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37. The Awakening

Legolas stood in the citadel gardens, his blonde hair faintly catching the afternoon light which filtered through the clouds. There was a cool wind, but he remained there for a long time, staring out across the Fields of Pelennor, leaning on the wall as he pondered Aragorn's troubles. He also deliberated over Arwen, trying to fathom out how to save her from the Shadow of Sauron which the Dark Elves held over her, even in death.

He was as motionless as a statue, so solemn were his thoughts, and also captivating, for he did not pick up her elven footsteps. But he felt Arwen's mind tracing the same thoughts as his long before he found that Arwen had joined him by the walls.

"Arwen!" he exclaimed softly when he felt her presence at his side. But he did not say anything more. Her profile was outlined against the stark bare garden, her long eyelashes opened like the black wings of a butterfly, a hand lightly resting on the roundness of her stomach, the pale blue dress embroidered with elanor flowers pulling against the sensual curves of her body with the cool wind. Legolas wondered that she was not cold, but again held back his tongue. He felt bound in her presence, captivated when she turned to him, her eyes betraying the sorrow there held within, cascading forth like a mournfully overwhelming blue river torrent breaking through its grey defences and spraying silver flecks of torment into the empty air.

He watched as silently she raised a sleeveless arm and stretched out her long fingers to lightly trace his pointed ear. A cool sensation pricked the tip of his ear and a curious tingle washed throughout his body from where the Evenstar of the elves touched him, so light and so gentle that they had barely any contact at all; but the touch of Arwen Undómiel was one of the most powerful of all the elves to walk the lands of Arda, more striking than a crimson sunrise, sweeter than the first bloom of the pale niphredil flowers, more tender than a mother's eyes.

Legolas watched, puzzled, following her eyes as they caressed the mark of his elven kin. Her expression revealed nothing except a deep thought, tentatively springing up from something far inside. At this the elf's own gaze fell to Arwen's ears, still just as defined, delicately resting among her silky dark hair. She still bore all signs of her birth; it was just her soul that was rent from the elven aura which had poured forth like a silver mist from her since her birth hundreds of years before. Even now she was radiant as the moon, her skin pale white and glistening as if with stars. Yet even as Legolas realised this, she withdrew her hand and he met her eyes.

"Heniach," she whispered (you understand). Her eyes, intensely blue, swirled with the colours of a twilight sky and sprinkled with stars, portrayed to him clearer than ever the elf she was – yet even as he thought this, he realised it was indeed in the past tense – for now that her soul bore mortality, did she still remain an elf? How lost she must feel, to truly belong to neither they who were her loving past nor they who were her welcoming future. Legolas lowered his eyes, recalling her touch only moments ago, understanding now the need she had to be with the people she belonged to by blood, the need to remember who she had been, the need to express the poignant sadness she felt now that she was bereft of them.

"Henion." (I understand) Legolas bowed his head. His memory then dropped back to the Dark Elves, from whom Arwen could not escape, in whose blackened memory she drowned. For an unvoiced reason, she had fallen under their spell, bound in the snatching tendrils which crawled from the past, and even though they had departed from Arda for good, she was still held; both with horror, fear and pity.

Pity. Legolas sighed and realised he was swamped with it too. He understood Arwen's grief for them. It was like seeing his own brothers fall into Shadow; how could they choose this horrific path? - But what sadness it was, to abandon all hope, and to never bring back the beautiful pure beings they were. He sympathised with them, as another elf, and Arwen. For Legolas comprehended the power of hope; that had pulled him through the clenches of the War, and it has saved Arwen too. A place where hope was to no avail was one where Legolas was unaccustomed to tread and it was a place which Arwen had never before experienced. In her wisdom of hope, she had for once failed; and he pitied her sorrow.

"Henion," he repeated. Nevertheless, as he watched her eyes flickering, he caught sight of tiny tremors along her pink lips, a tension in her throat, and the gasps of breaths which never satisfied her heart. He realised that there was more. He had known. It was why she had not escaped. It was the reason why the Shadow stayed on, still frightening her, yet simultaneously still captivating her in its terrible sublimity. Legolas had not found out what exactly had happened to Aragorn's wife, but he understood it better than Aragorn, even though neither had discovered any clue from her. Arwen had stayed silent, withholding all truth of that night, but Legolas knew that this silence tore Aragorn into a maddening frustrated frenzy even more than he was in already, unbearably knowing of her distress, sharing the same overbearing weight and fear, without knowing the reason why. He was a healer by nature – a broken soul was more than he could endure, especially in the one he loved so intimately.

"Why do you not tell him what happened?" he pressed Arwen gently. "Aragorn wants to help."

There was a silence. "I know," Arwen breathed in sadness and she glanced down at her hands, wrung together. "But I am afraid."

"Everyday he looks at you, fearing to the point of madness that he will see Sauron in your eyes. I know that is not true; but he needs to know what is. …Arwen?"

"Ai! Why is this world full of so much grief and hopelessness?" she sighed, her eyes raised in vain to the pale blue clouds. Her eyes fell shut for a moment. Then suddenly she spoke, her voice quite different. "Tell me, Legolas, what is it like to hear the gulls?"

"Arwen!" Legolas exclaimed, taken aback. "Surely…?" He could not finish his sentence when he saw the delicate smile on her pink lips and the peace resting on her smooth cheeks.

"How does it feel, to be called home? To hear the elves call you back to them, and to have all fear and strain fall away from your body?"

Legolas looked away, south, to where he had heard the seagulls calling, just as Galadriel had warned him. "Now I have heard them, my heart never rests," he murmured solemnly. "It is an ache that never leaves, a desire that is forever inflamed. To wash that all away, to pass into a dream…" he trailed off, a fine mist forming over his eyes, as if he was picturing his journey into the West.

Arwen slowly blinked her eyes open, and they too were silvery. "Why is there so much sadness here, Legolas?" she asked him.

He slowly turned to her. "Yes, there is sadness, but there is life here, too, and love, and happiness." He paused, trying to comprehend her expression with his piercing sea-blue eyes. "You love him, Arwen, you made the right choice. You would have spent an eternity torn in two, rather than experience moments of utmost joy. Do not regret your decision."

She began to shake and turned to him with tearful eyes. "I am afraid…" she whispered. "I am so afraid…"

Legolas drew closer and put a hand on her arm. She was cold.

"You are not alone," he said quietly. "Aragorn is always by your side, your brothers, and Faramir, and all the elves in Ithilien, your kin, and the people of Gondor, who love you; and Gimli and I, we will stay here, until…" The elf suddenly broke off, realising where his sentence had unwittingly led. He watched in anguish as a tear ran down her white cheek.

"In my dreams, I am haunted by the halls of Mandos… when I close my eyes, it is the overwhelming darkness which consumes me, always chases me, alone…" her voice broke and she closed her eyes tightly. "I really am alone. I stand on the brink; no one can save me now. How to trust…"

"They were not as we all are," Legolas said. He met her eyes and an understanding passed between them; the Dark Elves.

"Our kindred," Arwen's voice trembled as she spoke. "Is there weakness everywhere? Is there no safety even for the eldar children of Ilúvatar?"

Legolas sighed. "We knew some powers are beyond us… Morgoth made the orcs from our own kindred; we saw what could become of those who were once our brothers."

"But I never thought… they still bear resemblance… the blood of the elves still runs in their veins!" Arwen said exasperatedly.

"I know," Legolas said grimly. "I refused to believe its possibility for many years. Yet it has come to pass, and it has proven that not everything is to be trusted."

"Then what is?" Arwen whispered fearfully. Legolas closed his strong hands around Arwen's cold gentle fingers and looked into her round eyes.

"Us," he said. "They were different; we have a strength."

"What strength do we have?" Her words were spoken with such fragility, as if each breath was a great labour having been consumed by boundless despair.

"What strength did you have, when you felt that you were losing the life of the Eldar, and all of Middle-Earth was to be encompassed in horror and sorrow?"

"Hope," Arwen's lips moved with the word, but it was not audible. "I trusted to those I loved, for if any were to give us strength, it would be friends…"

"Love, Arwen," Legolas repeated, softly but surely. "Its power is beyond reckoning in arms or lives. But its valour and grace has saved you – and those you loved – before, and that strength shall not leave you, ever." Arwen gazed at him, her expression full of emotion. "My lady Undómiel," Legolas whispered, "trust to love, for that shall never leave you."

xxxxxx

"I have been searching top to tail through the palace for you Legolas and here I find you! Having invaded the private gardens of none other than the kinswoman of the Lady of the Golden Wood! Have you no manners?" While shaking his tussled head Gimli answered his own question to himself amid some rumbling mutters. The scolded elf could not resist a half-smile but then watched astonished as Gimli's tone changed completely when he looked up at Arwen herself.

"My lady," he bowed and took her hand, full of reverence and respect. But before Legolas could even rely on his hopes, Gimli's admonishments returned in full blast. "You demanding elf! You have been keeping Arwen out here, in the bitter winter, unprotected from its chill wind, in naught much more than her pale skin; and now she is colder than stone under a heavy drift of snow and whiter than it too. How long has she been without warmth? Have you no mercy, not even for your friends?"

Arwen gave a soft laugh, like music of a stream clamouring down a mountainside. "Do not blame your friend, Gimli, for I ventured out here of my own accord."

"But by how much more of a delay did he keep you here?" the dwarf pondered, sceptically raising an eyebrow. His twitching beard did not conceal the smile compelling to break free from Legolas.

"My lady is too kind," he said, "you are indeed right. I ask your forgiveness, Arwen," he apologised, turning to her, "but we shall accompany you back inside, and refrain from revealing this escapade to your healers, and to one in particular. He would chastise you greatly; even more than Gimli here, I deem!"

"And that is a true feat!" laughed the dwarf.

Gimli and Legolas flocked to Arwen's side as they walked back across the garden to the steps leading into the palace. Her back ached from the cold, but as she gave a little groan of complaint she tried to stifle it, to hide it from Legolas; he would only worry more. Instead she quietly rubbed her back. They stepped into the shaft of light falling down from the window, and she saw a tired face pass it by, worn by habitual grief.

xxxxxx

The bed was empty! It was scarred in his memory, petrified him without refrain. He had roamed the whole citadel, searching from high to low, his panicking hands grappling at door handles, his voice trembling with fear as he called out her name. Was she ill – even worse than before? Had more of the Dark Elves returned, somehow, even out of death? Had she surrendered herself to the call of the Shadow…?

His feet scampered back up the steps into their bedchamber, but for some reason, Aragorn could not bring himself to enter, only stare inside through the doorway. He tore at his hair furiously, beating himself. He caught sight of his distraught face in a nearby windowpane and sickened at the sight. It was unbearable to see the Shadow cast over Arwen's face, but impossible to resist it from taking hold on his own when he was so close to her. But not so close that he could hold her in his arms now… if only he had kept watch as he had before sleep had claimed him!

There was a creaking and the small door leading into their gardens opened and Gimli materialised through the archway. Before he could even gasp a question, with his heart flying skywards he snatched the sight of Legolas helping Arwen into the room. He could practically dance, if only the unhappiness had not been carved into her smooth face. Such beauty and such sadness was too cruel a sight. Aragorn's breath rasped through his lips and his legs turned to stone. He could not move.

"I see that your healer has found us," Legolas was remarking.

"Bad luck, Arwen," Gimli growled. "Blame the elf!" he jabbed a finger at his friend. Legolas would eagerly have taken the blame, if only to quench the fear in Arwen's eyes. She shrank to the wall, anxiously toying with the satin covering her tummy. Legolas noticed how she could not move her eyes from Aragorn, and yet when he lifted his weighted eyes up to her, she fearfully snapped them away. Now she was even afraid of her lover…

"Come on." Legolas realised that Gimli had been calling to him and looked down at the hand now pulling his wrist. "Time to get some food."

Legolas was drifting out of the door past his friend when suddenly he reached out.

"Aragorn." Legolas caught his friend's arm and the man turned.

"Not now, Legolas," he replied, shaking the dark hair out of his eyes, and after passing a hand over his brow as if to pull cobwebs away he made to enter the bedchamber where Arwen stood like a grey statue by the window.

The elf's fingers closed tighter over his arm. "I need to talk with you," he said, his sky blue eyes piercing Aragorn's. The King paused, and then nodded. Understanding passed between them.

"But please," his voice fell, "I need to go to her first. I will come and find you, mellon nín."

Legolas finally assented and released Aragorn. As he passed under the stone doorway, Gimli bowed to them both and then the elf and the dwarf left, leaving the King and the Queen in their endless sea of sorrow.

xxxxxx

Aragorn turned away from his friends and as the door closed he looked over to Arwen. His brown crinkled as he saw her timid eyes watching him, as if she had done something bad and was awaiting an onset of reprimands.

"Please, Arwen," he said softly, with his eyebrows raised in concern, "do not think that I will hurt you."

Arwen nervously looked away out of the window and Aragorn paced over to her side, analysing her face.

Eventually she nodded with tears clouding her eyes. "I know," she whispered. "But I have hurt you…" she admitted, so quietly that Aragorn had to consider whether he had in fact imagined her words. Aragorn clenched his fists, the only sign that her words had been a truth and had struck a nerve. Arwen seemed to notice for she began to tremble as she turned to face him.

"I need you," she said slowly lingering on each word, her eyes dancing over his. Aragorn swallowed, trying to dislodge the iciness lodged in his throat. "You tried telling me but… I- I did not see…"

"It was the Shadow… I do not blame you," Aragorn murmured. He dropped his gaze as he spoke and Arwen seemed to take this as a sign of an untruth.

"How can you not? I have not told you anything; I have let myself be wounded and in doing so I have wounded you-"

Her voice was wobbling as Aragorn looked up, his eyes revealing his shock that she did not believe him. "I really do not blame you," he stated again, relaxing his hands and opening them up to her.

"How… why… I…" Arwen stuttered, a frown dropping down her face. Her eyes were filled with quivering tears. Aragorn drew nearer before he gently rested a hand on her cheek and as if casting a spell on her, her eyes fell shut. "You must hate me…" she murmured.

"No…" Aragorn sighed grievously, letting his warm breath play upon her lips and cause her to open her eyes. "I love you."

Arwen's breaths juddered as she held in her tears. The love and concern pouring from Aragorn's eyes overwhelmed her and coerced her into speaking her thoughts openly.

"Please will you help me?" she whimpered, anxiously watching for Aragorn's reaction. At first he blinked rapidly, being stunned that she had finally asked what he had longed to hear, but then he expressed none what he was thinking. Panic began to infiltrate Arwen's blood and her eyes shot over his face erratically. "I don't know what-" she began to weep.

"Of course," Aragorn breathed, in a tone that revealed his surprise that she had not read his answer before. He began to caress her head in both of his hands, stroking from her eyes down her cheekbone to her chin, lightly running a fingertip under her eyes and pressing a thumb over her lips. Tears sprung into her eyes and emotion caught in her veins.

"Hannon le," she wept and folded into his arms. In rapture Aragorn smiled, wrapping Arwen gently to his chest, and felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her silken head and tightly closed his eyes, willing his warmth to diffuse into her and with it take his love. Aragorn sighed shakily. He was both rejoicing and burning with pain. There was nothing he wanted more than to heal his Evenstar. And so by breaking his own heart, he would be able to mend hers.

xxxxxx

It was before supper, but Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were already seated in the Great Hall. Servants were busying around, laying the tables with spotless plates and shining glasses, and voices could be heard singing in the kitchens nearby. Yet Aragorn was not in the mood for a feast. He surreptitiously caught one of the butlers and whispered to him that they wanted to be undisturbed for a while; thus no one came near them and they were able to talk in complete confidence.

Aragorn exhaled vociferously and looked to Legolas for a reply. He had just told him that Arwen had at last asked him to heal her. That was a breakthrough he had not even dared to hope would become real; but now it had come, he was unsure of what to do.

Unfortunately, Legolas seemed more intent in asking questions than providing answers. "What do you think you should do, to do as she asks?" the elf demanded and examined him intently.

Aragorn shook his head wearily. "I fear…" He met Legolas' eyes and deep in them, he saw the only option he had noticed earlier in Legolas' glance. "I must take her on a ship, and let her hear the gulls and the song of the sea, and give her the chance to return to your people in Valinor if she so wishes…" he murmured sadly, his brows descending low over his eyes as the pain of losing her forever seemed to become a lot more tangible once it was articulated.

Legolas held up his hand, but the openness in his eyes revealed that what Aragorn had suggested was exactly Legolas' conclusion too. "Before you do anything, Aragorn," he said, "you must tell me how you feel. It will help you to understand what you must do, and it will enable your friends to help you."

Aragorn raised insolent eyes up to Legolas' earnest face. How in the whole of Arda was he meant to explain how he felt? In this instance, Gimli's loud snort was suitable.

He felt as if he had lost something truly special, something so unique and with so much meaning that it could never be replaced and life would never be the same without it. The desire he felt to have it back was so strong he would do anything for it. He was dying for it, weeping, begging, exasperated that he could do nothing to attain it though it was all he needed and the only thing he needed. Whatever happened was not in his hands; when once he had been able to fight through anything, with his mind totally fixed on what he was fighting for, now that one thing he had always fought for was itself threatened, and he was left awkward, not knowing what to do.

His heart seemed to be cut out of his body. That was how it felt. As if there was a window inside him, a gap aching to be filled, out of which all his blood and love poured and was utterly wasted and spent. It was a gap in his life too, a space in time which could not be lived through. Something too vital was missing, too meaningful. It was something which now he realised truly, and he knew that he had not appreciated it so much when it had been present. He had forgotten what it was like to be separated from her, when they had been young lovers. But even then, he had not felt the deep love they had shared together once married. And now, the trauma he felt was earth-shattering. It was rending himself apart.

He felt constantly nauseous, food lacked all appeal. To starve seemed to be suitable. Pain seemed to be rewarding. It made sense; what was normally right did not. All he wanted was her back. He wanted that happiness back which had been so perfect. And now it could be lost forever.

His body shook involuntarily and a croak was lurched out of his throat. Hot tears leaked out of his eyes, from where they had continually poured for days, down his cheeks onto the wooden table. He recoiled from everything surrounding him, which crept all around, laughing and mocking him cruelly with its perfect normality, robbing him of her. His face contorted into a cry and he shrank into himself, shuddering while trying to hold his broken body still in front of Legolas and Gimli, feeling his flesh curdle sickeningly under his skin and peel back from his helpless bones. What could they do now? How could he live, without being able to save her, able to save himself, able to save their love? The answer was lost.

"It's alright, Aragorn," Legolas consoled him and rubbed a hand on his shoulder. Aragorn looked up, wondering if he had actually been speaking aloud. Whether he had or not, while he sniffed back his remaining tears, both Legolas and Gimli held full understanding in their eyes. They were wisely blocking him from the view of any servants further down the hall and they gave Aragorn the chance to compose himself.

"Is that the only way?" he muttered, running a hand over his face to try to alleviate the weight he felt that he carried there.

"It is the only way to bring Arwen life and happiness," Legolas said gently. "It will make her realise what course her life should take; whether she should stay with you, or be with the elves."

Aragorn nodded, with his words now unable to be voiced from his seized throat. He realised that the time was up. What he wanted the most was for Arwen to be happy. Not him. If he had to sacrifice his time with her for that to be so, though it hurt badly to try and it would hurt a lot more if it came to pass, he would sacrifice himself. He would do anything for her, because he loved her more than life itself. Whatever her choice, he would love her; forever.