At Aragorn's behest, the oblong, tapered front yard of the White Tower had been closed off so that bystanders wouldn't hurt the mourners more than they could give comfort; therefore, the guards' presence aside, the usually so busy place where once the coronation of Elessar had taken place, was completely deserted. A perfect atmosphere for Firstborn to process something that many of them had never been confronted with before: that the immortality of elves did not mean, they could never be torn from their current lives.

For the many spectators behind half-closed curtains and in dark building entrances, the image had to seem strange; seeing delicate beings in thin robes and fluttering dresses standing in the draftiest corner of the whole Citadel, in the cuttingly cold January air. And these partly curious, partly compassionate watchers would surely have been even more confused, had they been told how unusual it was that all of these elves were indeed freezing.

Finally, Faramir's soldiers who had joined the gathering voluntarily threw the last of collected wood into the fire, and the flames were reaching up high into the night sky.

While the Men discreetly went to the back of the crowd, Arwen approached from the other side, who, a Firstborn herself was grieving her friends just as much as any of the others.

With her came two persons who had actually not been invited and yet in some way, had most reason to be here.

While the elves gifted Faramir and his wife – both very simply dressed for their rank, wearing dark blue and heavy coats –, with at least a quick bow, Legolas and the Steward exchanged hardly more than fleeting eye contact.

Legolas considered sending them away for a moment. When your world was drowning in emptiness, more with every rising flame, exercising leniency was hard. There weren't enough words in existence to sugarcoat that Faramir had failed to attack the Stewardaides in North Ithilien immediately. Legolas was sorely tempted to snap at him like yesterday, to ask him if maybe he thought it would be good for his damaged reputation, disturbing this ceremony.

It was Éowyn who had him keep silent. Faramir had made grave mistakes, and even now, he was still showing an attitude driving Legolas up against the wall, with that detached expression, as if this was one of his men's campfire, but his wife was suffering. The White Lady of Rohan was but a shadow of the woman she'd used to be. If you hadn't known her in the war, you couldn't see this woman even lifting armor, much less wearing it. While Faramir had fatally neglected the problems with his fanatical supporters, his wife's tears were real.

"They're waiting for you." He didn't even really register that Tarisilya had raised her voice until she squeezed his hand.

The heat close by and the flowing light was starting to fill the whole yard and turned not only movements but voices, too, into a rubbery mass, barely noticeable under a load of memories of the elves that they were supposed to honor right now.

In Legolas' head, shadows were dancing in the orange glow, to the sounds of a certain deep singing voice that on some evenings in Imladris back then, had given comfort and courage to the newly formed Fellowship of the Ring and that had been silenced for a long time now.

The flickering light might as well have been the one in a pair of challenging dark eyes at the morning duel, filled with an endless need for more practice, more skill, more perfection that would never be achieved in this life now.

The hissing sparks painted Avrelas' still so scribbly handwriting, like in his reports on Emyn Arnen, onto the almost transparently pale skin of more than one person present.

It was only the sight of two more guests joining them could shake Legolas out of this beginning trance.

One of them was Gimli who in spite of their very limited contact before this crisis came to stand next to him so naturally, as if not a day had passed since the war. Legolas almost hadn't recognized him, in a black robe not all that dissimilar to his own, and his wild red beard firmly braided.

The last elf of the group of Cair Andros still missing was approaching them far slower as his leg was splinted. That thigh would heal at some point as Legolas knew by now … but not Thondrar's right arm that uselessly hung down by his side, almost fully paralyzed.

Legolas was pretty sure that Tarisilya didn't want to see her patient out here, but before she could say anything, she was being stopped by a scathing glance. Thondrar stopped next to Camhanar and Tauriel, more withdrawn and distant than ever so that no one even dared even to look at him. Not because one would maybe have angered one of the most powerful warriors of Imladris but because seeing what had become of him was another stab to many hearts already abused.

And there were few things that Thondrar hated more than pity.

A beginning feud between his wife and an elf that had stood by Tarisilya in lethal danger just a few days ago was just as bad as knowing that none of these images of the dead torturing his mind would take real shape again in the foreseeable future. Legolas had not only lost his first men to this infantile conflict in Gondor; the lives of other elves had been destroyed as well. And maybe forever, too, unlike bodies that would one day walk earthly realms again in the west.

And the people responsible were shielded by the walls of Minas Tirith's prison and could maybe expect to be released in a few years already, to carry on as if nothing had happened.

"This is not the end." After a day like this, there wasn't much strength left in Legolas' voice.

The others were startling anyway. None of them had apparently really expected him to talk to them. All the more quickly they stepped forward now until they stood around him in a tight circle – both cover and support. Everyone was aware that many terrible things had been said between the King and Legolas earlier. That every sentence might now destroy the group's future even more effectively than a few warg claws had managed to. Still, they gathered around him, maybe for the last time before his next quest might divide them all.

For that alone, he had to tell them at least. Legolas forced himself to look the others in the eye, one after the other. "It's not a borrowed piece of land that our friends were forced to leave us for that has been taken from us, but something far more crucial. And I will not just watch time wash away the short lives of men in this realm and make it forgotten, before the last elves have even left this world behind, how many of us have been destroyed in a war that wasn't even our own."

Only now, Legolas was speaking louder, enough for the persons standing slightly apart from them to hear him.

While Éowyn reached for Faramir's hand in an unsettled gesture, Gimli joined the circle of the elves and grabbed Legolas' arm. "Too big words for a night short like this. A dwarf who has to give an elf lessons about restraint, now that is a thing unheard of."

Legolas should actually have been relieved that someone was there to hold him back, just like the part of him that was shyly muttering to him that he was about to bring Aragorn's anger upon himself again. But his own voice of reason didn't reach him. "None of you can understand that."

Even his own people looked disconcerted at that, and Legolas regretted the thoughtless remark immediately. Given the deep friendship prevailing between all the members of the Fellowship and especially between Gimli and him, and everything that they had gone through together, such words were unforgivable.

Before he could try to apologize, Tarisilya grabbed his lower arms so that he would have had to tear away from her just as rudely as from Gimli if he didn't even want to listen. "Legolas, please! Don't let the darkness take you away from me."

"This darkness has been in all of us ever since we live here!" Although he did his best to keep his calm at least towards his wife, the roaring tone in Legolas' voice remained. "And it has destroyed four of us already."

Hectically, he got out the arrow from Mordor from under his cloak, still sporting some remains of the strands of hair that he had hastily severed earlier, to keep them for the actual funeral, planned for a day in the foreseeable future when it was officially confirmed what they all already knew. He couldn't even tell if that was the heat of the dispute on his face or tears. The coldness that had spread in his body left a heaviness and numbness trying to dull every sensation, on the outside and the inside.

In horror, the other elves turned away from one of the most popular symbols for an orc's sadistic tastes on the weapon, but Legolas didn't allow them to shut out any of this. "Let the remainder of the torture that our fallen friends went through now turn to ash and hope that it's all four of their souls who have found peace in the Halls of Mandos by now." He hurled the arrow into the fire with more strength than necessary. Remains of the usual poison that almost all weapons of Mordor were being coated in – and that, in a sober light, might already have been enough to destroy the bodies that these strands of hair had been torn from in the last few hours –, produced a dark darting flame, with a loud hiss, accompanied by a disgusting metallic smell.

"Let the fire consume the darkness in our hearts and fill us with new courage! Carry this image with you henceforth, so that it might remind us every second of how much our companions had to suffer."

None of the others even dared to breathe. The usual sounds of the night had stopped as well. Shouts of soldiers, the animals in the yard, the songs of nightingales … For a moment, life stood still.

It felt good. Knowing that right now, Legolas could have asked anything at all from his people, even the attack that he had threatened Aragorn with, left a dark kind of euphoria that covered up even the despair and the grief.

Then it was gone. The fear of this thought, of a kind of power that he'd never wanted, was too big. There would be no order tonight, no oath. Only a request for solidarity that they all needed more than ever right now. "As the flames carry our tears to the stars, let their breath write the names of our friends in the clouds so that every elf still lingering on this world will learn, from the depths of Eryn Lasgalen to the widths of Imladris, from the sky over Lórien to the portal of Mithlond: The fate of the elves of Cair Andros will not go unpunished!"

Once more, Legolas turned to his people one by one.

Tauriel and Camhanar, just like the former marchwardens of the group, didn't need further prompting. Straightening their intimidated postures, they stepped even closer to him.

The others followed after a brief moment of hesitation.

Arwen on the other hand had taken more than just one step away from him, with a shocked headshake.

Tarisilya wasn't moving either; she stared at Legolas as if she was seeing him for the first time.

Legolas managed to ignore her dejected appearance for now. His wife had shown him earlier that this crisis had changed her; now it was his turn to do the same. They would have to talk about that later when no one would be listening.

"For now, let us free our thoughts to accompany our friends on their last journey."

It was a grief anthem of his own realm that he started to sing, but the others chimed in immediately.

Only Thondrar stayed silent once more; Legolas had never heard him sing. He always said, his voice wasn't made for it and that he didn't want to be his father's echo. At least he was silently saying the words of melancholy and wishes to the Valar; that counted just as much.

In this, at least, they still were all together. The rest would be decided at dawn.

the sun stays low this day

knowing that without you I will not rise

yet zillions of stars don't ask for grief

they call us to shine

they write your name

in every of their turns

and paint the path you chose high above

your eyes glitter in Anduin's brightest glow

your hand guides my sword

it will stall before the strike

and whisper of what is yet to come to pass

your life was the gift of the Valar

and your miracle they left with us

our hearts are one with yours tonight

and for all days to come

the trees are empty now

yet welcome those who follow

I wish I had their heart

never closer than this night

with Eru in the sky

still further we're apart

time will bring new light and fate

and mend the pieces left

for never will be gone your quest

and ours is to stay

After the ceremony, Arwen went to Aragorn's chambers without addressing anyone. She had never felt more out of place.

It surprised her that the two of them were being left alone without hesitation on the King's request.

Maybe it was the silence prevailing in the Citadel and the look in Aragorn's eyes, discouraging anyone from wanting to stay with them, to make sure that the etiquette would not be breached. Aragorn's pain, the physical and especially the mental one, was plain for everyone to see, so he was being allowed the distance that he needed from everything tonight.

Arwen was tempted herself to withdraw to the new temporary quarters assigned to her after the Stewardaides' attack, because after taking her inside, her beloved was just sitting silently on his bed for half an eternity, reacting almost to nothing. Having to see him like that was unbearable. But she sensed that Aragorn needed her right now, so she stayed.

From a window, she watched the elves' meeting in the yard starting to end. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her body, the wailing sounds of the grieving songs still in her head.

What made her freeze the most though, deep in her very soul, was the echo of Legolas' words. Something had just been started out there that would plunge life in Gondor and maybe on all of Middle-earth into a new crisis. And all she had been able to do was stand there helplessly.

"I'm sorry, Estel. I don't know how I could have stopped him."

"No one could. I tried it with everything I could think of saying. I know what my duty as a leader demands of me next but my heart shies away from it, even after everything I had to hear him shout all the way in here earlier."

Arwen could feel Aragorn tremble under her hand, her skin far too cold as so often, since the war, when she came to stand beside him and touched his neck carefully. But when she tried to pull it away, he grabbed it sluggishly and held it tight, absently nuzzling against it.

For a few minutes, the silence in the darkened room was interrupted only by the last quiet voices in the courtyard.

When Aragorn spoke up again, his whisper sounded as if it might break any moment. "I'll have to send him away from the city. Now, at the latest, he's made sure that he can't be tolerated here any longer."

"I know." Aragorn's hand clenched around hers as he looked for support, and she kissed it, signaling him that she did agree although this was about none other than her best friend with the elves. If that stubborn Sinda had been in the room right now, she would have had to strike him with the handle of her sword; maybe that would have helped him, finally getting something into his head for once. "Legolas will understand, someday, when his pain doesn't control him so much anymore."

"Which can take an elf a while though, can it not?" Aragorn stared at the ground in bitterness. "Maybe I won't even be alive to see his anger at me go away."

Arwen didn't have any comforting answer to that either; any of those would have been a lie.

At last, her betrothed sank back into the mattress and asked Arwen to join him. With his healthy arm, he held her close, caressing her back, trying to reach every free inch of skin with his fingertips, without any forbidden motives like in Imladris back then. That way, after a while, he could at least get the break that his body needed so badly.

Tarisilya startled from her heavy thoughts when Gimli let go of her arm. Only now she realized that the yard was almost empty by now, but that the dwarf had been there the whole time, though he would have had every right to just leave after Legolas treating him like that. "Thank you."

Legolas might have hurt his companion badly earlier and might also have done so for a while now, with many things left unspoken between the two of them, but Gimli had stayed here right beside her, supporting her. For a second time, after he'd already protected her from some boorish drunks in Minas Tirith once.

"I know, I've said that before, but he doesn't mean it."

"I've had to bury a couple of people myself, Princess. No one thinks clear on evenings like this."

Her glance made Gimli feel visibly uncomfortable, and he was quick to get some distance between them but today at least, his voice was lacking every hostility. She could have sworn, his knobbly face was showing a few wrinkles more tonight. Though he made no move to approach Legolas who was the last to remain by the fire, he clearly showed that he wasn't being indifferent to the lost elves' fate. That the bitter enmity once existing between Dwarves and Firstborn did at least not concern him and his people anymore.

But something else seemed to be on his mind, too. "I'm sorry if this is not a good time, but I looked in vain for your tight-lipped friend from Rivendell at the ceremony. When we parted ways at Cair Andros, he actually said he'd ride back here. He didn't get himself injured again, did he? That elf is so clumsy, let me tell you! When we attacked the Stewardaides, I almost expected his head to roll over the ground any moment!"

"Erestor?" Tarisilya stopped him, startled as it was only now that she realized that she had indeed not met her favorite nuisance anymore since that evening in the Houses of Healing.

Actually, she had thought he had arrived with one of the groups of soldiers earlier, but when she looked at Faramir who was still standing nearby the guesthouses, he just shook his head.

"We were not even aware that we were supposed to get even more reinforcements from Minas Tirith. Wherever the Lord has really ridden to, he never reached us. Do you think something happened to him?"

With big surprise, Tarisilya found herself suddenly worrying about someone that she usually wanted to be as far away from her as possible. It annoyed her that she hadn't even noticed Erestor be missing due to her personal aversion, though an elf that proud and stubborn would probably not have been fond of anyone playing his minder anyway. She would have loved to just let someone else handle this but Legolas didn't look like he would be able to decide anything anytime soon, and Aragorn was hopefully just busy recovering, finally.

Besides, it was not only Gimli but she had also been the one Erestor had told where he was going. By that, in a way, he had got her blessing, after all, it was for the elves of Cair Andros that he had left. Whether she liked it or not, she was responsible for him coming back. If he'd fallen off his horse thanks to his limitless delusions of grandeur, and was lying around with a broken leg somewhere, she really didn't have a choice but to make sure he got help.

"Please send two of your people, Steward. He surely didn't make it far."

"I will keep you posted."

Faramir showed the hint of a bow and left her alone then, hurrying after his wife who led the way to their chambers. For the first time in quite a while, these two would maybe find comfort in each other's arms again tonight.

Tarisilya wished for the same but knew, unfortunately, how bad the chances of that were. Yearningly, she turned her gaze to the gate to the sixth level. Hiding away in the stables again, or in the Houses of Healing, sounded more tempting by the second. Anything would have been more pleasant than the following conversation. Besides, it was perfectly possible that such a talk would get interrupted by soldiers …

"We should leave." Finally taking heart, she went to join Legolas. "After what you just said, I doubt they'll want us around in Minas Tirith any longer."

"If they mean to throw anyone out, that's between them and me." While Legolas was still staring into the flames burning out, part of him seemed to notice who was standing there next to him. He instinctively reached out his hand for Tarisilya. "You saved His Majesty's life. People won't allow it that they send you away. And the other elves are not responsible for their leader's words. I'll leave tomorrow, and I think they'll go with me. We can think about our next steps in Lórien. I would appreciate you staying here until I have an idea about what will happen now. Or do you want to leave?"

Tarisilya shook her head before she had even really thought about it. She had her duties here, given they would indeed not try to take them away from her. Among other things, a friendship that had been existing for centuries and that had suffered almost as much as the one between the King and her husband lately. She wanted to help Arwen and him, and Legolas and him as well, but to do the latter, she was being too close to Legolas and appreciated Aragorn too much. Someone else would have to mediate there, someone that Legolas would listen to. Whoever that might be right now.

Besides, it scared her how obsessed Legolas was with a revenge that would under different circumstances have been cancelled in a few years at the latest. Apparently, her husband sometimes needed a reminder of how quickly in their short lives Men could change for the better.

And first, he needed to hear something that didn't seem to have reached his ears so far. "Lórien? Valar, Legolas … Did you even ask the others? They don't want to give Nord-Ithilien up. The elves you have brought to Gondor won't be going home just because you lost faith in yourself. If you won't leave the city as a friend of the King, make at least use of the next few weeks and get the people back to Cair Andros so that they can continue what they have started, until Thondrar can maybe continue leading them."

"You want me close by, to make sure that I won't do anything that goes against your conscience," Legolas remarked surprisingly soberly. "You could have told me without using the others as an excuse. No, that's alright. You are a big part of my life, Ilya. You have a bigger share in my decisions than anyone else. You need to be able to support them and you're suffering from every of my mistakes. It is better for you to never let me forget that."

He grabbed her arm almost a little too tightly when she tried to turn away in dismay. "I will do my duty towards the dead but not at the risk of plunging my family into sorrow. To figure out the right way, I have to talk to the others in private. That's possible in Ithilien, too, if that makes you feel better, given the Steward doesn't chase us away. It would be more convenient for him without a doubt, not having to bear seeing us anymore."

"I can't bear seeing you like this, Legolas. Not today." Spending the night in Brego's stall became a more tempting option by the second. "Not so shortly after the others … I'm still trying to process myself that four of our friends have suffered an injustice like that. I can't handle your hate on top of that. I want to be alone now."

"You have been alone for far too long already, Ilya. Like so many other things, that's my fault. Let me at least start to make it right." A few of the sharper lines around Legolas' eyes vanished, together with the impatience to exact vengeance immediately. What remained was a lost youngling, far too pale and too thin, clad in too dark clothes, who in spite of three thousand years of experience didn't know where he belonged.

If Tarisilya had left him standing there now, she would have done the same that she had blamed him for so often: leaving him alone. She loved him too much for that, and in the last few months, she had missed him too much for that, too. "Only if you leave this evening here at the fire to stand beside me as my husband. Or I can't make that."

"I will try." The last energy of anger left him when he took her in his arms; he would almost have toppled over.

Which reminded Tarisilya that she hadn't even checked in detail yet what shape he was actually being in after the warg attack. "Let's go."

"I have no idea how you can get any work done in here." After stopping by in the public bath of the guesthouse that had fortunately been empty, Legolas found Tarisilya at the desk in the chambers' bedroom, bent over a chaos of vials, glasses, small boxes and used parchments. Not to mention that the lighting was bad and that he was wondering how someone could find anything on this desk ... Admittedly, he hadn't expected his wife to be busy with something so sober right now.

"Give me a second." Tarisilya held a half-full reddish vial up to the candlelight and added something pasty from a slightly bigger vessel without spilling anything – remarkable, given her hands had lost some of their prior steadiness quite a while ago.

"What is this?" The sweetish smell of apples filled the room. "You're not actually cooking for me right now, are you, elwen?"

The weak attempt at joking was hardly being acknowledged with more than a raised eyebrow. "There's food on the nightstand. One of the servants was being thoughtful. Have a few bites and start getting out of that robe."

So that was what this was about. One of Tarisilya's famous tinctures for some minor scratch from the last battle; he should have known. Sighing, Legolas dropped onto the mattress and followed his healer's orders, at least the one about undressing. The other, he chose to ignore. He had last been hungry when the name of his home had still been Greenwood the Great.

"Oh, and by the way …" The eyebrow cocked another half an inch more. "According to the Noldor's customs, it's the elves who do the cooking as you should be aware of. So if anyone here is responsible for dinner, it's you."

"Believe me, no one would want to eat that. But we'll talk about that once we've finally settled somewhere for good." It took him only half a sentence to bring up the messy situation once more instead of keeping up the light banter; this was getting frustrating real quick.

Legolas was fast to look away, grabbing some fruit now after all. His wife wouldn't have let that go anyway. He had been her patient too often to not know that.

"Turn around. Lay down please."

Since the ceremony had ended, his body reminded Legolas insistently that he had been sitting around on hard rock for far too long, unmoving. So he did as he'd been told, secretly glad for the chance to lay down on a soft mattress again instead of an uncomfortable den, for the first time after long months.

That was a comfort he sometimes missed, sure, but not even such trivial thoughts managed to silence the voices of the dead inside his head. Actually, there was no time to rest at all. He had no right surrendering to idleness while four of his people …

The echoes of the self-reproaches in his mind went silent all of a sudden when Tarisilya's dripped what he'd thought to be a healing tincture onto his shoulders. Warm and smooth it landed far away from any wounds that were already closed anyway. His wife had sat down next to him and pulled his braid aside. Without asking him, she started to massage him with the oil she'd mixed, surprising him with a kind of closeness that had not existed between them for a long time. "Ilya …"

"I have to." She didn't let him speak. "Seeing as I can't help you with words, let me heal your body at least."

"After what happened last year, I just didn't expect you to …" He paused, at a loss of how to explain himself.

"What do you mean?" Tarisilya asked flatly, without letting go of him. "That we lost our child and never helped each other with that grief? Or do you mean that your wrong assumption about me not wanting you to touch me anymore because of this, is a perfect excuse to hide that you're afraid of it yourself?"

"Ilya, by the stars …" Completely bewildered, he turned on his back, shocked about the harshness that she was talking about the biggest loss in both their lives with.

And because she had noticed something that he hadn't even been aware of himself until now. While in the night of the warg attack, Tauriel had tried to tell him for how long he'd been hiding behind barriers in his own mind already that had long started to crumble, these lies had still been too comfortable to give up on even then. Now they had collapsed in on themselves. Now he would have to deal with the matter.

And that meant first and foremost a question that he should have asked Tarisilya long ago. "Does that mean you want to start over? Forget what happened?"

"We never will." She guided his hand to her belly which brought them both to the brink of tears immediately.

"I often wake up thinking I can feel our little one inside of me. Then it's as if not a day has passed. I can only pray to the Valar every night that they have taken our baby into their care. Sometimes I dream about seeing it again. I'm hoping with all of my heart that it can forgive us someday. But this doesn't mean, our life is over, does it? I want to have a family with you, Legolas, no matter the shape. None of the things shaking our souls in all these centuries managed to change that. I want to fall asleep next to you at night, and in the morning, I want you to wake me up with a kiss. When will we stop making things harder for each other? I want to be with you, that's all I'm asking. If the Valar should ever bless us with a child again, no one will be happier than me. But my love for you does not depend on that. If you really think so … Of if it's any different for you …"

Legolas cut off her last disheartened words with a gentle kiss.

At least this one off-key note in the symphony that was their relationship, they had finally been able to wipe out.