Author note: Apologies for the lateness of this update. Two reasons!
One - I decided to write to the very end of the story, so I could more easily edit and choose where to split into two chapters once I was done. So it meant double the time for you to wait (sorry), but it also means… A Face in the Crowd is officially finished! And you will get the final chapter practically at the same time as this one :) MAKE SURE YOU READ THIS ONE FIRST! x
Two - to be honest I just had to take a bit of a break. The thought of writing the end of the story made me anxious because the pressure, realising that it was impossible to live up to all of your individual, different, expectations, was huge. This is something I do for fun, and it suddenly wasn't fun. My head took over, and I forgot something. At the very start I wrote this just for me, only sharing after I'd written enough to make me feel confident enough to do so. If anyone else other than me liked it, even read it at all, well that was a bonus! To finish it I had to find that old feeling. So please don't be offended when I say that, in a way, I've written these last two chapters just for me, rather than to try and please everyone. I am pleased with it and I *really* hope you'll like it, but it's cool if you don't.
I know the last chapter ended so sadly, but I could never write something that 'punished' its readers permanently. These are especially grim times, and we need light. (Keren is dead, yes, but it would be pretty boring and heavy for me to have to write the final 15,000 or so words of the story just with Legolas alone and depressed). I've written this book for fun after all. It isn't anywhere near perfect, but it's filled with years of love, work and care.
Thank you for all your reviews of the last chapter. They were mixed lol. Understandably. Some of you were so supportive. Some of you were on the fence (probably where I'd be if I was reading it) - thanks everyone who said they're shocked/upset but not giving up on the story, because you trust I've got something up my sleeve. That means a lot. And I have ;) Some of you were very upset, and I'm sorry. I was unaware just how much you had invested in Keren, and I was surprised to see people were *so* angry that she died. I'm actually going to take your anger towards me as a compliment that I've created a character you care about so much, and a story you followed for so long. So that actually means a lot.
Anyway, ONWARDS… to the penultimate chapter, and then the actual end! There's a celebratory glass of wine waiting for me :)
Chapter seventeen - Memories
King Elessar Telcontar, first of his line, had made it to the end of a very long longest day. Midsummer was a time of festivities and celebration, not to mention the anniversary of his marriage, but it was also a day of much posturing, smiling, waving, all of the things that still did not come naturally to him after a life in the wild and nine years on the throne. His wife had outshone him, but he was always grateful for that, especially as she did not like days of long sunlight, when the evening star was only a brief, glittering flash before fading away.
They had missed Legolas and Keren at the ceremonies, and both secretly wondered if anything was amiss, as they had not seen their friends for at least a year. In their regular correspondence there had been nothing to indicate anything was wrong, but Aragorn could not quash the gnawing unease. Perhaps it had something to do with Arwen - often lately a faraway look came upon her, then she would frown, as if she had lost herself for a moment.
"I think I'll invite Legolas and Keren here for a time," he said to her a few days later.
Arwen nodded, distantly, and made a small sound of agreement from behind closed lips.
"My love, what is it?" he asked gently. "Something is wrong."
She turned to face him, grey eyes a little narrowed, as if she was trying to answer a riddle.
"It is Keren, I think. But I cannot see…" Her voice trailed off. "Ever since I learned she has my immortality I - I often see glimpses of her. But lately, this past year - it was as if a wall was put up around her. I could not get in, or perhaps she could not get out. But now, it's gone. It went, just a moment ago. There is… there's nothing."
"You can see her again?" Aragorn asked.
She shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. There is nothing. She is… not there."
"What do you think it means? Is she in danger? Are you - "
"I can't see her at all, and yet I - I don't feel the fear that I did, that time before. I just feel… loss. An emptiness. And grief. Not hers - there is nothing from her. But she cannot be dead, for I would know, like I knew the time it almost took her."
Aragorn nodded. "You would feel it, you're sure?"
"I can only assume, as I felt it before…"
But she did not sound certain.
"Invite them here, as you planned," she said eventually. "And do not take no for an answer. We go to them if they refuse. Something has changed. It's time she knew what she is to me. Legolas may perhaps know already, but he will not feel certain enough to raise her hopes in telling her. If I were him I would not believe such good fortune either. He is wise to hide it until he is sure."
She looked steadily at her husband. "He is wise to keep it secret until they both see that she does not age."
"But will it work like that?" Aragorn asked. "We cannot be sure. What if " - he voiced a fear long kept silent - "what if her body ages, yet she is refused death? That would be a torment to her."
"The Valar would not be so cruel," Arwen said.
Legolas had carried Keren and their child deep into the forest, hidden away, and lay down beside them. He knew he could not die, but he was hoping to lose himself in the sleep of his people, to wander the halls of mist and time until all was forgotten. He became still and silent as they, so all would think they had died together, and leave him be. But he had been found.
Bergil had fallen to his knees with shock and grief as he came across his Lord after hours of searching, holding Keren and the baby, all of them grey and cold. But Legolas had stirred, and opened his eyes, and dark as pits of despair they were, and Bergil was afraid.
He busied himself with building a fair bower of branches and twigs. He would not let Keren, his Lady, rot away. He would see to it that she was laid out as she should be, in the fashion of his people, and that she was buried with respect and honour. The child too. The child…
He stopped for a while, overwhelmed by sadness, but then wiped the tears from his eyes and finished his task. Legolas was now staring into space, and Bergil felt if he roused him now it would end badly. So he took Keren's lifeless form up in his own arms and laid her upon the bower. The baby too, he cradled, and laid upon her mother's breast, then folded Keren's arms about her.
He had sat for a while, then, beside Legolas, wondering what to do.
People had to be told. A burial was needed. His Lord was in no state to do anything -that needed mending soonest. He took Legolas's hand.
"My lord, see, it is done, I have built a bed for them to rest upon. We can carry them upon our shoulders to somewhere she loved, and they can go to their final sleep beneath the earth. Will you stand with me?"
Legolas allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, and if he heard Bergil's voice cracking with grief he did not show it.
"I can send out the tidings. You won't have to do anything, worry about anything like that. And I can send people away if they come, if you want. But we must bury them, you do see that, my lord? It cannot wait for people to receive the news then journey here. And she would not want to be… buried alone, she… would want you there."
The pain became too great, and he could not speak anymore. But his last words seemed to cause something to shift behind Legolas's eyes, and Bergil heard his lord's voice as they both looked down upon Keren's pale, cold face.
"I knew I would have to leave her in the ground," he said. "I did not think it would be… so soon. Six years of happiness were all that was granted to us, in the end. As a breath to me. Bergil…What is six years, for you? Is it a long time?"
Bergil's face was full of pity as he heard the sad innocence in the elf's voice.
"Now there's a question most men would struggle to answer, my lord," he replied. "I suppose it often depends what those years are filled with. If it is joy, then often time speeds. And she was never so happy as when she was with you."
Legolas stared at his wife. "After all she did… Such brief happiness was her reward."
A thought came to Bergil.
"Then let us make this a happy place in her memory, my Lord," he said. "Let North Ithilien be a place of joy to all who come, in her name."
Legolas did not meet his eyes, instead he reached out and touched Keren's brow.
"Forgive me, Bergil. That is a kind thought, but if this is to be a place of happiness, then I no longer belong here, for I cannot see a time when I can be happy."
Bergil knew not what to say.
"Will you leave me with them?" Legolas asked.
Bergil summoned his courage and said: "No, my lord, I will not. You are not one of the dead. You have spent two days and nights with only the dead for company. Stay here, if you wish, until the burial. But once I've got all I need, I'm coming back, and I'm staying with you."
They stayed another night. Then, when the sun began to rise, Legolas knew he must look upon his wife and child for the last time, before they were lost to the ground.
"Where shall we lay them to rest?" Bergil asked gently. As the night passed he had realised there would be no-one but him and Legolas to see it done. If anyone else at the colony knew what had happened, they were waiting for their leader's word to come forward.
Legolas did not answer, but instead placed his hands upon the bower, indicating Bergil do the same. Bergil would follow, and he felt he knew where their steps would lead. Together they went slowly through the forest, carrying Keren on her final journey.
It was high summer, and there was no breeze rustling the old oak's leaves. All was still, save for the gentle call of birdsong. Legolas stopped, not by the tree, but in the centre of the glade. It was where, long ago, he had stood and bidden her farewell.
No gelin idh raid lîn.
The words whispered around him, threatening to knock him down with the weight of the memory. It had not been a final parting, but the start of their adventure. Now he would leave her again, where she had once stood in bewilderment as he disappeared beneath the trees. But this time she would not turn away with a strange smile. This time she would not leave.
Bergil set to digging the grave, small and deep. Legolas stood watch over his wife and child. Their baby looked as if she was sleeping still. But Keren, Keren now had that cold air of death about her. Even Tinúnil, still upon her brow, was no longer shining white, but dull and empty, clear and hollow. Perhaps its power had fled with her, wherever she now was, wherever she had gone with their child - the stars, the heavens, beyond the realms of the earth, it was somewhere he could no longer see her, no longer feel her. There was nothing of her here, only memories. And this would be the worst memory of all.
Only when it was done did he look at Bergil, who now stood beside the grave with a sprig of some dark green plant.
"Kingsfoil, sir," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought, if you don't mind, we could plant a cutting here, see if it takes. She was called to be a healer, and she was called to magic - and Kingsfoil is both those things. And I remember a time… well, never mind." He smiled through his tears, lost in the past.
Legolas put a hand upon his shoulder as Bergil planted it in the fresh earth, then he knelt by the grave, and would not be moved. Now the burial was done he had retreated again, and his eyes once more were pools of hurt, betrayal, and sorrow beyond measure.
But Bergil had to leave him, for he had another task to do.
Father. I know not how to write what I must.
It is with the fiercest grief and an aching heart that I tell you that Keren is dead.
To write that makes my head spin. Her little daughter too. My Lord Legolas is wandering with grief, and cannot bring himself to leave their grave. I fear for him, and, I admit, I am fearful of him. He is not himself. He is like a wraith.
I have taken it upon myself to begin telling of the awful news to those here with me in the colony. I ask you to help make my burden lighter as I begin to tell the rest of the world. Please tell all those who knew her that dwell in Emyn Arnen and Minas Tirith. I will send word to Edoras, to King Éomer, and to my Lord's friend, the dwarf-lord at Helm's Deep. And I suppose I must write to his father. Father, what shall I say to him?
The pen is heavy in my hand. I end with a request that, once your messages are away, you come here, even if just for a little while. I miss her. My friend, my Lady, is gone, and I alone had to bury her, and it was hard. I cannot leave my Lord all the while he is like this. Please, come.
Your son, Bergil.
Legolas still did not move from the glade. He would spend his days wandering between the grave and the old oak, looking into the trees, as if for an answer, a message that would never come though he could not help but hope for it. He did not keep track of the days, for it did not matter. As word spread folk from the colony would come, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, to try and call him away, or to bring food, but he would send all from his side. The silver in his hair appeared now to be that of age rather than of Sindar blood, and though his face remained young and fair his bearing was of an old, old man. Voices swirled in and out as people came and went, urging him to eat, or to walk away for a while. But none could cut through the fog, the pain, the disbelief.
And the guilt. His thoughts tortured him. If he had fought against the bond that so drove them to be together, she would not be dead. If he had actually sailed the time he thought he had lost her to Faramir, she would not be dead. Their daughter would never have come into being, but neither would she have been snatched from him so quickly after he had held her, loved her.
But one day a solitary voice broke through, a voice he knew, and loved, and trusted.
"They are not there, my friend," it said. "And they would not want you to be here forever, tied to what lies beneath the soil."
And Legolas heard himself answering.
"I know their fëas have fled. But if I leave them, I might forget. What if one day I find I can't remember my child's face, my wife's eyes, her smile, her laughter? I need to hold onto every memory, Aragorn."
He felt a sturdy hand upon his shoulder, and there was his friend, come from Minas Tirith to call him back, tall and stern, yet with a warmth in his grey eyes that showed not pity, but care. There was a difference, Legolas had learned.
"Then come back to the world," Aragorn said, "for that is where more memories of her will be found. Travel to find them, hunt them down, bring them to yourself. This place is full of her death. In time you will find pieces of her life here too, but for now I think it best you come away for a little while. Find her in other places, where she lived, where she was happy, where she loved you."
"And my child?"
"She was there too, in all those places. She was with you both from the start, hidden within each of you."
King of men and prince of elves stood silently together, and Legolas looked deep into the eyes of his friend, and saw wisdom there.
"I cannot begin to imagine what you are going through," Aragorn said softly, "but I can try to help. And I command you, if I may still do so, as your King, and leader, and friend, to come to Minas Tirith, and rest. Stay with me, for as long as you need. Word has been sent to Gimli, and he is already on his way. We will not abandon you to your grief. Keren would order us to see you through, to see a life without her in it that is not purely sorrow. And though it seems an impossible task to you now, I promise you, we will help. Never did you abandon me in all our long journey together, though often you doubted my word. I ask the same of you now. Trust me to see you through this. Trust my word that, though you will always love them, and miss them, and grieve, there will be some light in the years to come. It is just hidden from you now. And when you see it, it does not mean you are forgetting them."
The whole colony gathered by the river as Legolas left with King Elessar. There were many who wept, for it was so unbearably sad, to see their Lady beneath the ground and their Lord so broken by it. Bergil felt a wrenching in his heart as he raised a hand in farewell, his father by his side.
"Will he come back, do you think?" he asked Beregond as they watched the small group of riders cross the river to Cair Andros.
"I don't know, son."
"How did Faramir and Éowyn take the news?" He dared ask what he had long worried over.
A shadow came over Beregond's face.
"With shock, and sadness. They're both in mourning. Though I swear I saw, in both their eyes, some relief. And I was angry. But then I was angry with myself, for I love them both, and it was not their fault, her death."
"It all feels very strange," Bergil said. "As if we're all in a play, and someone got their lines wrong along the way so everything changed, and everyone had to just make up the rest as they went along."
Beregond put an arm about his son's shoulder, now level with his own.
"Well, if life is a play, son, then all we can do is act out our parts as best we can. And Keren did, though she would never say so. Faramir and Éowyn did too, in their way. They're good people. Noble, honest people. But even good people are complicated. They have to be, I suppose, or the play would be very dull."
Summer was already giving way to autumn as the walls of Minas Tirith rose up before Legolas, The city seemed grim and cold, but he had been happy there once, happy and hopeful.
"Please let me find my own lodgings," he said, as he rode beside Aragorn, Arod bearing him away from the realm he had founded, the forest of his home. "I will be nothing but a burden to you in this state."
"What state is that, my friend?" Aragorn replied, as the great gates opened before them. Crowds had gathered, the news having spread. "A husband and a father, who has lost his wife and child? You are permitted to grieve, and neither you nor your grief are a burden to me."
The city folk knew why their King had brought his friend back from the forest, and they did not cheer or wave, but stood solemn and silent, bowing their heads in respect. So both friends, and all their guards, were silent too, all the way up through all seven levels of the city. As they passed Palen's door Legolas turned his head, afraid to see if any tormented eyes watched warily from a window as he passed.
So they came to the King's House and the Place of the Fountain, and the young White Tree was standing, small yet, but healthy and strong. Arwen was there to greet them, and she had no words for Legolas, but held him close, stroked his hair, as she would a young child who had just learned something too sad for them to comprehend.
Once he was alone in his chambers he found he could not sit still. Aragorn's words in the glade echoed around his head, and he found himself seeking out Keren, traces of her, corners, pieces, edges of memories. But it was all still too raw, for instead of remembering he found himself expecting to see her, coming into the room, sat in the chair by the window, lying in his bed. She had been here.
He left the room in a hurry, and as he paced the corridors he felt he was following her, could almost hear her tread, light and quick before him, and that if he was just a little faster he would catch her - but she was always one turn of the halls and corridors ahead.
Where was he going, where was he following her to?
And then he knew, and though a lump grew in his throat he kept running towards it, the place where his world had been changed.
He burst out onto the balcony, and he had so firmly believed she would be there waiting for him in her gown of green, with the stars of Elbereth above her, that it was a shock to find it empty.
His breath echoed against the stone in the silence.
"Did you take her from me?" he cried suddenly into the air, anger rising in his heart. "You, who always guided her? Elbereth, what did we do? What did we do to deserve this? Lady of the stars, hear me, I beg you! You are not cruel. What did we do? Show me how to make amends for whatever it is I've done, and send her back to me! I beg, I beg… And my daughter… Gilthoniel, hear me… I beg…"
His voice failed, and he fell forward against the wall where long ago Keren had stood, and turned to see him, and he had seen her face, and known - known that this would always be his fate.
He was alone. Even here, surrounded by people, he would be alone. Why had he come?
And then he heard merry, ringing laughter from the terrace below - many voices, lifting in joy and song. Of course - it was Eldarion's birthday. Life outside his mind was going on - happy times dared to raise their head, though he was lost in his own world of grief. And though he did not feel able to join the festivities, he felt he could stand, and walk, away from where he had fallen in love with Keren. He took the image of her on the balcony - beautiful, and sad, and strange - with him.
Tomorrow, he would gather her some more, and he would keep on gathering, until he had a garden of her in his mind.
Over the next few days the willow tree in the gardens of the Houses of Healing became the place he went to most. There were hundreds of memories here, though only a few nights had they ever spent beneath its leaves.
There she was by the wall, and upon the bench, jumping up as she saw him, and flying away into the darkness, and in the snow, walking towards him with purpose, kissing him, laughing. There she was before him, tears of joy in her eyes as they exchanged rings, plighted their troth.
And there she was, for the last time, her hand on the tree in farewell, before they set off on their journey to his father.
The shadows crept in then, at that memory, and when he thought of what that journey had led to the pain was too much, and he would weep, and all the healers began to avoid that part of the gardens for fear of intruding.
But one day, as he sat staring at the ground, someone intruded.
"I thought I'd find you here," a gruff voice said gently. "Hello, princeling."
Legolas raised his head.
Gimli was there, and at the sight of his dearest friend he bowed his head again, with relief, and with fresh sorrow, for Gimli would never meet the child he had been so excited for. The dwarf was at his side in an instant, and Legolas felt strong arms hug him tight as he broke into silent, painful weeping.
"Come here, come on, lad. I've got you. Oh, my heart's breaking for you. But we'll get there, eh? We'll see you through, Aragorn and I. We won't leave you, not until you beg us to, and maybe not even then. Eh?"
The sturdy dwarf wiped away the elf's tears, though his own were falling.
"You mustn't be afraid to speak of them," Gimli went on. "True, it won't bring them back, but it does you no good to hold all of this inside yourself. When you need to talk about them, or weep for them, that's when you send for me, for Aragorn. Or if you just need to sit, or drink, or smile even - send for us then. And we will come."
So began a time that brought elf, man and dwarf closer than any before them. Often they would sit, as much as Aragorn's duties would allow, in silent fellowship, for no words were needed, only company. Sometimes Legolas would ask them to leave him be for a little while, though he said they were not to worry about him. Only once did they have to call him back from the dark place again.
But when the nights grew cold and long he began to question everything, with anger and confusion, though his friends could not answer what he kept asking.
"The crystal she bore. Why did it show me her and a child, healthy and happy, hand in hand? Why was my father shown them too? Just to lead us to this pass? Surely the Valar would not… What purpose does it serve, showing us something that was never to be?"
And though Aragorn and Gimli could only shake their heads still they remained beside him, always staying until the clouds rolled back and the stars shone down again. The long, bitter nights were the hardest for him, and many hours were spent thus, the three friends talking quietly, or sitting in silence, waiting for the stars to fill the sky with light.
When spring arrived Legolas began to venture down into the new gardens about the city. They were his work, planting them as the city had healed. Every day he would go to one of the smallest, to see the changes nature wrought upon it. And in this way a year passed, since he left his home.
From spring, to summer, to autumn, and back to winter again, the garden shone then faded, rose then fell, flourished then hid away. When it was bare and cold, appearing as if nothing could call it back to life, there was the tiniest shoot of green upon a twig, the most hesitant call of a songbird in the branches. Life did come back.
He could not see or feel the changes within himself, though his friends did. He smiled more, and began to speak of things that were not always questions formed from pain. He began to speak of going home, of splitting his time between the city and the forest for a time. But Gimli had another plan.
"Come with me to Aglarond, stay for a while," he said, as they stood on the topmost terraces of the seventh level, looking out at the world below. "And then, if you want, what say you to another adventure, just you and me?"
Legolas looked out from the walls, and his eyes followed the mountains stretching away, leading to Rohan and beyond. He did not answer.
Gimli went on quietly. "You won't be leaving her behind by going, Legolas. You'll be finding her - the places she went, the people she met, the adventures she had. She's out there, laddie. She's out there in the wilds."
For more than a year they travelled. To Edoras they went, staying with Éomer and Lothíriel for a time, before going on to Aglarond at Helm's Deep, where Gimli proudly showed him the work that had been done to make it habitable. Then northwards, following Keren's path to Isengard, and further, up to the pass of Caradhras, and so down into Dimrill Dale, and from there to Lothlórien.
All folk they knew there had gone, and only a handful of elves remained to welcome them. They found the silent glade where the statues of Keren's mother and grandmother stood, frozen in time. Once the elves gave up the Golden Wood forever, they would still remain, and if anyone came upon them they would not know who they were, nor why they stood there. But there they would stand, until wind and water changed their faces, and weathered their forms.
From Lórien the two friends went further north still, crossing the Anduin to visit Hrafn's burgh, where there was now a new chief.
Hlíf was eighteen, and she had married Hrafn's successor three years past, when she came of age by the reckoning of her people. She had hated living with her new husband, and at fifteen had felt robbed of her power when he died just a few months later, leaving her with no place in her own settlement. So she had sat in his seat, and refused to move, and when the men had tried to pull her off it she spat at them, and wielded a knife she kept hidden upon her. The women had cheered her on, for she was quick, and clever, and knew exactly who she was, which was more than they could say for the last two chiefs. The elders argued, some for, some against - and so long did they take deliberating that all others eventually declared youth and speed were best for the time of change upon them. So she had won her place through luck, and sheer stubbornness, and Legolas and Gimli bowed before her when they met.
"I was sorry to hear the news," she had said, her face much altered by the chief's swirling tattoos. "We still see her, in the runes, sometimes. She brought much change for us. Hrafn leaving - it was the start of a new time for my people. He was a good man, a strong fighter. But he followed his heart too much, abandoned us for a woman he knew he could not even have. I have no heart." She winked, and smiled, but then grew serious. "We will feel the ripples of her coming for many years."
"She would have been overjoyed to see you as you are now, lady," Legolas said.
He was able to speak of Keren without tears now, though often at night, or when alone, he would find himself breaking down as if the day she died were only yesterday. It was all very gradual, his getting used to life without her.
Hlíf sent word of Legolas's coming to the skinchangers, and so it was with no surprise that Yrsa stood, with a small boy at her side and a baby in her arms, watching the elf and the dwarf come down the path to Grimbeorn's house.
"Greenleaf of the Greenwood." She raised her hand in welcome. "Son of Dúrin. Welcome. Come in, and eat. Honey?"
They stayed with the bears for two months.
Gimli did not question his friend, but he thought he knew why they delayed. To travel further north meant a trip to Thranduil. To travel southwards again meant returning home, returning to where Keren and his daughter rested, now almost three years in the ground. Neither place did he want to see.
Grimbeorn and the rest of the skinchangers did not prompt them to leave either. Yrsa came and went, visiting when the mood took her, for her life was with Arlan of the woodfolk now.
On some quiet evenings when she was there they would sit by the open hearth in the centre of the hall, and Yrsa's children were often entertained by Gimli's stories of dragons and trolls. Yrsa would watch Legolas closely - still the shadow of grief hung over him, and it would for many years. But he smiled at her when she laughed, and while he was not at ease with her children, neither was he fearful of them. She had worried such young ones before him would be a catalyst for new pain.
"You know," she said, one warm summer night, "I think you should go to your father's. He's selfish by nature, but once he's given himself all the time he needs to prepare, he'll be there for you."
Legolas sighed. "With respect, Yrsa, you do not know him. I have not heard one word. He is alone, has always considered himself alone, has always shut himself off from anyone who wished to be there for him. And so he turned to greed, for so would your mind if all you had to think of was yourself. He will not know what to do with me, if I were before him. For what could he say?"
"But he, too, has lost his wife. Perhaps it will be the healing you both need, from each other."
Gimli frowned, and cleared his throat.
"Well, I can only say what I would do." She absentmindedly stroked her youngest child's head, "If I had lost those I loved dearest, I would find those who could share in my suffering then help me to release it."
Legolas spoke up, looking up from the fire.
"My friends are doing that. My friends have stopped me from fading away. I feel honour bound to see my father, nothing more. But… I won't. No good will come of it, not yet."
"Very well," she conceded, and went back to stirring the broth that hung over the fire.
But that conversation awoke something within Legolas - the need to stop hiding. He had found much of Keren on their journey, sixteen months on the move, seeing places and faces she had known. But even though he had traveled much, deep inside he knew he was really only running away.
Back to Ithilien he would go, and he would take Gimli to the grave, and Gimli would not let him retreat into the dark. And then he would start again, and build, and provide.
When Keren was alive he had thought that as soon as she died he would sail. But it had been three years now, and he hadn't. He hadn't. Nor had he faded away, for Aragorn and Gimli had saved him from that. She had been right - he did have something to stay for, for now. His friends. And his work - his colony, his gardens.
They set off the next day, and Yrsa nodded, understanding, and wished them well, and Grimbeorn gave them much for the journey, as he had to Keren once.
Their feet followed Keren's again, east of the Misty Mountains, west of the Great Wood, until they were far along her lonely road through the Brown Lands, and both realised what they were doing, what Legolas wanted to do. Her journey to him - what she had done for him. He wanted to do it for her, in her memory, in her honour.
After a time the Emyn Muil rose up in the distance, and they marched on, through the maze of rocks and brambles and ravines, always thinking of her courage and quiet strength as she had trodden these paths before them.
Finally they looked out from atop the cliff-edge of the hills, down upon the vast expanse of marsh that lay in the moonlight.
"Well, we've gone up and down and roundabout from Rohan to Lórien to Mirkwood. But here we must stop following her, laddie," Gimli said, grim and sad. "For as much as I loved her, and as much as I love you, we will not find her in those pools. We'll only find the dead, who are not at rest as she is. And we cannot count on her, nor any power we cannot see, to guide us out. Suffering will not honour her, nor bring her back. It's enough that she took these dark paths. Don't put yourself through it, lad. You do not know the way."
So there upon the bleak edge of the Emyn Muil where Hrafn had lost his life, where Keren had decided a life with Legolas was worth braving the marshes for, he finally accepted that she was now just a collection of memories. He sat upon the edge, and cried, and cried.
But the stars shone down brightly, as they had for her in the same place, and then the sun rose low in the east, casting golden light across the world, and away there, far in the south, he could see it - the place he had chosen to build a home in.
"I miss her," he said, for the first time. "It is an ache. I will always miss her. And my child - the loss is… it is a stabbing pain, whenever I think of it."
"Aye, it's cruel. So let's get out of this cruel, barren place, and find the place she was most happy. Away over there, under those trees, with you. Where she brought your child into being with such courage and strength. We use those words a lot, when we talk of her. Now let's have some of it ourselves. Come on, lad, up you get, and on we go."
So together they went down, and went not through the Dead Marshes, but far around them and along the boggy road between them and the swamps that led down to the Anduin. The first trees of Ithilien welcomed them, the streams still flowing light and free, the sun still filtering through the branches - and when the few folk of the colony that remained saw their leader had returned they wept tears of joy, and knew that the darkest of times were over.
The years passed, and Legolas became youthful and strong again, in mind and body. He built many talans entirely alone. The kingsfoil planted at Keren's grave flourished, and became a place of great reverence and renown across Gondor. Bergil married, and brought his new wife to live with him in North Ithilien, and within a year Beregond was a grandfather. Gimli returned to his caves in Aglarond, with a promise to visit too often.
Aragorn and Arwen made a great journey north to their newly reformed realm of Arnor. It was further even than the home of the halflings, though they were sure to stop there for a long while to see their old friends.
By the twentieth year of the Fourth Age word of Legolas's colony at North Ithilien had spread far and wide, and many elves who felt not yet ready to sail were welcomed, until it became the largest settlement of the Eldar left in Middle-earth, and the fairest.
Every midsummer day Legolas went to the glade and sat in silence, alone with his memories, and for three and forty more years since the colony flourished did he do so. As time went by he marked the changes in his friends, for they joined him sometimes. Aragorn was still tall and strong, though at last signs of age began to show in his hair and upon his face. Gimli's mane became an odd faded orange, defiantly not turning grey just yet.
At the end of the year something happened that gave all three much joy. Old friends of theirs returned to the citadel, last there as young hobbits who did not know just how great their deeds were.
Merry and Pippin, very old now, with white hair that frizzed about their heads, and gnarled sticks that shaky hands gripped with bent fingers, bowed low before their King.
"Stand, Counsellors of the North," Aragorn said, his voice unchanged. "Or rather, sit, old friends."
With tears in their eyes they hugged Legolas and Gimli in greeting, for it had been near ninety years since last they had seen each other.
That evening they all sat together about the White Tree in the Place of the Fountain with ale and wine and pipes long into the night, and talked of their adventures, and the friends no longer with them.
Legolas was moved with bittersweet joy to hear that the hobbits believed Sam had been granted passage West, last of the ring-bearers. But their meeting was tinged with more sadness, for Merry and Pippin had journeyed south for one thing only.
"My son Faramir is Thain now," Pippin explained, his voice thin and cracked, though still full of wit and care. "And Merry's eldest is Master of Buckland. Oh, everything is in order, they know why we came. Our last adventure." He smiled over at Merry, who winked back.
"When Éomer called me south, I knew it was for him to say goodbye," Merry said. "So after he died, we thought we'd travel on and…"
"Say goodbye to us," Gimli finished, and there was a moment of silence.
"Well, yes," Pippin said eventually. "We've reached an excellent age for hobbits, but our bones are creaking, and our feet are weary, and you'll all go on many years yet."
Pippin looked at Legolas, and his old eyes twinkled in his lined face.
"I think of her every day, you know," he said. "When Aragorn told us… what had happened, oh, we couldn't believe it. Merry and I, and Sam, we went up to the Woody End and camped, and talked of her, talked of you all. We wanted to feel like we were on a journey again. So long ago now. But I remember it. And I remember her."
Legolas smiled sadly. "As do I, Peregrine. Every day. She loved you, and I thank you for all your kindness to her. It feels but a moment ago to me."
Then all fell silent again. For many nights on the dark road with Frodo they had not needed words, and now was no different. So they sat beneath the stars in the city they had all fought to save, in silent fellowship, until the hobbits dozed, and Legolas and Aragorn lifted them and gently carried them to their beds.
Merry and Pippin died four years later, within days of each other, and they were laid to rest in the halls of the great, beside stewards and kings - for they had given as much for Gondor as any ruler of it.
Eldarion was now in his sixties, though like his father and all his Númenórean forbears looked as a man of thirty or so. He had more of his mother in his face than of Aragorn, although as she was half-elven herself it was noted that his ears were more rounded than pointed. In a few generations all that would remain of the elvish blood in the royal house of Telcontar would be the tall bearing and grey eyes, like so many of the noblemen of Middle-earth.
Faramir, one of such men, was by then very old, and had lost Éowyn long ago. He began to feel death calling for him, though he would live for almost another twenty years after the hobbit's passing, to his surprise. He filled those years by writing tales, ever as good with a pen as he was with a sword. Elboron his son was old himself, and his grandson, Barahir, was proving to be a great writer, far better, Faramir knew, than himself.
He often wondered if Barahir would write of him, once he was gone. But what had he truly achieved? What would his descendants remember him for? The man who resisted the call of Isildur's Bane, he supposed. But he felt he had fallen in so many other ways that that event of long ago did not hold any great meaning.
Perhaps Barahir would write of Keren? Sometimes she would pass through Faramir's mind, though not as much as his beloved wife, whom he thought of every day. The memories of Keren were as paintings - beautiful and rich, but perhaps no longer accurate. He could not truly remember her, he realised. And besides, she was long dead - the news had come from Bergil what, sixty, eighty years ago? He wasn't sure. These days the past blurred into a mass of light and shadow.
He thought of Legolas too. Dwelling so close to Emyn Arnen, nevertheless the elf remained a distant figure that filled him with fear, and old shame.
One night Faramir had a strange dream, and he knew he would not wake up when it was over.
He stood upon a clifftop, looking down upon a wide beach and across an endless sea. Far away on the horizon, a shining light sent its beams up into the sky. It was beautiful, and familiar. Yet it was not his to claim, not any more, and perhaps it never had been. So he smiled, and sighed in acceptance. The waters rose beneath him, and soon they were crashing at the foot of the cliff. Something was coming.
Sure enough out of the West a huge wave appeared, and he watched as it rose up, and up, and he knew it would engulf him and the land he stood upon, and he was afraid.
But when it finally came crashing down he felt peace such as he had never known, and as it swept him away he saw that beside him was Éowyn, young and fair and clad all in shining mail, come to guide him through the waters.
One late winter day Legolas looked about the glade for the last time.
Keren and their child had been buried for well over a hundred years, and the oak tree still watched over them. The athelas was tended so it did not become overgrown, for there was now a statue beside it, crafted by Gimli and Legolas together. It would stand in Ithilien forever, and Keren's carved face, looking down at her stone baby in her stone arms, would catch the evening sun as it set, and Legolas knew that Bergil's descendants would see that they were remembered, his long-dead wife and daughter.
For he was leaving the forests soon, for good. The colony had thrived for almost a century, and would continue to do so without him. But there was another reason, as close to his heart, that meant it was time to leave.
In time, all the mortals Legolas had met during the War of the Ring fell away to dust, until there remained just two. As they welcomed in the twelfth decade of the Fourth Age, Gimli was more than two-hundred-and-fifty years old, but still hale. The dwarves were long-lived, and sturdy in their decline.
But Aragorn was now over two-hundred, and coming to the end of his life.
Long ago had Legolas decided. Once the great friendship of elf, man and dwarf was at an end, then he would finally sail away from the land that had borne them all. Once he had made his farewells Legolas would sail away in the ship that he had begun to build at Cormallen, ready to be moored at Cair Andros.
And Gimli was to sail with him. He knew not if his dearest friend would be permitted to enter the timeless West, but if when it came to it they were turned away for daring to try, then both friends had decided what a great final adventure that would be, to sail the endless seas together, until Gimli finally succumbed to age, and Legolas could journey on.
When Aragorn felt he could not stay any longer he called his two friends to his side, and as he lay on his bed he reached for their hands and kissed them, and thanked them for their love and service, before bidding them farewell. His final words to them were to instruct that Merry and Pippin be brought from their place of rest to his, so that he may lie with two of their fellowship beside him.
So they parted.
As they left the room, Arwen took Legolas's hand as they passed in the doorway.
"Stay close, Greenleaf," she said softly. "Do not go back to the forest. I would speak with you in a few days, when this is all over."
She was as young and fair as ever. The tears already gathered in her eyes, for the moment that had long haunted her was here. Her sons and daughters gathered around her, and their own children, and together the royal family went to the bed of Aragorn.
The door closed behind them, and Legolas found himself staring at the smooth, polished wood, just the other side of it. Never would he hear Aragorn's voice again, and he felt a wave of grief threaten to take him. But Gimli reached up and gently pulled on his arm, and together they walked to one of their favourite inns within the city, and drank to his memory.
A week later many folk gathered for the funeral, and they stared at Gimli and Legolas, the only two remaining members of the legendary Fellowship of long ago.
Once it was over, and Eldarion was crowned, Legolas and Arwen remained alone by the tomb as night fell. They both stood tall and beautiful in their dark raiment, silver hair and dark, children of starlight and twilight.
"So here we are, the only ones of our kind left in Middle-earth who have loved a mortal and lost them," she said. "Tell me, does the pain ever end?"
"No, my lady," he said honestly. "But it lessens, with time."
"Time." He heard her voice, but could not see her face, for she was turned away, looking out over the city. "Greenleaf, there is something we must speak of."
"My lady?"
"You will forgive me for my silence on this matter before now. Every time I wished to raise it, I grew afraid - afraid of the pain it would cause me. Is that not weak and foolish of me?" She finally turned to face him.
"You could never be weak, Arwen, nor foolish."
"Selfish, then," she said. "For I have kept something from you, for many years. Something about Keren."
Just hearing her name was enough to conjure up a dozen memories, for it was rarely spoken now, save in his head. But Legolas was ahead of his friend, and he nodded - though he could not quite manage a smile.
"She was to be immortal," he said simply, and Arwen's eyes widened in surprise. "I know. She was to take your place amongst the immortals, for you had chosen a mortal life. Or so everyone told me. I did not allow myself to believe it at first. It is what my father thought, and my advisor, Negeneth. They told me they believed Keren was on a journey not to please my father, but to prove herself worthy to the Valar to be counted amongst the Eldar. After a time I dared to believe it. When her crystal showed me our child a little older, with Keren completely unchanged - that was my confirmation. I accepted the great boon I had been granted, though I questioned how it could come about, and I never spoke of it to her, in case I was wrong. And I was wrong, for I saw her begin to age, and then of course…"
"She died," Arwen said quietly, and Legolas was silent.
"I gave the Ringbearer my passage West," Arwen went on. "I knew he would not be permitted entry to Aman, but on the fair isle of Tol Eresseä he could live out his days, surely ended now, with the smell of Middle-earth borne to him across the waves, and the sight of the sunset over the distant mountains of the farthest West. My heart tells me Gimli will share the same fate, and your taking him will not be in vain."
"That is a comfort, my lady," Legolas said, knowing there was more to come.
"But I also knew Frodo would remain mortal," she said. "He was not the one with whom I was truly connected."
Legolas nodded. "There was a time, before she died, when I would have told you that person was Keren."
"I too. But though she is dead I still feel the same as I did the day I first made my choice… mortal. At first I was convinced she could not be dead, but then I saw her grave, and I saw your grief. And I grew to accept… it was not her, could not be her, had never been her. There is a stranger out there, somewhere in the world, who believes they are mortal, but has now the spirit of an elf inside them, as I have one of Men."
They were silent for a time, and Legolas thought the conversation over, for Arwen looked weary. But then she went on.
"I never told you, but I saw her, Greenleaf, many times, in my mind, before she died. That was why I thought it had to be her. I felt her spirit being called away, when she reached the end of that awful journey, and I rushed to Ithilien to call her back. I do not expect your forgiveness when I tell you it was not only to save her life, but to ensure that I, one day, could die."
"Since you thought you could not have one without the other, there is nothing to forgive," Legolas said. "And you saved her - we had a few more years of happiness, because of you and Aragorn."
He saw tears grow in her eyes at the mention of her husband's name.
"I always thought, when he died, that I would lay down beside him and give up my life there and then," she said. "But I looked at my children, my family, and I knew it would break their hearts. I will slip away once they do not need me. I will go to the woods of my grandmother, and find my rest, and my soul will search for his. Whether I will find him I do not know, but at least I have a chance this way. And Greenleaf, I cannot tell you how much it saddens me that you will not have that chance with Keren."
"But we always thought it would be so, Keren and I," he replied. "We entered into our marriage knowing that once she died, we would not meet again even in death. And when I dared to hope, to believe that she was…" He shook his head, looking down. "Well, that hope was taken from me. But I have come to terms with it, and now I hope to find my peace in the West."
"Do you judge me for taking someone's death from them?" she asked, and her voice was low and sad.
"Most of the race of men I knew would have said it was a blessing," Legolas said.
She looked at him. "That's not an answer. But I understand you. Though it was within my rights, as one of the half-elven, to make that choice. But still, I knew there would be a cost, and still I chose. It was selfish of me, for we elves know that death is the greatest gift of all. I had taken that freedom, that escape from the world, for myself. I have forced someone else to live forever, to forever be tied to the earth, even in spirit. It is how the Valar shaped the world, with this balance, and it cannot exist without it."
She turned fully to him, and both knew the time to part had come.
"I do not expect to see you again," she said, "either on earth or beyond it. But when you find your way to the lands of our people, look to the Evenstar - if the stars be the same - and think of me, though I will be far away. Farewell. May the hidden road prove straight, and free of peril."
She smiled sadly at him, then turned to look down at the face of her husband, frozen in stone.
"May you find peace, my lady Evenstar," Legolas said. "I pray he will be waiting for you. If I knew him at all, he will be."
Then he bowed to her, though she no longer saw nor heard him, and disappeared into the night.
