Author's Note: So this was… complicated to write. Not the chapter itself, but just putting it together, because all my earlier rearranging meant that a lot of interlude bits that were meant to be here were moved to earlier chapters.

Anyway, here you are. Enjoy the chapter!

Part XVII

Eryn Lasgalen, Near the Stronghold of the Elven-King

Saeldur scrambles to his feet when he hears the approaching footsteps.

The bolt is drawn back and the cottage door opened. Aeroniel stands in the doorway. He starts to ask if she has heard anything, but the words die on his lips at the sight of her face.

"No," he says. "No."

"They were too late." Her voice is toneless. "They managed to take Bregolien alive." The bottom is falling out of the world. "Rochendilwen says she found Legolas just before – when he was still able to speak. He asked for you. Bregolien told him everything."

Saeldur stares at her. Her mouth is moving, he can hear her voice, but he cannot understand the words.

"Where is Legolas?" he asks. If he can see Legolas, everything will make sense.

"Legolas is dead."

Saeldur gasps as he comes to awareness.

"Legolas is alive," he says aloud, the first thing he says whenever he wakes now, because he always wakes from nightmares in which the opposite is true. "Legolas is alive."

His parents' cottage is silent around him.

Legolas is alive, and in Ithilien, and Saeldur has not heard from him for months.

He has not gone to Ithilien himself, despite having Legolas' consent. He planned to – he wants to – but he dare not, because to go and collect his possessions feels too… too final. As long as he has not gone, he can hope…

He shivers. The dream was too real. They always are too real. He has dreamed of someone – sometimes it is Aeroniel, sometimes Colfind, sometimes even Aragorn or Gimli – coming to tell him Legolas is dead. He has dreamed of Legolas dying on the floor of the entrance hall to the stronghold, blood spurting between Saeldur's fingers despite everything he does to stem the flow. He has even – and those are the worst – dreamed that Arahael was not caught in time and he and Bregolien tortured Legolas for information –

Saeldur pushes his hair out of his eyes, trying to push the image away as well.

He desperately wants to write to Legolas. He does not need much in response. A line or two will do, a line or two in Legolas' handwriting – a tangible sign that Legolas is alive and well –

That is comfort he does not deserve. It is no thanks to him that Legolas is unharmed.

He gets to his feet and turns to the window. It is a beautiful night, the moon just rising, but he feels no urge to go into the forest. The trees are polite enough to him – he suspects that Legolas warned them off trying to trip him up, because branches sway very ostentatiously out of his way when he passes – but they are also sullen, and he does not feel welcome.

Saeldur goes to his desk and lights a candle. He might as well amuse himself with a book.

He has been spending a great deal of time in the King's library, to the astonishment of Istuion. Istuion is responsible for the education of young Elves, and, overseeing Saeldur in that capacity, always despaired of making him read as much as Istuion thought he should.

Now there is little else Saeldur can do.

He chooses a book at random from the stack he left there earlier in the evening.

It is a history of Doriath.

Saeldur puts it aside. When he took it, he thought history would be dull enough to settle his mind, but the last thing he wants to read about is Elves killing Elves.

Lord Thorontur did invite him to the training fields earlier. Although not with the intensity of the years of war, the patrols are maintained. Dol Guldur may have fallen, but the Men and Dwarves who pass through the forest are not all friendly, even to their own kind. There are even occasional reports of brigands on the roads.

Saeldur did not accept the invitation. Lord Thorontur pressed him, insisting Legolas would not mind –

Saeldur scoffs at the memory, even as he selects another book. This one looks more promising: it is a collection of lays.

Of course Legolas would not mind if Saeldur took up his bow again. Legolas never asked for his promise to touch no weapons. Legolas would not dream of asking for such a promise, or of holding him to it if it was made.

But Saeldur does not have the slightest inclination to break his word. He cannot imagine serving under any commanding officer but Legolas, not if Legolas does not trust him.

He is also quite certain that, if he does visit the training fields, all that will happen will be that he will start having nightmares of Legolas dying by his hand instead of Bregolien's.

He opens the book of lays. The first page has a picture of a grief-stricken Elf-maid lying on a barge.

Saeldur sighs, closes the book, and takes another.

For the first weeks after the trial ended, he was glad to have time on his hands. He needed to be alone, and to think. But then it grew too much, and he tried to find things, any things, that he could use to fill the hours. He helped the healers grind herbs for poultices. He sat with a puzzled and somewhat disapproving Galion to count the barrels of butter coming from Dale. He even offered to help his mother discuss the terms of the new trade agreements with the Mannish envoy, but was firmly sent away with instructions to bother somebody else.

The third book is about a tragedy involving a man called Húrin. Saeldur wonders if there is anything in the library that is cheerful. He vaguely remembers that at some point the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins gave Legolas a translated version of a book from the Shire, some stories meant for children. He should see if he can find that.

Putting the books on the floor, Saeldur opens the desk.

There is very little in it. Most of his work was done in the archers' hall or Legolas' study. Here he has only a handful of old letters that, for one reason or another, he did not throw away. A few are from Legolas, written when he was in Imladris, and from his mother on her trips to Dale. There are several more from Aragorn. Despite their differences, they maintained a reasonably regular correspondence in the years before the war.

Saeldur takes them all out. He should burn the lot. His mother always says there is nothing to be gained by keeping old letters – and some of these are well over a hundred years old.

He shuffles them into order. The most recent is one Legolas wrote him from Minas Tirith, just before the battle at the Black Gate. Saeldur received it several weeks later, after the battle in Dol Guldur was won. He knew by then that Legolas must be alive – the King was too cheerful for it to be otherwise – but nothing else, and the melancholy tone of the letter alarmed him so thoroughly that he, Aeroniel and Rochendilwen decided to go to Minas Tirith to find out for themselves why Legolas was brooding.

He turns the letter over to read the end.

But in truth I have had little time to think. Tomorrow we go to the Dagorlad to offer battle before the Morannon. It may all be for nothing. If the Enemy's remaining forces are as numerous as reports say… All I hope is that we can hold out long enough to give Frodo a chance. I can say it freely now; it no longer matters if the letter is intercepted. By the time anybody reads it, it will all be over, one way or another.

Elladan and Elrohir are here. As grateful as I am for their companionship, it worries me to realize that we three alone stand in the place of the great Elven armies that marched to the Dagorlad in the last Age. We are a poor substitute for such mighty forces – and yet those mighty forces did no more than halt the advance of the Shadow for a brief space. Perhaps we do have a better chance now, putting our faith in a Halfling.

Yet tonight, for the first time, I am afraid.

I could not say this to anybody but you – not to my father, he has worries enough. I am not afraid to die – and it may well be that death is what awaits me before the Black Gates. I am afraid that even that may not be enough.

If I live through tomorrow's battle – if I see you again – feel free to laugh at me. If not… if not, then do not grieve, for this is how it was meant to be. The time of Elves in Middle-earth is coming to an end at last.

Saeldur folds the letter up neatly and puts the stack back in his desk.

He did not laugh at Legolas when they finally met again. He was too relieved to see him alive.

Eryn Lasgalen, the Stronghold of the Elven-King: Present

Thranduil leans back in his chair, not quite daring to believe the words on the page before him. It has taken longer, far longer than he thought it would, but it is done at last.

I wish I had been able to send you these tidings sooner.

Thranduil wishes that as well.

Arbellason accompanied the warriors taking Arahael and Amarthiel to Mithlond. He insisted on accompanying them, telling Thranduil bluntly that, under the circumstances, he would not be easy unless he himself or Thranduil actually saw them get on the ship and leave Middle-earth. Since Thranduil must stay here and rule, Arbellason would go.

I never imagined it would be an easy task, but I did not anticipate – nobody could have anticipated – the amount of effort it took to persuade Amarthiel to board the ship. Truly, she is…

A large blot mars the paper, as though Arbellason paused with the point of his pen down, pondering how to finish the sentence, before deciding that no word would meet the circumstances.

I will say for her and her lunatic son that they made no trouble on the way here. Their manner was unpleasant – for which I was prepared. I had little desire to talk to them in any case. They realized, I expect, that there was no point fighting the inevitable.

Círdan was sympathetic, but he could do little to help. I truly feared my only option would be to bind her hand and foot and put her on the ship. Fortunately it did not come to that.

I do not know what it was that changed her mind. I believe the sons of Elrond had something to do with it. I expect they will tell Legolas, so you can ask him if you want to know. They were here to bid farewell to the last group of Elves departing from Imladris. They plan to delay their departure a few years longer, to spend time with their sister. I am glad of it, for as long as they can stay; Legolas will be the better for their company.

Thranduil turns the letter over, smirking. Arbellason is normally not an enthusiastic correspondent – a few lines is the most that can be expected of him – but on this occasion he has covered four sheets, front and back. He must be very happy indeed to have seen the last of Arahael and Amarthiel.

Before he goes on with the letter, he slips out of the room to send a page for Saeldur.

The page must run all the way, because Saeldur arrives just as Thranduil is finishing the last page.

"Sit down, Saeldur," he says. "You are well, I trust. Istuion tells me you have been reading a great deal. I hope you find it worthwhile."

"It is something to do."

"I have some news that I believe you will find heartening." Thranduil lays the letter on his desk. "I have heard from Arbellason. Arahael and Amarthiel have taken ship at last."

Saeldur's relief is palpable.

"Legolas is safe, then."

"Yes, he is. I was also concerned about your safety. Legolas has not sworn not to defend himself – I am not going to argue with you about it," he adds. "Thorontur already told me he tried to entice you to the archery ranges. I daresay you would find that more amusing than the library, but I understand why you refused and I will not force it upon you. There are many who do not bear arms, and you are in no real danger in Eryn Lasgalen – nor elsewhere in Middle-earth, now that Arahael and his mother are well away from it."

"Have you told Legolas?"

"I will write to him today, though I am told the sons of Elrond were at Mithlond. They have probably told him already. I daresay Arbellason also wrote to him directly."

"Is he… well?"

"Legolas?" Thranduil studies Saeldur's suddenly bent head. "Well enough, though he sounds more downhearted than I would like. More than he used to. I think it is the call of the Sea. As I said, I do not like it, but it is not a matter of great concern. We have a few more years, but soon all Elves who would not fade into a whisper of memory must make the journey."

Saeldur nods.

"He asks about you," Thranduil says, still watching Saeldur carefully. "Saeldur, you know Legolas would not want you to be unhappy."

Abruptly, Saeldur gets to his feet. "Thank you for telling me about Arahael, my king."

Eryn Lasgalen, Near the Stronghold of the Elven-King: Present

Saeldur skirts around the training fields, but Thorontur finds him nonetheless, falling in step with him as he makes his way behind the stables.

"Do not worry," he says. "I am not here to press you further about coming to the ranges." He shrugs. "Most of the archers are in Ithilien, so I doubt you would find much competition in any case, even out of practice as you must be."

"Is that why you want to get me to the archery range?" Saeldur asks lightly. "Are you suffering from the lack of competition yourself, my lord?"

Thorontur laughs. "I will not say that I am not at all influenced by that consideration." They walk in silence for a few moments before he goes on. "I expect Thranduil has been telling you that Arahael and Amarthiel are finally on their way to the Blessed Realm. I hope this means real peace for us at last."

"Lord Arbellason told you?"

"He did." As they near the last clearing before the edge of the forest, Thorontur pauses. "You should write to Legolas."

Saeldur stiffens. "I am not going to make this any more difficult for him than it already is."

"Have you considered that you might make it easier for him? Saeldur, you… helped me, once. Allow me to do the same. I am not offering to speak to Legolas on your behalf," he adds hastily. "I doubt that would do you much good. But he does write to me sometimes and I can tell he would forgive you if you asked it of him."

"How can I ask for what I know I do not deserve?" Saeldur says quietly, turning away.

Thorontur does not follow him.

That night Saeldur dreams that he was allowed to join the search for Legolas, and found him just in time to watch him die.

Eryn Lasgalen, Near the Stronghold of the Elven-King: Present

Celephindeth fights to keep her expression neutral when she enters the sitting-room to find Saeldur, for the third time in the last week, rearranging her books by the first light of the rising sun.

"Is it by the number of words this time?" she asks. "Or perhaps the shade of blue used in the illumination?"

Saeldur looks so injured that she almost laughs.

"You do realize that this is ridiculous," she says, putting a few books on a chair so that she has space to sit beside her son on the floor. "Saeldur, what are you doing? You obtained Legolas' permission to go to Ithilien to gather your things. It has been almost a year since then, but you have not gone. You refused Thorontur's offer to assist with archery training – yes, yes, I know your bow is Legolas'," she adds hastily, before he can say it. "But you are spending all your time like this." She gestures at the books. "When it is not the books it is the curtains, or going and bothering the healers to let you help them sort their herbs. Do you think this is what Legolas would want?"

"Am I supposed to be enjoying myself?" Saeldur mutters. "Dancing on the green, perhaps?"

"You know Legolas as well as I do. Legolas was not trying to punish you. He was trying to find a solution to a difficult situation. If your intention is to atone for your actions, how are you doing it by moping? A warrior should have more courage than this."

Saeldur flushes. "I am not a warrior anymore."

"Perhaps not, but you have been one. You were the most trusted of Legolas' captains. If nothing else, try to be worthy of that. This might not be what you want to be doing at this time, but you brought it upon yourself. At least face it with courage."

"Face it with courage," Saeldur repeats bitterly. "That would take more courage than I have. I would rather face another battle."

"Do not speak so lightly of battles. Our peace has been hard-won, as you should know better than anyone. But, yes, I know your courage wavers when you are not on the battlefield. If you had had a little more mental fortitude, you might never have been in this position."

"I know, if I had not said all those things to Legolas –"

"I do not mean that. That would require that you have the sense to hold your tongue when you are too overcome by your emotions to speak sensibly. I have very little hope of that." She pauses, adding ruefully, "I have not always been the best example of it myself. If you had had the courage to tell Legolas whatever it is you have been hiding – yes, you blush. Everyone knows there is something you are concealing. The truth can be difficult to face, so I will not fault you for not wishing to disclose it to the court. But I cannot see why you would not even tell Legolas."

"He would have hated me," Saeldur says. He speaks under his breath, but Celephindeth hears.

"That is foolish, and you know it. Legolas made friends with a Dwarf – and the son of one of Thorin's band of trespassers, no less. He has a temper, I know, but it cools quickly. He is incapable of hating anybody, least of all you. You were – you are – afraid, that is all. If you could not bring yourself to speak openly to him… well, this is the consequence, and you must endure it. Try to endure it cheerfully and it will be easier for everyone."

Eryn Lasgalen, Near the Stronghold of the Elven-King: Present

Saeldur does not have a destination in mind, but he is not entirely surprised when he finds himself beneath the great oak tree just outside the stronghold. He and Legolas spent hours in it during the Watchful Peace, when they did not have to devote every spare moment to the defence of the realm, and as much time as they could afterwards. It is an ancient tree now, as trees go.

It hums in response to Saeldur's presence. That is a more welcoming response than he has had from any of the other trees. It is probably just because this tree is so much older, but it makes him feel better all the same.

He leaps up into it. It does not particularly help him. It does not hinder him either.

You are alone, it notes, as he settles on a branch – about three-quarters of the way to the top, not as high as usual. He does not want to risk the highest branches without Legolas' help.

"Legolas is not here. You know that."

The tree hums again.

After a long moment, it says, Why are you here, then?

"Where else should I be?"

With the Elfling, wherever he is. He does not find peace beneath our branches as he used to, now that the birds have called to him. Birds always cause trouble.

"I know." Saeldur pauses. "And I do not think he wants my company."

You are foolish, says the tree, with the easy assurance of one who has no doubts in the matter. I always knew it.

"He told me not to come. I do not want to force my presence on him. After everything that has happened, I owe him that much."

I recollect the two of you standing here after some terrible battle. If I am not wrong, the Elfling called you, among other things, stubborn, undisciplined and insubordinate, and you told him to go do stupid things and get himself killed and see if you cared.

Saeldur laughs. "That was different."

How?

"I did not mean what I said, and neither did he."

No, you did not. You were angry and the Elfling was defensive. Why were you so angry? I asked some of the others, but none of the trees knew, and the Elves would not speak of it.

"It was the battle before Erebor," Saeldur says. "Legolas… it is a long story. But… he… did something that was… unnecessary. He might have been killed. For hours I did not know if he had survived. It was utter chaos. He was fine, but I was terrified. And furious." Saeldur shrugs. "And when Legolas had calmed down, he acknowledged that I had a right to be angry."

You were angry, and he knew it, and so he did not think you meant what you said?

Saeldur sighs. "I do not know anymore. I always thought… I assumed… Legolas knows I do not mean what I say when I am angry."

You have been fortunate. Nobody insisted that you should sit in court, and so you deal only with those who are your friends, who will make allowances for your moods. The Elfling knows you say things that you do not intend to say when you are angry. That is true. But does he know you say things you do not mean?

"You think Legolas thought I truly would not care if he got himself killed?"

I was not speaking of your Erebor adventure, says the tree impatiently. I daresay he was as much at fault as you.

"Oh."

Has it never occurred to you that the Elfling blames himself for your brother's death as much as you could possibly blame him?

"I do not blame him!"

Things might have turned out differently if he had acted differently.

"Or they might have been worse."

The King thinks you went out of your way to hurt your friend with your words. This may be true. I have listened to you and the Elfling sharing enough secrets to know that you know how to hurt him if anybody does. But I think, perhaps, you were not angry with him.

"You know a great deal."

I think. You should try to do the same. You cannot hope to resolve anything until you understand yourself.

"I do understand myself," Saeldur mutters.

Eryn Lasgalen, Near the Stronghold of the Elven-King: Present

In the end, it is a letter from Gimli that does it.

Listen here, laddie.

Despite himself, Saeldur cannot help but laugh at that characteristic opening.

I do not pretend to know all that has happened between you and Legolas over however many hundreds of years it is that you have been friends. I do know that it must be hard to lose a brother – and that nobody can bear a grudge like an Elf. Dwarves and Men, if they are not fools, do not have time to worry about who was at fault in a battle so long ago that even our grandfathers might not remember it.

I do not know whose fault it was that your brother died. Legolas will not speak of that at all – not to me, not to Aragorn. Likely, as is usual when such things happen in battle, a great many decisions were made, and nobody can be blamed but the Orcs who took Candnaur.

I have seen enough of you in the time – you would call it a short time, I imagine – that you have dwelt in Ithilien to know that you do not blame Legolas for your brother's death. You could not be as easy with him as you are, if there were so great a barrier between you. Legolas thinks you blame him, but Legolas thinks a great many foolish things, so I do not put great store by that.

Because of this, and because, unlike your brothers and sisters in arms, I do not feel personally offended by your actions, I am going to tell you something they will not: Legolas is unhappy. He hides it, or he tries to, but it is easy enough to see. He is unhappy because he thinks if you think he is not to be trusted, it must be true, because who knows him better than you do? Much, I suspect, of what is going through your mind at the moment. You are both fools.

Rochendilwen told me you did not protest Legolas' verdict when he delivered it. She seems to think this is a point in your favour. This is something I do understand, because Dwarves also have ideas of honour. But Dwarves do not have Ages in which to debate the finer points of philosophy, and so we are also practical in these matters.

I would certainly have thought less of you if you had taken advantage of Legolas' good nature. But there is a difference between taking advantage of Legolas and torturing yourself and him unnecessarily. If you were merely making yourself miserable, I would not interfere. But Legolas is unhappy as well.

If preserving the secret that you have been hoarding since your brother died is more important to you than Legolas' peace of mind, there is nothing for me to say. If it is not, then stop moping about how you are not worthy of his forgiveness and come here and find a way to deserve it.

Put like that, it is an easy decision.

Saeldur still does not know how he will find the courage to tell Legolas everything. But he has been doing little in the past months but thinking, so that at least his own thoughts are clear. He might still never have spoken them aloud if it had been only for his own sake, but for Legolas' sake – and for Legolas' peace of mind – he will find a way.

He writes to Rochendilwen, telling her only that he is coming. She will tell Legolas – Saeldur does not want to surprise him – and then…

He lets out a breath.

He does not know if he will deserve Legolas' forgiveness, no matter what he does. But he is going to try.

What do you think? Good? Bad? Please review!