be with Indis from the beginning, but he would defy me and even Manwë to have his own way. Any fate but his own he would not abide, and see what transpired for cause of his pride. I am not responsible for what these tiresome elves do with the fate I have wrought for them, always under the guidance of Eru alone, let me emphasise. I cannot live their lives for them!"
"No, I do not believe you can," Yavanna admitted, troubled. She and Aulë were engaged in creating beautiful things, life and the framework it required, and suffered much when these inventions were time and again hindered or utterly destroyed. Yet she could not deny that it was never Vairë who engaged in such dark arts. "Forgive me, but I am sensitive to my helplessness to aid my lovely creations once they are out of my heart. I can little direct them and it stings that their fates are not mine to govern."
"No more are they mine, though always I bear the burden for it," complained Vairë "A weaver I am, but I do not supply the thread or the pattern. These are given unto me by Eru and I am not so bold as to suggest alterations in our Father's designs."
"This brings us again to our present concern," Estë reminded them, glad to see both Ladies calmer as the import of their actions was brought home to them. "I did not intend to suggest either of you should be held accountable for the trouble. I simply want your help, Ladies, in setting this aright. What is to be done?" Silence followed her words and great swaths of time billowed about in uneasy abatement whilst awaiting their thoughts. Finally, Yavanna spoke:
"Dare I suggest it, but there is someone who understands the manner in which gems and living light may be combined without destroying either one."
"No! Anything but this," Vairë was shocked, not at the idea, for she had been thinking the very same thing, but because the Queen of Arda spoke such dangerous thoughts aloud. "You must guess that at least part of this is his doing. I believe Feanaro is trying to circumvent the law of Mandos and the just doom of Namó. He wants to get free and thinks he has found the means in this highly confused Wood Elf Prince."
"Yes, I also suspect this," sighed Estë. "I fear we have no choice but to consult with Manwë. Legolas has the sight but not the gift of dividing it into many focal points. He can give full attention to only one dream at a time, and this is an unfortunate consequence of the combination of his heredity and the young age at which he received Celebrian's ring."
"Indeed, and I have often attempted to divide him from it by warping events. Every time I am foiled, for he has become so attached to it that he has gone back to get it even when I have worked frantically to make sure it is not brought to him by the Twins. They, of course, are useless, having as little sight as their Adar and none of Melian's art," revealed Vairë.
"How can he not love this light? It has been his companion in his darkest hours," Yavanna defended her favourite Wood Elf. "He means no harm."
"This we know," Estë nodded.
"I am proud of him," Vairë suddenly announced, giving her sister Powers a defiant glare. "He has done more good with less ability than that useless twit Galion ever managed."
"Will you advocate for Galion's release?" Estë pleaded. "He may be able to help us now."
"He would not come forth for therein resides his beloved sylvan maid. Indeed, he keeps Thranduil and Legolas from the reunion with the wife and mother for whom they have so long grieved. Legolas especially feels her absence as the time for his child's birth draws near," Vairë disclosed this unpleasant truth, embarrassed to have so little influence over her wayward son.
The council disbanded, Estë deciding for them that she was most likely to gain Manwë's sympathy to hear their woes. Her plea was effective; Sulimó granted the desired conference and a long, difficult argument proceeded. It was interrupted by an unexpected phalanx of guardians, who came hurrying to report that Legolas was once again wearing the fair ring of crystal and mithril and music and light. All of time and fate was halted so that the Lord of the West might try to prevent the realisation of a supremely disruptive and damaging sequence of dreams.
Legolas returned to Greenwood with his mates and found Thranduil eager to begin, Mithrandir and Aewendil already there and equally ready. It wasn't quite so simple as that, of course, for Thranduil did not want the three rings entering his realm, while the wizards believed the task could not be done without them. Additionally, Mithrandir wouldn't think of undertaking such a dangerous venture without consulting his superior and, thus, Saruman summoned the White Council to convene in Greenwood. As it was now to his purpose, Curunir advised that an attack on the evil fortress should be made and the Necromancer destroyed, for it was clear this enigmatic figure was their old enemy returned. Only Elrond disputed the Istar, but his warnings of visions and portents were ignored.
The three Keepers readied themselves to use the power harnessed within their Burdens in a manner for which they were never intended, for the violent disruption of war. Thranduil and Celeborn mustered their archers and their swordsmen and even the human woodsmen answered the call to arms. Great and mighty was the army that besieged the tower of Dol Guldur.
It seemed endless and fruitless, day after day accumulating into months of bitter confrontation. Innumerable were the platoons of orcish men and mannish orcs sallying from the Necromancer's lair. They were repulsed time and again, but casualties were high among the elves and men. After nearly a year of perpetual battles and skirmishes, it was deemed that few defenders could remain within, yet not once had Sauron shown himself. Encouraged by Saruman, the three Keepers of the elven rings at last unleashed the combined power of the elements: Air, Fire, and Water. Vilya was the greatest and through it Narya burned with the heat of the stars and melted the very stone of the tower's foundations. Dol Guldur collapsed and as Nenya served to vanquish the searing flames, Curunir made battle upon Sauron.
It was a horribly spectacular and destructive fight, for the two Maiar had no qualms about the numbers that perished in the exchange of lethal energy, primal and inchoate, that ripped through the surrounding lands. Greenwood did not merely burn, huge swaths of the forest were instantaneously incinerated, the elves in them as well. It was worse than dragon fire. Thranduil and Celeborn watched in horror, each one forgetting all in their determination to ensure their loved ones were spared, and both were destroyed shielding son and grandsons. Legolas and the Twins roared in sorrow and rage and turned their wrath upon the duelling Maiar, no longer caring which one they killed as long as this devastation ceased. They could not even get near them, embroiled in the turmoil of fleeing orcs and men through which they had to force a path.
Elrond, seeing the vision he most feared unfolding, did what he could to protect his sons with Vilya only to discover the ring depleted, all its strength spent, and even as he reached his hand toward his eldest, both were vaporised by a deflected ray of dark sorcery meant to destroy Saruman. Witness to this, Galadriel in her fury challenged Sauron and the duel between them was intense but short. The might of Nenya was never meant to inflict injury but to preserve and protect and nourish the world, and most of its potency had likewise been used up in quenching the fires as the tower toppled. The Lady of Light fell and never rose again.
In that slender second of Sauron's distraction, Curunir advanced his might, revealing a hidden weapon he had developed in secret, a crystal of unique properties fashioned on the principles that permitted the creation of the Silmarili. Its function seemed to be both prismatic and arresting, simultaneously dividing the White Wizard's many colours into their infinitely individual tones, each with its own distinctive power to overwhelm and ensnare, and as this marvellous energy overwhelmed the remnant darkness that remained to Sauron, it was gathered up and sucked into the heart of the gem, there to remain entrapped for evermore. Saruman emerged victorious and at once turned against Mithrandir and Aewendil. These two servants of the Valar were no match for him and were easily killed, their life energy likewise consumed by the crystal.
Even before the loss of his sons, Elrond knew it was a hopeless struggle, and even before that moment his eyes turned upon Legolas, struggling mightily to get to the Necromancer, author of all his sorrows and all his rage. A host of memories assailed the elven lord amid a voice echoing out of time. Do not forget! Resolved, he fought his way to the last of Oropher's lineage, never taking his sight from Legolas, who fought with strength and determination; mad, frenzied, his entire being ablaze in rippling flames of blue and gold. He must not fall. Elrond prayed, begged, demanded as he neared, hacking and stabbing through the melee, willing the Valar to preserve his law-son. And then they were fighting back to back, but Legolas had no intention of fleeing, of surviving, eager to join all the people he most loved in Mandos. Elrond took desperate measures, turning upon the Wood Elf and inflicting so severe a wound that the archer collapsed.
The Lord of Imladris hoisted him up and fled Dol Guldur, a handful of sylvan elves and a scattering of men with them. One, a giant bearing a spear upon which was tied a tattered and bloodied banner, traded him that flag for the elven prince, glaring so fiercely that Elrond relented and permitted the exchange. In wonder he watched the savage man pause and bind up the archer's wounds; there were tears in his eyes.
With a frantic, gasping intake of air Elrohir awoke, drenched in sweat and trembling. It was impossible to enter reverie without reliving the ugly scene and watching the tragedy happen all over again. Usually, he came to consciousness with his brother's voice echoing through his heart, but sometimes, as today, a piercing scream called him alert. High in the treetop talan, Legolas lay beside him dreaming, face wrinkled in folds of despair and distress, eyes shut tight behind crinkled lids, the golden lashes all but vanished in the extreme frown, parted lips stretched in a horrid grimace, spilling such strained and anguished moans that it frightened him. At once he shook the Wood Elf's shoulder to rouse him. "Legolas! Awaken, Beloved, for you are dreaming again." The blue eyes popped wide as Legolas sat up suddenly, panting and panicked.
He grasped Elrohir's arm as he stared round, recognised their snug home high in the canopy, and sighed his relief into the air. "Thank you."
Elrohir shook his head, a disgruntled snort exiting his nostrils, and gazed sadly upon his mate. There was no other definition to give their relationship and he was happy for it, yet there was an emptiness that surrounded and isolated them, a cohesive force arising from a divisive void. That abyss belonged to the grief that had brought them together and the vacuum was a vast, silent expanse of emotional agony, for in it reposed the lost soul of Elladan. Without him, they could be as they were, yet to be as they were had cost a sacrifice neither could bear. Eventually, the sorrow would overwhelm them and consign them to Mandos, a fate neither would oppose save that Elladan would not be there to greet them. He is lost forever, consumed by darkness, even as Legolas' naneth. "I know what you were dreaming."
"Of Elladan, as were you." Legolas grumbled and quickly turned away, going pale even as he, too, issued a solemn sough. No words were required to understand what was passing through Elrohir's mind at this moment. He pulled himself to the edge of the mattress and set his feet upon the floor, watched as he flexed his toes wide.
"Aye, but I was reliving the disaster where we lost him. You were dream-walking with him. In that place, he lives." And you are his mate there.
"I know what you would say. It is not so simple as you believe."
"There is nothing more straightforward, though I grant it is no easy task. Still, it must be done, Luthadron, and soon." Elrohir scooted over to sit beside him, settled a comforting arm over the Wood Elf's naked shoulders. He leaned nearer and kissed the high cheek. There were difficult words to be said and he held on tight to give himself courage. "You know that I love you dearly. I cherish the glory of our bond, Legolas. This, our home here, our life together, our history going back to your elf-child days, this is a lovely dream in all ways but one, but that one flaw cannot be borne. You must do what your heart knows to be right. I want him back from the abyss, or rather, for him never to have perished therein. I love you more than my own life, but - "
"You love him more."
"Nay! That is not what I would say nor what I feel." That it was what he felt each knew, though he could never admit it aloud. Elrohir bent and brushed aside the long sweep of golden hair and pressed his lips against the Wood Elf's neck. "Legolas, the guilt is destroying me."
"Aye," Legolas met the stricken grey eyes, soul awash in guilt of his own. And what of me if I can achieve this? "I have tried, many times."
"Have you?" Elrohir knew it was true but could not believe Legolas had exhausted every avenue. Elladan was not meant to be parted from him thus. "There must be a way."
"I did not choose for him to die," the Wood Elf suddenly explained, hoping Elrohir understood this much. "I didn't know this reality held his death. I was just trying to - " He didn't know anymore what he was trying to do and gave an impatient shake of his head. "I would not have walked this path had I foreseen it. I was only a child and did not really understand then."
"I know," Elrohir smiled, a sad and meagre expression, and gave the slumped figure a firm squeeze.
"You know." Legolas peered at his mate, wondering if he spoke the truth. He frowned and shook his head. "There is no way you can truly comprehend what it is like."
"You are wrong. I have walked many of those dreams with you; I remember them, and what I know Elladan knows. In those dreams where he still lives, he knows. He would never think you purposely chose a course that led to his death. No more would I think it. Be at peace on this point and do not fear to choose a new path." Elrohir's heart began pounding as the conversation progressed, wondering if it was really taking place or if it was only another dream.
"Choose?" Legolas sighed, his worries confirmed by Elrohir's words. "You don't know what you ask. It has gone wrong so many times. I have searched for a place where we could all find peace, but every time I try to do something good and right, someone I love dies. I am afraid to dream another dream, Elrohir." There, the truth was out and Legolas braced for whatever diatribe might follow.
"Ai, Legolas," Elrohir breathed out this lament and wrapped both arms tighter about the archer, kissed him as he snuggled in close. "I don't know the answer to your quandary; I only know we must bring Elladan back. He is not meant to die, of that I am certain if nothing else."
"And who will die instead?" Legolas blurted, disturbed by Elrohir's demand. "I will not risk it." He broke from his mate and stood, dressed hurriedly and left the talan.
"Legolas!" Elrohir rose, donned leggings, and followed through the tree-top paths in the mighty oaks of Greenwood. "Wait! Please, let us speak of this calmly, Beloved." Ahead, the archer paused and sent back a gaze of appalled apprehension.
How could he leave this reality? In this dream he was not ill with sea-longing. In this place Frodo had not needed to brave the fires of Mordor, for Saruman never turned. Curunir received the One Ring from Bilbo and destroyed it, thus annihilating its debased lord. He and the wizards had left Middle-earth long ago. Aragorn ruled in Gondor, Boromir served as his steward In Ithilien and Faramir his regent in the north at Anuminas. Theoden King was hale and hearty in Rohan, his son and heir Theodred wedded to a Lady of Dol Amroth. In this life-line many who had been served death at the end of the Third Age would instead die in the sleep of old age. And in this reality there was a child about to be born, perhaps the very last elven child ever to be conceived in Middle-earth.
It was not perfect. Legolas' mother had perished horribly alongside Elladan. The Twins had come upon the scene of conflict and the elder brother acted as before, save that he entrusted Legolas to Elrohir, staying to attempt a rescue of his naneth, and there died. Legolas had convinced himself his babe would house Elladan's spirit, healed and renewed, for with Sauron vanquished it might be true. The notion of such a gift, to be permitted to create Elladan and bring him into being, to love him utterly and unconditionally without demands for his personal needs, to nurture and nourish him body and soul, to guide him as he grew, to have both brothers belong to him uniquely as no others ever could, all this appealed to Legolas and eased his hurting conscience. Thus, he was reluctant to reject this version of the dream. None of this had he dared share with Elrohir; indeed, he had not expressed these hopeful wishes to his father or grandfather.
"I did not intend to upset you," Elrohir joined him and carefully scrutinised the wary cast of the fair face, the spikes of cold blue cutting through the soft silver aura. His sight came to rest on the slight distension at Legolas' midriff and he settled a gentle hand there. "I did not mean for you to risk the child. I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yes." Elrohir realised his error now, horrified he'd placed this burden upon mate, disgusted that he'd failed to consider the possible implications for the babe. "Forgive me, Luthadron, I should not have suggested it. I know you must dream and that to dream as you do is difficult at best and harrowing at worst. Dream what best eases your heart. That and only that." He settled a quick and insistent kiss upon the frowning lips and again searched the lapis irises in which swam a young soul forced to live so many lives it had become ancient. "That Elladan be returned to life, nothing else need change, that is what I was thinking. I would give up my own - "
"No dínen!" (Be silent!) Legolas cried out in alarm and shoved Elrohir hard away from him, climbing higher to rest in the crook of the tree's arms and glare down upon him. "You and Ada, always making this request and how can I grant such a thing? You ask me to make it so that you will die! How can you demand this of me? Do you believe I could ever knowingly enter a life dream wherein this actually happens?"
"Nay, nay! I am sorry!" Elrohir had not thought about it in this way and realised he had just added an extra trial to the Wood Elf's long list of impossible tasks. Tentatively he grasped the foot dangling above him. "I do not mean that, Legolas. I just thought - "
"Everyone wants something; everyone hopes and dreams and believes their dream is the right one, the best one!" Legolas vented his frustration and fear. "I, too, once believed this lie when I was still a child, but it does not work that way. Each different dream is a new variation and none of the circumstances can be guaranteed. If one thing changes, something else will also change, usually many, many things are altered. I cannot predict what will happen before I enter a dream and can only live it out as it unfolds, suffering whatever consequences my choice engenders, until I find the pivot point at which I might force an exit into yet another reality, another version of the same dream.
"It is an unending series of scenes, shifting like leaves brushed by the breeze of Tawar's mighty breath, random patterns like enough to be beguiling, different enough to offer hope. Your dying does not ensure your brother living. Adar's death does not mean Nana will be returned to me. If I try to find a path like that, I might lose them both and be utterly alone. I would never survive that. And so it could happen with you and Elladan. I could lose you both, Elrohir, and without you what becomes of our child? Is what you want worth such risks?"
"Ai! Forgive me, please!" Elrohir knew he could not undo his words and set about countering them. "I do not want you to feel this guilt for something that has not happened." He hastened to join the prince and sat beside him. "Please forgive me and forget my foolish, ignorant, thoughtless request."
"I am so tired. I cannot go on doing this." Legolas slumped against Elrohir, a muffled groan escaping into the space around them. "I cannot do it anymore! What I lose - I cannot bear to lose the babe again!"
"Again? Ai, Legolas. I didn't know."
There was no sound as he sped through the corridor, feet barely touching the floor, racing over the elegant stone flags of marble and dark green serpentine, crossing in a flash of shining hair the inlaid pattern of the White Tree and the Seven Stars in the centre of the rotunda. The guards scarcely had time to acknowledge his presence before he forced through the ornate doors and burst into the council chamber. A voice cried out in surprise and fear; several men leaped to their feet, one with his hand upon a dagger's hilt, and at the head of the huge table Elessar stood up, mouth round and eyes staring in dismayed incomprehension.
"Aragorn! I must speak with you," Legolas blurted out, already at his side, one hand reaching for him. The man clasped it tight, but his countenance reordered into a concerned frown. "It is urgent!" the elven prince insisted before any protest could be uttered.
The nobles of Gondor murmured in discontent, but they left the room at once. There was not a one who wished to contend against the elven prince of Eryngalen and Ithilien. Man and elf watched them go and as soon as the subdued thud of the doors closing resounded, Aragorn took his friend by the elbow and led him out through a different portal into the private areas of the fortress.
"I'm sorry," Legolas apologised, "but I could wait no longer."
"Of course, mellon, do not disturb yourself," Aragorn's words were calm and cautious; Legolas had not been well of late. He wondered where Anzo was; the man never let his prince out of sight willingly.
They proceeded in silence until they reached the man's private study. There he sat the Wood Elf down in a comfortable chair and moved to pour out a portion of the elixir Lord Elrond had created to ease the symptoms of sea-longing, noting with displeasure that Legolas had popped out of the seat at once and was pacing in agitation. Aragorn handed over the glass and watched as it was swallowed down. "Now, compose yourself and tell me what is wrong."
"I'm sorry." Legolas shoved the glass back into his hands, eyes bright with desperation. "It is not in me to break my word, but -"
"Nay, mellon, nay!" Aragorn gripped him at the biceps and squeezed, almost glad to hear this confession. At last! "You need not apologise. I understand and - "
"I can't do it!" the admission exploded, wrenched from his very soul and the damage done nearly broke Legolas. He clutched at the man. "I know I promised; I know I agreed, and I was so happy when Arwen came to me, so honoured, but now - "
"Ai! Be at peace!" Aragorn tried to calm him, led him back to the sofa and sat down with him, still holding his arms. The sylvan prince twitched and writhed in place and the man realised that there were words he must speak, and so resigned himself to hear them. "I am listening, Legolas."
"You are not angry?"
"Nay! Do not be troubled by such misapprehension." The man smiled in melancholy felicity, reached up and smoothed a stray lock of the golden mane back into place. Twelve years worth of efforts at cure had proved as useless as Lord Elrond had predicted; sea-longing had reduced his friend to intermittent outbreaks of insanity. He talked at length about events that had never happened and revealed a disturbing attraction to his mate's twin, though Elrohir had sailed to Valinor with Erestor long ago. "Go on."
"I didn't know how to tell you," Legolas resumed, head lowered, eyes shuttered. "I've been weeks stewing over it, arguing with myself, trying to convince myself I could do it. And I thought of sailing away in secret so I would not have to confront you, but my conscience would not permit it."
"Your honourable character would not allow it," Aragorn smiled warmly and settled his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "It is well; I will escort you to Mithlond personally and see you safely under way."
"What?" Legolas looked up sharply, looked at him in shock, hurt and more than hurt, utterly crushed. "I am not sailing, Aragorn." He peered into the man's troubled grey eyes, but could not detect any anger, only sadness and confusion. He swallowed. "Unless you are sending me away."
"Sending you?" Aragorn stared, distraught, for it was clear Legolas was contending against a particularly excruciating attack of the elven malady, his thoughts scattered and irrational. He shook his head firmly as he spoke, "No, mellon, I would never banish you from Gondor. Put that from your thoughts."
"I would not blame you," Legolas looked down into his lap once more, relieved but overwhelmed anew with guilt. "I thought to claim sea-longing as the reason - "
"Legolas, you need not - "
"Let me speak!"
The man bowed his head in silent ascent, sighing, mournful that he could not help the sylvan prince.
Legolas drew breath to steady his nerve and continued. "It is not sea-longing that forces me to refuse. There is a risk that I would not have sufficient light to survive, but I am strong enough to produce a healthy son, even if it cost me every flickering spark of faerlim I possess." Aragorn's posture suddenly grew tense and still, his face folded into lines of distress, and it warmed the archer's heart to know his demise meant this much. "I would not mind such an end, for I know Arwen will love him as much as I and care for him with as much delight, but what if I lived? What then?"
"Legolas - "
"How could I bear it?" the Wood Elf hurried on, hand raised to silence any protests the man might wish to voice. "How could I give him up? I could never leave him, but then in the end he would leave me, utterly and forever, for I cannot give him the life of the First-born though I empty the entirety of my soul into his creation. He will be a man, and he will die, and he will go to a place I can never reach. I cannot endure that!" He stood abruptly and roamed the room, a despairing groan emptying his lungs. He saw Aragorn rise and turned his back rather than meet the expression of horrified anguish transforming his face.
"You cannot believe that I could stand by and watch as you age and die only to go through it all again with my child. No more could I sail and leave him behind to his fate, to die alone, forsaken by his own Ada." A severe convulsion worked his shoulders and he cried out, hugged his hurting heart tight. "Ai! Just imagining it is torture, Aragorn!" He glanced to find the King standing frozen, mouth ajar again, eyes agleam with a sheen of unshed tears. "Please, tell me you understand! Say that you forgive me!" he pleaded, rushing back and falling on his knees, head bowed and hands uplifted in mute supplication.
The sight of him kneeling there broke the man's stupor and he immediately bent to raise him up. "Mellon, Legolas," he murmured and pulled the archer close, held him, felt the violent tremors racking the slender body. "There is nothing to forgive. I do not know what to say to you." He stood back, but kept tight hold of the prince's shoulders, warily evaluated his mental state. "Listen to me, mellon. You and I - " he faltered, not sure what would happen when he explained things. "Legolas, I already have a son and heir, Arwen's child and mine," he spoke softly and gently, willing his friend to remember, to awaken from this hallucination. "His name is Eldarion."
"Eldarion?" Legolas gaped at him, stunned, thoughts reeling.
"Aye. He is two years old. You sang him to sleep last night."
Legolas collapsed.
"Addolo enni!" (Come back to me!) the shouted command followed the loud report of a palm striking against a cheek. "Addolo si!" (Come back now!) Another sharp blow landed on the other cheek and Elrond followed that by grabbing the elven prince's lax body at the shoulders, shaking him violently, features contorted in rage. "I will not allow you to slip away, not now!" He struck him again and bellowed out a furious and incoherent shout as he was forced to throw Haldir off him and defray Arwen's attempts to stop him. "Stay out of it!" he thundered and so enraged was his expression that the two stood well back, Haldir taking hold of Arwen's hand. That was all wrong, too, but Elrond had no time to ponder it, resuming his harsh efforts to revitalise the failing archer.
They'd taken refuge in Lorien, though the Golden Wood was endangered by the wild fire and the corrupt wizard's whim. Curunir had other concerns, however, and gave no thought to the Lord of Imladris or the ill-fated son of Thranduil. Elrond rejoiced to find his daughter unharmed and with her rallied all that remained of the Galadhrim, relocating to Fangorn. Deep within the ancient trees, Elrond strove to resuscitate Legolas, the key to all this misery; he was sure of it. He assaulted the unconscious figure again. "Open your eyes and face me, coward! Betrayer!" Another blow connected fist and face. "You've killed them as surely as if you'd taken aim at their hearts with your bow!"
"Ada, please!"
Arwen was weeping; Haldir encircled her in his arms. Elrond paid them no mind, for he thought he'd detected a faint fluttering movement of the Wood Elf's eyelids. He bent close and carefully raised one; the iris contracted a tiny bit and he exhaled a huge breath of hopeful relief. Before he could continue, a great disruption ensued on the ground below the talan and he was astonished to find Anzo pulling himself up amid the limbs, determined to reach his lord. He was too heavy, however, and fell back with a ponderous thud and a desperate cry. Elrond glanced at Haldir, his orders clear, and the March Warden at once descended to deal with the woodland prince's worthy servant.
"Do him no injury," the last elven lord insisted, for his instincts told him there was good cause to preserve this man. A soft moan drew his attention back to Legolas, who was stirring. "Open your eyes, Legolas. You must awaken and face this reality you have wrought."
"Nestegi," Legolas mumbled, hand feeling over the wide swath of cotton gauze in which his chest was bandaged. It was a deep wound and throbbed terribly. Suddenly a harsh slap propelled his head against the pillows and he gasped, shocked, and tried to gather strength to defend himself. He knew this scenario and desperately struggled to free himself, but when he focused his vision on the face above him, it was not an orc but the Lord of Imladris. "What - ?"
"You know me, good," Elrond growled and grabbed him under the arms, dragged him up into sitting position, heedless of the cries of agony this elicited. He glared at the gasping and trembling prince. "Do you know where you are? Do you know when this is happening?" The Wood Elf groaned and his eyes shut as though he might descend into oblivion once more and Elrond slapped him. "No! Stay with me, Legolas." What fragment remained of Vilya's might he forced into the suffering ellon, pleased to see his contortions of agony and hear his incoherent screams.
"Ada, you will kill him!" Arwen pleaded but feared to go closer. She had never seen her father like this.
"Oh no, I will see to it he lives," Elrond snarled and struck the archer again. "Open your eyes and face me!"
"What do you want of me?" Legolas cried weakly, ineffectually trying to shield himself with leaden arms that refused to obey his wishes.
"Want?" Elrond's brows arched high, astonished to be asked this. "I want my sons back!"
"Your sons?" Legolas tried to concentrate. The world was swirling round him and he could barely glimpse the elven lord.
"They are dead and you their murderer! Your father and grandfather are dead; Celeborn your kinsman is dead along with Galadriel, along with nearly all of the population of Greenwood and Greenwood itself. All this you have wrought, you wretch!"
"Dead?" he swallowed, licked his lips, gripped the bedding beneath his body, fought the pain, stared into the twisting corridors of conflicting realities and groaned. "No, no!"
"Yes," Elrond spat. "Now you will tell me the remedy." He grabbed hold of Legolas as the Wood Elf suddenly lurched sideways, vomiting blood and bile, and the talisman round the archer's neck fell against his hand. The connection initiated a deluge of memories flowing through him in vivid detail, an amalgamation partly contradictory, vaguely complimentary, all overlapping and either cancelling or amplifying like ripples dancing across the waters of some great and fathomless ocean. He gasped and let go, sat back, heart racing, and touched for an instant upon the ring still swinging from its golden chain round Legolas' neck. The visions were acute and painful and he was startled into understanding. Legolas was dismantling fate and Celebrian's ring was the tool he employed. "We are in an unholy place and it is your doing, Legolas, yours and your Adar's. Can you wake us from this nightmare?"
"I don't know," Legolas admitted, fraught with anguished remorse, weak and overwhelmed with pain. "Without Elladan, I need the potion Adadhaer distills to do it. I don't know what's become of him."
"He is lost, for he would be here with you otherwise. Potion or not, you will do it, ion-en-'waith," Elrond intoned the title bitterly. "I will have the fate Vairë has woven for me and mine, not this perversion patched together by Thranduil's deranged and grieving heart."
"Do not disparage him!" Legolas cried. "He at least tried, he tried - " His words died away, uncertain now what his father had hoped to achieve.
"He has only aided our direst enemy," Elrond growled. "Selfish, foolish ellon!" He shouted at Legolas. "Can you still fail to see? All of this, your interference, your father's tampering, sending you careening and blundering through the paths of doom like a deranged oliphant, has been orchestrated by Saruman."
"Leave him be, Ada," Arwen interrupted their argument and took Legolas' part, drawing near. Cautiously she, too, touched her mother's ring and just as quickly pulled back her hand as though bitten. "Valar! He could not know, no more could Thranduil. Even you did not, or you would have had Nana's ring destroyed long ago. Now, I can make this potion for him, but before he drinks it we must take thought to where he will go and what he will do when he gets there. And before that you must heal him."
"Your words are wise," Elrond embraced his daughter and held her to his heart, all that remained of his family in Arda. He turned again to Legolas and passed a calmer gaze over him, seeing the depth of his sorrow and his rage. "Aye, you have been used, too, just like that ring. Be at peace and forgive my harsh criticism," he implored. "We must return them to life, all those we love so dear, and you will aid us."
"Of course, I will do everything I can, yet I fear we may not succeed, at least not with everyone," Legolas mourned, thinking of his mother and feeling the distant warmth of a faint and fragile spark of life that waited, needed to be brought into being. "Every time I attempt this someone I love dies, no matter whom I am able to salvage. I confess, I do not know how to choose the best path, the right path. Adar has sent me into those threads of fate so often I no longer know my own history; how can I determine the steps that will restore another's?"
"We will help you," Arwen promised, "for we share the ancestry of Melian, and though she does not serve Vairë, her wisdom is great and her magic vitally connected to Arda. Through her grace, we may yet set things aright."
"Would that I could have been there to see it brought down."
"You were here ensuring that its former master was brought down; that is far more important. Our effort could not have succeeded without that."
"Aye." His disconsolate tone revealed how unsatisfying that was. Legolas had neither confronted the enemy nor the enemy's lair. His contribution had been minute and Sauron never realised he was present.
They stood together in the garden, father and son reunited after all the hardship of war, Legolas leaning casually against the high stone wall, arms crossed before him, Thranduil seated on a bench beside him. Legolas sighed quietly, part in relief to know it was over and his father had survived, half in misery, for the affliction inspired by the cry of the gulls had not relented an iota. He smiled as Thranduil rose and set a comforting hand on his shoulder, covered it with his own and squeezed.
"You will not sail?"
He shook his head. "I gave my solemn word."
"And why did you? I do not understand, ionen. This man can manage his affairs and the affairs of his people without you." Thranduil tried and failed to restrain his irritation and dislike for Aragorn.
"I am not so sure," Legolas disagreed. "There is much to be repaired and all the harm of Sauron cannot be erased over night. It would be wrong for his friends to desert him when there is still such need."
The king scowled; this was a poorly rendered excuse and explained nothing. Others could as easily do this work. For the life of him he could not comprehend the strange and sudden bond that had sprung up between his son and the Dúnedan over the year of the Quest. The thought gave him an unpleasant jolt that revealed itself physically. He had an uneasy feeling that he understood, persisting in denial because that was easier to confront than the truth. Yet reason mocked him; the answer was obvious. It would take much more than a bond of friendship to hold his son here when he suffered so. "Legolas, you and this man - "
"Please do not be angry."
"I am not angry; I am furious!" Thranduil exploded, striding away across the grounds, intent upon finding the King of Gondor and expressing his outrage. Legolas caught him and yanked him to a halt.
"You mustn't, Ada!" he pleaded.
"Let go!" he pulled free and found his anger was truly concentrated right here in front of him. "How could you? Why? What of Elladan?"
"You mean Elrohir."
"Elrohir?" Thranduil was confused and suddenly snatched up his son's arm, pushed back the tunic sleeve, and exhaled a fearful breath. The memento from Curoniel was not there. He raised panicked eyes to Legolas. "Tell me you removed your Nana's bracelet so to preserve it from harm during battle."
"What bracelet? I have nothing from my mother; you know this." Legolas turned away, pale and distraught. He wandered back to the bench and sat, the king joining him, and together they looked upon the world in weary misery. "It's the wrong dream, isn't it?"
"Yes, very wrong," Thranduil groaned. He glanced at his son's wan face, saw there was more and dreaded to hear it. He swallowed and braced himself. "Tell me."
"I am with child. It is Aragorn's heir."
The song was fair, the lyrics replete with light and beauty and joy, being as it was a hymn of praise to Yavanna and her greatest creation, Tawar, that majestic and eternal spirit of the Great Wood responsible for harbouring and nurturing the elusive sylvan elves of Greenwood, Lorien, and the forested slopes of the Blue Mountains bordering the Sundering Sea long ago when those mountains marked the eastern border of Beleriand. The voice performing this exultant anthem was among the most lauded of all the woodland folk and so frequently was the request made for him to give melodious vent to ballads, arias, and carols of all varieties that he put the minstrels of the city of Minas Tirith to shame.
So it was at the beginning of Aragorn's reign, King Elessar of the Reunited Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor. There was much rejoicing in song and word for the defeat of the Dark Lord, and the elven prince was inclined to serenade the fates in thanksgiving perhaps more than the mortals, but there were additional reasons for his ceaseless singing. Lately the fine vocalisations had grown rough and hoarse and strident, packed with a sort of desperation that bordered on panic and terror, or horror. Legolas sang and sang and sang until his strained larynx could barely croak and groan the words and the notes rang ragged and wretched through the air. Though the grating sounds were horrible to hear for all within earshot, silence was even worse for those who loved the Wood Elf, signalling as it did such a deep state of exhaustion that he had lost consciousness.
He was singing now, the words the same he had sung throughout the night, iterated endlessly, a plea for mercy and relief and an end to it all, for it was driving him mad. Sea-longing had him in its remorseless grasp and harried his soul as violently as a terrier shakes a rat before snapping its spine. Out in the gardens he had fled and lay now high in the arms of an old elm with gentle branches, rocking in misery, hands clapped over his ears in an ineffectual effort to block out the cry of the gulls and the surging respiration of the tides rushing eternally against the sandy shores, so far from the White City that none of the mortals could detect either sound. Legolas could not hear anything else and his friends were helpless in the face of his agony. Singing allowed him to partially block the insistent, beckoning call of the surf and was of some small comfort to him.
Soon, his voice would fail utterly and then what? He would hear that sonorous song of the sea fully without the slight damping his own voice provided. Maybe then he would truly lose any semblance of sanity. Everyone in range of his tormented song would prevent this if they could. Those nearest his heart sought to coax him to seek the only remedy available, but Legolas would not renege on his vow to Aragorn, though the man revoked it of his own accord as soon as the symptoms grew so great the archer could no longer hide them.
Gimli sat beneath the tree, silent and grim, waiting for the moment when the frail voice at last diminished to harsh and whispered syllables. It came and was followed by long and heart-tearing groans interspersed with hoarse sobs and tears. The dwarf stood and gazed up into the limbs, spied the pale figure writhing against the onslaught, and feared Legolas would fall from the heights. He turned his sight upon the sons of Elrond, sprawled in disconsolate and impotent malaise about the trunk, each one so woebegone and guilty he could neither move nor speak. Gimli frowned and stamped the ground with his heavy boot.
"Get him down before he falls and breaks his neck!" he thundered. His order made them jump up in surprise and in unison they looked first to him and then up into the tree.
"Legolas," called Elladan. "Come down now; come down." No answer was heard, only another pained moan.
"I will come up, then, and bring you out of it," warned Elrohir and made to follow through, but at last this raised a reply.
"Nay, let me be!" Legolas cried, a cracked and broken hiss.
"Nonsense and never so!" shouted the dwarf. "You ask the impossible, my friend." Upon Elladan he turned his ire. "What are you waiting for? Get up that tree and bring him down!"
Elladan obeyed, but when he reached the Wood Elf he did not attempt to force him out of the limited comfort the old elm granted. Instead he gathered Legolas into his arms and held him, singing softly against a flushed ear, crooning words of tender love, of hope and healing, of a future filled with beauty and joy and every good thing. Below, Gimli and Elrohir shared a smile and silently left them alone.
Aragorn and Elrond stood aside as they entered the room abutting the small garden, waiting there with Thranduil for news. "How is he?" Aragorn asked, face expressive of ready knowledge of the answer. He frowned as Elrohir shook his head and Gimli shrugged.
Thranduil grimaced and motioned a disconsolate hand. "Elladan has him in hand," he advised.
"I have brought another elixir to try," Elrond said, but he did not proffer the small vial in his hand. It was a panacea; the one source of real relief Legolas might utilise he stubbornly refused to even discuss. Celebrian's healing ring remained on its chain around his neck. Elrond scanned the elven king, noting Thranduil's effort to mask his distress, wondering if he had argued in favour of using it. Their eyes met and the monarch smiled sadly.
"Thank you," he bowed and accepted the potion. "I appreciate your desire to ease his misery, but he will not use it. It cannot be risked, not now. We are resolved to let it stand."
"To let what stand?" demanded Elrohir.
"This," Thranduil extended his arm, encompassing everything around them, eyes resting on Aragorn a moment before returning to Elrond. "He will accept this fate for himself and let all others lie dormant. I am in agreement. We will let her be, for it was her own choice to leave us, and we will let this continue. Other possibilities will dim and diminish as time passes; the world will have its peace, and Legolas will suffer for a time." Everyone was staring at him as though he'd truly lost his mind, their opinions quite clear, and he laughed, tucking the vial into his tunic carefully. "No matter, it is for the best that you do not understand me. Legolas would be glad of that." He dipped his head to Elrond and left them.
"What was that about?" asked Aragorn uneasily.
"He's insane," Elrohir dismissed the odd behaviour irritably.
"I thought he would insist Legolas renounce his oath of fealty and sail," Gimli commented.
"Aye, he should sail," Elrond agreed, "but we all know he will not." His eyes flickered to Aragorn and he smiled kindly on the man. "It is not your fault and you must honour his decision in the same spirit of courage with which he made it."
"Honour it?" Aragorn shook his head. "This is unconscionable! He suffers needlessly!"
"Not so," Elrond contradicted him, but was instantly denounced.
"You know it is true," scoffed Aragorn. "I know about that ring he wears. It holds a healing power and if he were to use it now, he could withstand this torment. Can you yet deny this?" The newly crowned King could not comprehend why his foster-father, so esteemed a healer, would refuse to advocate this protocol.
"It is a ring of healing," Elrond agreed, "but it is more than that. He cannot employ it to relieve the symptoms of sea-longing."
"You do not know that for certain," the man insisted. "I say let him try."
"Nay, even Elladan does not want him to wear it," added Elrohir.
"Truly, 'twon't do," Gimli shook his beard. "He's told me some about that ring, for I asked. He both loves and dreads it and informed me that he must keep it safe and confined. I asked what he meant and was told the ring has a living entity trapped within the crystal planes. Whatever it may be, Legolas feels strongly it is his doom to contain and control it, lest it get free and do harm."
This speech silenced everyone and Aragorn stared at the dwarf, aghast. "He has been hiding the truth from me!" he finally barked and took a turn about the room, angry.
"Do not take it hard," admonished Gimli. "He felt you had sufficient burdens to bear. Besides, he's had the thing so long he does not give it constant attention, accustomed to its presence, accepting it in the same manner that he has two arms, two legs."
"Maybe so, but I think there is more to it than that," Elrohir amended this idea, though he was a minute or two as he sought how to describe what he sensed about the relationship between Legolas and his Nana's ring. "It is not disregard wrought of constant exposure; he does esteem the light it holds and I know he communes with it."
"Communes with it?" Elrond did not like the sound of that. A vague but unnerving sense of doom edged into his heart.
"That's giving it too much mind," Gimli disagreed. "He feels responsible for it, cares for it, has in a sense nurtured it throughout his life, but doesn't converse with it any more than he does with his beloved trees."
"Well, he is always conversing with those trees!" snorted Aragorn.
"Nurturing it, that I do not like hearing," Elrond shook his head.
"Why so, what do you fear?" Elrohir was catching his uneasiness and wrapped his arms tight about him. "Is there anything of darkness in that ring, Ada?" This was not an easy thing to ask after the battles just fought and the suffering so recently ended by Frodo's triumph, but Celebrian's ring was old, as ancient as the Three and made by the same craftsman, one of Celebrimbor's earliest attempts to perfect his skill.
"It cannot be discounted," Elrond murmured, watching a startling array of scenes transpire across his mental horizon, some memories of what had been, many more disturbing alterations of those very images. "None know now how the power of the Music was sealed within the Three. No more can I guess how living light was stolen from the stars and therein trapped. I wonder - "
" - if it has awareness of its confinement?" Gimli finished for him, neither disturbed nor surprised, and his insouciance addled the others sufficiently to render them all speechless. He nodded and met each set of worried eyes in turn. "He said he and it have grown up together, that both have come to be troubled and unhappy about its imprisonment."
"Imprisonment! This entity wishes to be free?" Aragorn dared to ask, a slight shiver rocking his bones. These were strange tidings and he realised at once Legolas was right not to reveal such a bizarre relationship. He felt himself to be a most level-headed and judicious individual, but the idea of a living spirit being eternally bound up in the small crystal made his flesh creep.
"Legolas himself wishes it to be free, but neither one know how to effect this end. He hopes to bring the ring before the Powers some day and there beg aid, though he's not overly optimistic the mighty Valar of Aman will care about the hopes of one Wood Elf and his much cherished 'gil-en-cuil' (spark of life)."
Elrond physically twitched, the words ricochetting through his being in strong, echoing, majestic tones like the tolling of a bell. "Grown up together," he repeated in wonder. The truth was plain to him now; he remembered and suddenly grabbed Elrohir close, squeezed him, laughing. "Ai, ionen!" he exclaimed as he released the mystified twin, and reached out to touch Aragorn, reassuring himself he was really there. He hadn't seen anything at all of his nephew in some of those scenes. "We all owe quite a debt to Legolas after all, aye, and even to his father. Without Legolas to hold it firm and fast, to dare to harbour and protect it, to love it in a sense, who can guess what harm that unformed light might wreak on the world?"
Though they pressed him, he refused to elaborate and in time they desisted and this conversation was forgotten.
Manwë gazed upon his fellow Valar, mildly startled, for rarely did Estë, Yavanna, and Vairë come before him in supplication. Vairë considered it beneath her, spending her time in close concert with Eru instead; Yavanna took too much pleasure in being treated as a Goddess by her sylvan elves to bother with other folk, while Estë was too diffident to impose upon her Lord. Besides, she was constantly busy with the First-born and their many little troubles, none of which she deemed important enough to bring before him. Tulkas, Oromë, Námo, and Ulmo commanded most of his time, always complaining and arguing over whose concerns merited the most immediate action. The High King of the West listened to the Ladies' combined account gravely.
"Then, if I comprehend your explanation, this woodland prince is one of your children, Vairë?" he asked when the summation concluded.
"Distantly," the Weaver admitted with reluctance. "An offshoot of my son Galion and that sylvan maiden he found at the Waters of Awakening. He is more Wood Elf than Maia and thus I have attempted to leave him to Yavanna as that is her wish. Besides, being of living flesh his talent is limited. There is really nothing more of my art that he could actually master."
"He is indeed a Wood Elf, but unique among all his kind, whether of the woods or not," Yavanna proudly declared. "He surpasses all your favourites, Hiren; even among the Calaquendi he shines resplendent. Legolas is integral to the successful defeat of our brother's disciple and that unfortunate incident concerning his Ring."
"Legolas has a good heart," Estë affirmed, "but I agree with Vairë. He is beyond his depths. We must intervene, but how to resolve the quandary without injuring his soul or the spirit of the unborn child eludes us."
"I see," Manwë scowled. He did not like this blending of the two kinds; trouble always arose on account of it. "It would seem to me the time for intervention is long past. If Vairë has been unable to mitigate his actions, how shall another?"
"Oh!" Vairë was incensed. "I have repaired damage done by him and his scheming Adar so many times I have lost count of them! This is not my fault, but Yavanna's!"
"Nay, I have no power to join him in his dreams," the Goddess of All Growing Things denied. "That is your domain, Sister."
"You could have easily influenced your precious sylvan maiden who ensnared my Galion!" the Weaver shrilled.
"Why didn't you just weave her an new fate, then?"
"I did, but Galion opposed me, twisted and unravelled every new thread. She worked her wiles on my son and - "
"Ladies, please!" interrupted Estë, dismayed to have the argument begin all over again when so much was at stake. "Hiren, you must aid us in how to manage this. The child must be born, yet we fear there is something suspect in the nature of its spirit," Estë reiterated. "We fear the light in the Wood Elf's ring was contaminated before Sauron was vanquished, and that this small spark of unclean energy is now seducing Feanor. It means to recruit him to escape its crystal prison and become a new thing never known before: the merger of elf-kind with raw light, a ray of the Music that was captured by Celebrimbor in the middle Second Age of Arda."
"I think it is simple enough to remedy if the light is never freed. The Wood Elf's child need not be possessed of this elemental energy. Just keep him away from Feanaro, which should be easy since the kin-slayer is still under the doom of Námo." Manwë repressed a sigh. Often, the answers to the questions brought before him were so simple, but the parties involved refused to agree and used him to mediate. It was tiresome at times.
"Forgive me for repeating what you have already considered," Vairë retorted archly, "but the issue is the Wood Elf's intentions. We fear he may be manipulated into freeing the light from the ring by some other means than seeking Feanaro's help. He would never trust the Noldorin prince, for he is not a fool. He is resisting the strong urge to wear the ring and thus become fully attuned to its presence, but as the days continue and the child is not born, his will may weaken."
Before Manwë could rebuke her for her insolent tone, a small disturbance occurred without the mighty Vala's Chamber of Audience. It was quickly quieted, but he gazed at the door a second or two as though waiting for it to open. He resumed attending to his comrades, eyeing Vairë with displeasure in which just a small amount of trepidation was mingled. It was an uneasy feeling to know that she, who held converse with Eru, did not know how to correct the present dilemma. He could only conclude the Wood Elf's fate was still undecided, and that was unprecedented.
"My dear Ladies, I fear this is an issue in which there is no need for such grave concern," he counselled them as gently as he could. "There is little chance this hybrid elf could determine a means to free the entity from the ring he bears. Keep him from Mandos and all will be well."
"I am not so sure," Estë shook her head. "He has done many things no other among the First-born has achieved. I fear we have underestimated the archer."
"He would use whatever means available, even to death so to enter Mandos and beg advise from a kin-slayer," announced Vairë sadly, "for he has come to love the spirit of the ring and equates it with his own child's essence."
"Is it?" Manwë was intrigued in spite of himself. Here was something truly new in his experience and he was always excited to discover hidden themes unfolding within the Music. Before either Vala could reply, the disturbance without was renewed, the turmoil greater, the number of voices raised now three instead of one, and suddenly Eonwë appeared, disgruntled and rather dismal in countenance. "Yes?"
"Forgive the intrusion, but it seems the people outside are concerned in your present disputation," he announced, a distinct cast of shame-faced mortification inundating his spirit.
"Really?" Manwë's eyes sparkled. "Tell me."
"The woodland ellon's father, his mate, as well as his best friend, The Dwarf, are beseeching admittance to your presence."
"He's put on the ring," groaned Vairë.
"He has done no such thing! It is his stupid, moronic, idiotic, senseless Peredhel mate who has done it!" This abusive and explosive remark issued from the other side of the shut door accompanied by the sound of a fist landing with excessive force upon it. "Open this door at once!"
"I only meant to give him a peaceful rest. He is so exhausted."
"Stand back, I'll get it open for ye in a trice."
"I don't think that's wise, Gimli."
The four Valar and one Valarindi stood mesmerised as a tremendous assault upon the door began, each one for a moment caught in the fantastic drama of one of the children of Aulë battering the entrance to the throne room of the High King of the West with a two-headed mattock. The portal gave a shivering moan but held. There was a pause and the disgruntled father resumed his castigation from without.
"Open this door, I say! Have you no shame, hiding from the just remonstrance of one of Eru's children? Who are you to play with my child thus? I will not have it!" Thranduil began pounding on the barrier with renewed fury.
"Perhaps," suggested Eonwë.
"Yes, let them enter."
"Oh dear," Estë whispered.
The Powers instantly assumed a physical form the First-born could perceive. Manwë was smiling. This might turn out to be a problem that actually required his aid after all, and it was certainly entertaining. He was enjoying the scene with relish and rose to greet the Sindarin King as he stormed into the room, bellowing as he walked.
"This tragedy is on your head! You've ignored my pleas for time out of mind! Have I not come here Every Single Day that dawns since first I arrived in Aman? Have you ever even noticed my supplications?" Thranduil raged at the High King of the West, not bothering to acknowledge the Vala's polite bow, finger pointing, green eyes afire in rage. He turned from Manwë to Eonwë. "You! Every Single Day you pacify me with lies and demeaning words! I have begged and still you ignored me! Now see what your disdain has wrought! If my child ends up in Mandos, I will join him and raise up such an army as will bring down these noble halls!"
"Aranen," Elladan attempted to calm him and received the full force of the Sindarin King's anger. He found himself on the ground before the throne of Manwë, his nose streaming blood, his thoughts disarranged by the sudden explosion of sparks and blinding pain.
"This imbecile is responsible," Thranduil indicated his law-son with an accusing forefinger. "He put the ring on him. All this time Legolas has resisted and now this brainless excuse for an elf has wrecked everything!"
"I fear Elladan might have a slight weakness in character along the Noldorin bloodline," opined Gimli, leaning on his ax, not a bit awed to be in the presence of such hallowed Powers. "He has a link to the kin-slayers through his father's people and the so-called gift of Melian makes him open to subconscious suggestion. One of the old reprobates is trying to break goal, and Legolas' child is the vessel to be used."
"Indeed?" Manwë bent his sight upon his son, noting Eonwë's mortification was deepening. "Is what the Sindarin King says true? Has he come seeking my counsel before and been denied?"
"What else might he expect?" Yavanna spoke up for her favourite elves. "When have the Powers considered the woodland folk worthy of notice?"
"I must confess this is the case," Eonwë answered his father contritely, bowing. "I beg pardon; the issue did not seem pressing to me."
"Not pressing?" Thranduil shouted, at a loss to contain his outrage. "This is my child's fate! What can be more pressing? Bound up within his life is the salvation of all your precious designs upon Arda. This is not important enough to consider?"
"To be fair, you brought that upon him," Elladan stated, on his feet again thanks to the kindly assistance of Estë whose healing touch instantly rejuvenated the damaged cartilage of his nose.
"Have I denied it?" Thranduil cried. "Have I not been here pleading on my knees to have the punishment fall on the true culprit? What else have I come here to do? I would take it from him, but none will hear me." He fell on his knees now. "Manwë Sulímo, hear me! Legolas is innocent and has tried to do what is right and best for everyone involved. He did not know about that ring. It was Galion who told me of it and I conspired with him to bring the Peredhel to Legolas. Punish me and free my child from this unending sorrow!"
Manwë was moved by the father's distraught and genuine appeal and went to him, raising the Sindarin noble up. "Be at peace; I did not know you came to me. I will indeed heed your supplication on your son's behalf. It is not the intent of Eru to punish anyone unjustly. Now then, he is wearing the ring?"
"That is my fault," Elladan admitted quietly. "I only wanted him to sleep for a time, but he will not awaken now. He is somewhere dream-walking and I know not what may happen to him."
"Why don't you just remove the ring?" asked Yavanna, feeling she already knew the answer to this, and Gimli confirmed it.
"Aulë's Arse! Are ye daft? Don't ye think we tried, fool of a lass?"
"There is some power in that ring we never reckoned before," Thranduil stated, "for it was not capable of exerting action of its own accord. This has changed; it has matured. It resists all efforts to take it from his hand."
"Then, if we cannot awaken Legolas out of these dreams, we must reach him within those shifting planes," Manwë advised and turned to Estë. "We will need your husband," and to his son he then spoke: "Do fetch him at once."
The sea was restless, green as slate and heavily ominous, the currents at cross, sending waves curling in at odd angles, racing for the strand and colliding, the resultant thunder deafening, the spouts produced high and white under the dull light of the shrouded sun. Relentless, the water surged against the land and the sky, against itself, tumultuous and fraught with an impatient and irritable energy, a seething and murderous tempest brooding somewhere just out there beyond the horizon. It waited there, just beyond sight, pacing like a caged beast, stalled, ready neither to advance nor possessing any intention of withdrawing. Waiting and watching the dark outline of the land, the Blessed Land.
The wind forced itself inland in hot fuming gusts, the sound as it whipped through hair and grass and around ears filled with warning, the scent of it strangely metallic, a touch of smoke in it which surely was impossible, but no other smell was like the burning of a living forest. At times, as now, Legolas thought the ocean carried to Aman the remnant, vestigial emanations of strife from the Severed Lands so far away, and he worried about the trees there and the people left behind to govern them. Were they well? Was there peace? Underneath it all hummed his greater dread: that Tawar was no more, all the trees gone. What had they fought all those battles for? They'd abandoned Greenwood after all.
"Here you are!"
The voice was overly cheery, but the concern it harboured was genuine, generated by a deep and abiding love. Legolas turned sharply, for few were the elves who could approach him in stealth and succeed, but he was smiling, the warmth in his eyes making up for the pale and meagre heat of the sun. He appraised the tall ellon with proud approval: tall and broad, a swordsman's physique, long ebony hair blowing wild in the tempest, grey eyes bright with worry and relief.
"Yes. Didn't mean to trouble you. Have I been long?"
"Very! I sometimes wonder if the sea-longing has ever fully left your bones." He came and stood beside Legolas, settled an arm over the Wood Elf's shoulders, sighed and turned his eyes out to the turbulent mass of salty fluid.
"Aye, I don't think it ever will, completely. There are some diseases among the humans that never really heal, but return to plague their hosts periodically. Perhaps it is like that for me, the sea." Legolas passed his arm around the narrow waist, drew close hip against hip, felt the anxiety drain away from him. Almost, he could believe the very ocean calmed, too. They stood thus in companionable silence for quite some time, for he was content and had no wish to break the gentle mood. This was good and pure.
"Something got into you, that's certain," black tresses objected to the solemn shake of his head and for several seconds the two were laughing as they sought to disentangle the blonde and ebony strands and clear them from their eyes. They resumed their congenial conjunction as he met the clear blue irises with a searching, pensive gaze. "What do you see when you look out there?"
"Oh!" Legolas shrugged, looked away, laughed a hollow bark of a laugh and shook his head. "I don't know; maybe it is what I cannot see that draws me here."
"There's no more need to pine so," the gentle rebuke was accompanied by a compassionate squeeze. "All whom you love are here, safe at last. You needn't go there anymore."
"I know," Legolas' voice was apologetic. He couldn't seem to help himself. He couldn't manage to give them up.
"They are all gone, those who would even know you, much less care about you."
"Ai!" This made him flinch and he ducked from under the weight and the strength of that arm, glared in furious astonishment. "That was unnecessarily cold!" he cried. "I know they're gone! Can't I even grieve for them without somebody complaining about it? Do I not come away here so nobody has to see?"
"Please don't be angry. I know you mourn them, but do not fool yourself that because you absent yourself that we don't feel it. Your grief is like that storm out there, stewing and brewing, working itself up into a great and terrible fury before it breaks. And when it breaks -"
"I see; I see," Legolas crossed his arms over his heart and nodded, a horrible grin marring his features. "Let me pretend so that everyone else is not disturbed."
"I don't want you to pretend anything anymore. I want you to stop. You've got to stop."
"What if I cannot? What if I don't know how?"
"You can; you do. Just give it up, please. We are all worried about you."
"I can't!" Legolas screeched, a desperate sound filled with misery and pleading. He backed away but was followed. His heels touched the water and a rushing gush of foam bathed his ankles. The retreating water sucked at the sand beneath his feet and he stumbled, flung out his arms. "Help me!" A strong hand caught his and gripped hard, pulled, held him fast. He clung on as one drowning.
"Get rid of it! Just throw it away! You must do it now!"
"No! Why? It's not just a ring; it has spirit and light of its own. You would have me destroy that which preserved me!"
"Can't you see? You have given it more than it has given you, and now you can give no more. No More! You're fading!"
"I can't do it. You do it!"
"I cannot; no one else can but you. Break with it and be done! Come back to us!"
"I - It will not let me fade. It needs me."
"No, it will use you up and then find another on which to feed. Here then, give it to me." He held out his free hand, palm upward.
"No! You mustn't!" Legolas clutched at the fair crystal ring hung on its golden chain about his neck.
"You see, you do fear it or you would not hesitate to hand it to me."
"Aye. As long as I have it, it can do no one else any harm."
"That is just another lie it tells you."
"No. You do not understand."
"Yes. You are the one misguided and deceived! It can do irreparable harm, for if you are lost, what becomes of me?"
The storm broke, a fulminating explosion of light and sound heralding the downpour as the seas rose in endless ranks and commenced invasion of the defenceless lands, the Blessed Lands. They turned to run up the shingle but were quickly undermined and inundated and ripped from the shore, yanked down beneath the churning surf, dragged away in the current. Shouting in fear and anger they bobbed to the surface only to be rolled and submerged anew.
They battled it, hands still glued together, kicking against the riptide, clawing at the flux, struggling for air and light and freedom. The force was more than they could master and they were torn asunder. Legolas felt a shout buffet him through the pounding of the waves and terror seized him. Lungs burning for breath, in vain he sought the surface to learn where he was, to find him, save him. In cruel mockery the ocean shoved him through the roiling foam and pushed him up, up to the high crest of a mighty wave, and there he saw, so far away, the dark head bobbing, a hand shot up and a last cry rang out: "Ada!" and then he was sucked under.
"Olsatanô!" (Dreamsmith)
Legolas was back in the deeps the next instant and could not discern up from down or in which direction lay the land. He could not touch the bottom. They were lost, both lost, all lost, and his heart felt close to bursting with sorrow and rage. A faint glimmer caught his eye, the ring on its chain awash in the coiling currents around him, pulled from its protected place beneath his clothes, next to his heart. In that instant he hated it, its lovely light and its twinkling charms. It stood between him and the most deeply cherished desires of his hidden heart. He ripped it from his neck and cast it away.
Before he could blink it was gone, plummeting down to bottom, lost, but he had not even the minutest regret, spared it not so much as a glimpse as it vanished. All his thought was bent upon his son, and even as he forced himself through the murky seas, a hand grabbed at his tunic. They came up together upon a calm and peaceful mass of water dappled and dimpled with soft swells that readily carried them back to the land, the Blessed Land.
"And what is it that you most hope for, deep in the hidden recesses of your heart of hearts?"
What sort of question is this to ask? What right has anyone to dare broach so private a query, much less some stranger who knows nothing about me? What dwells within cannot survive out of its element. Like rare minerals born in the intensity of pressures and temperatures consistent with the earth's guts, with its liver, wherein impurities and poisons reside alongside that which is essential and purified by the extensive refining of time and trial, these things cannot flourish once exposed to the dangerous realm of light, of lightness, of shallow looseness and air, where anything and everything can get at them and destroy them. I can't protect them there, but only watch as they are sullied and fouled and mocked, detaching myself from them as they lose their allure, their pristine perfections, their inherent definitions of self, of myself, becoming other, watch and step back, back and back and back, letting them go slowly and painfully in an agony of terrible sorrow and rage.
The End