Reasons Unknown

by grixx

Young Alex literally walks into Middle Earth. An innocent girl looking for adventure inadvertently changes her life forever and uncovers there is more hidden truth to discover than what she originally thought for reasons unknown. Serving a little dose of mary sue once in a while. Legolas is slightly OC. 10th and 11th walker.

25. Chapter 25

AN: nothing to read here, see you all the bottom!

disclaimer: I do NOT own anything, and i mean ANYTHING. poor me.

Enjoy!

Chapter 25

War in its most abstract definition is described as a state of usually open and declared armed hostile conflict between states or nations. In relation to that definition is Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy's interpretation that 'war should be understood as an actual, intentional and widespread armed conflict between political communities'.

Most would agree that these understandable and—most of the time—accurate definitions in general context of what the average person thinks when they hear the word 'war'. However, from the strategic perspective, these definitions are arguably too simplistic to convey the complexity of war and the many facets which contribute to national success in the wider arena.

War is the coherent execution of all means to bring about sufficient adherence to a nation's will in the wider scope; resulting in armed conflict only when all other means fail.

The culture of war with its deeply engraved masculinity definitions of men fighting for their freedom, to a point that one is willing to take life—an enemy's life, an oxymoron approach to achieving freedom from oppression and everlasting peace is to apply the enemy's own abusive force onto thy own and thus attaining the very end of war. It is a challenge therefore to transition from a culture of war to a culture of peace.

Peace is many things, from human security to equality, but at its heart lies a culture; a culture based on people, acceptance and dialogue. If one sees peace as a culture then it follows that the process of deconstructing the ubiquitous culture of war must be an aspect of moving beyond militarism to a nonviolent world. Culture is, of course, more than customs and traditions. Culture is, in most times, deeply linked to identity. To move from a culture of hate and violence, a nation must have the will to break barriers and challenge violent customs and behaviors that support hate and evil and in its place construct a culture that supports peace.

War then is more than just literally fighting and battles. War is deeply engraved in the person itself. The fight for peace is everlasting, whether in outward conditions or internal personal battles.

Nothing is exactly carved in black and white, and the areas that appear with much ambiguity often times require the most understanding for it to attain the very abstract concept of the culture of war. Unfortunately, the very gray area that is most usually described is often times the cusp of much debate for it holds the idea of 'perspective', and that poses much threat than what the challenges of white and black often poses.

Everyone is a hero in their own perspective. As much as everyone is a villain in somebody else's narrative. It's all a matter of perspective. And therein lies the debate, the cause of misunderstanding and the divide. Whatever the subject of discord maybe, it always leads to warring sides and opposing groups.

Now, war within oneself is of similar position yet still very demanding in its own description. To live one's life plagued by monstrous self-doubts whether the size of shame is small or dominant is inescapable. The most basic human defense is to hide—the self disparaging emotion a person who is at war with himself is trying to escape is, shame—the emotion tied to the most basics of fundamentals of belief that he is not good enough: defective, incompetent, worthless, hopeless, not wanted nor desired. In this regard who wouldn't want to drown out such negative thoughts? Who could avoid the lust of wanting to hide and…just disappear.

In almost all forms of life, and in almost all races, no one is really immune to self deprecating doubts. Even the most wise and all knowing of beings are prone to have once entertained self doubts and negative thoughts. Have once entertained the idea of changing their course or altering themself all to be free of the pain and hurt that comes along with the negative thoughts and the act of warring with oneself. The need to escape the inner voice that is always in critic of one's own thoughts and actions, the derogatory voice that excites in blaming the self for its discrepancies and short comings. It is this unrelenting onslaught of harsh judgements that would provoke one to crave the numbness and opt to escape the reality of facing one's failure.

Even elves are not immune to such punishment.

The Battle at the Pelennor Fields reflected the inner turmoil of the elf prince. The warring shouts and clashes of blade around him drowned out the pain in his soul and the emptiness he felt. Every swing of his blades and every powerful strike of his bow only increased his anger even more. Inasmuch as he was to blame for Alex's departure, the evil around him was also had such cause to the painful circumstance he is currently in.

Since that night at the camp at Dunharrow, Legolas had kept his distance and maintained his silence. The pain in his heart and urge to kneel and beg was persistent, his worst fear had come true. As he returned to camp and found the solemn gazes of Gimli, Aragorn and Merry all huddled, he knew what had transpired.

They were gone.

His wife, along with a reluctant Paul, had returned to their world.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

Alex's words rang loudly and clear in his head, "Why didn't you say anything? You would have liked that wouldn't you? If I was a peredhil." His throat constricting as he recalled the pain and hurt that reflected in her voice and beautiful face. The betrayal swimming in her emerald eyes.

Regret always comes in last, and the hindsight always provided wisdom. Why didn't he tell her? What was it he was actually waiting for? Fearful for? The reasons then all seemed trivial now. Did it matter to him if she was a peredhil?

No. He was already in love with her even before he knew about the truth of her lineage. He never understood it then—Alex's anger towards him— but now all he had was understanding over her current rage. Alex had every right to be confused and angry, especially to him.

His focus on the taking down the oliphant but his thoughts were a hundred miles away. Alex had every reason to be angry at him, and was within her every right to process that anger. His gaze moved over the warriors perched on the oliphant and his fighting instincts took over. His arrow swift and their deaths much deserved.

He almost had to scoff at himself for the utter cruelty of fate to grant him the power to punish these men when he very much deserved his own punishment. He hoped with all his heart Alex would return but at the same time he would never put it past her to stay away from this place as far as possible. This place that had been the cause of much of her heart ache and pain.

Death would be a blessing for him. A solemn yet sobering thought as that. Without her, he knew without a single doubt, there was nothing for him here.

Sliding down from the olipihant's trunk and spotting Gimli watching him in awe of the stunt he had just performed, the friendly jibe the dwarf threw at him seemed to have flown over his head. He couldn't find any in him to celebrate. His thoughts are consuming him then. The war around felt like a blur. A green blur as the undead flowed through the masses like a river and slaughtered Sauron's forces without much trouble.

But the battle was already fought and won, the evil was already defeated. The Age of Man had already begun. Peace was almost within reach.

Yet, the Elf Prince remained frozen. Unchanging despite the changing world around him.

His duty to his people and to his crown already fulfilled. His vow to Frodo already completed. And yet, despite all his accomplishments, despite the growing celebrations around him, the prince remained lodged. Stuck between moving and waiting.

His most precious duty, unbound, failed. With all his knowledge, and all his skills, he remained incompetent.

His thoughts, however, was pulled back to reality when Gimli thought to ask him about his insight on the current council they were having. A temporary reprieve from the dark thoughts plaguing his mind since their return.

Three months after their return from the Siege of the Black Gates, The King's Council was formed. While the Healing House was up to the brim with tending to the wounded, The King's Council was occupied with ensuring that evil was eradicated from all across country and its neighboring allies.

They were all gathered in the King's Hall, from different races and different statures, each faction of the broken and battered society was well represented. Those closest to Aragorn had provided much counsel; Eomer provided much insight on the rebuilding of the Gondorian Army and forging the security all over the lands. Gandalf provided the wisdom, Eomer, despite still recovering from his own injuries, where forthcoming of the governing of Gondor before his father's death, which included the distress of the people that were left unheard, and the struggle of fighting off Saruman's forces left little to the funds for the City. While the rest had appeared to bring to the King's attention the various grievances of the people of Gondor, from land disputes, to farming, to trade.

Other concerns made the Aragorn's heart heavy. His duty was far from over. He now had the task of reforging alliances long broken and left forgotten. Peace was attained indeed, but keeping it was as tedious still. The people had looked into the Citadel for guidance and the race of Men much leadership even after the defeat of Sauron and the ring destroyed.

It was how they found themselves months after their supposed victory. Up ton heir holders with much work on rebuilding everything Sauron sought to destroy.

"What of Osgilliath?" Eomer asked, "Most, if not all parts of the city are in ruins, and while rebuilding is taking place, we need a place for the displaced people to stay."

"There is nothing left of Osgilliath," Faramir's voice was grim as he recounted the status of the town located a few miles outside of Minas Tirith. "Both attempts to reclaim it had left it in ruins much that would take twice as long to rehabilitate."

With the map of entire Middle Earth laid before them, the council had recounted news from neighboring countries and realms and had finally pieced together the entirety of Sauron's plans to inhabit middle earth.

"Saruman's spirit should have been allowed to return to the Halls of Mandos, as he was a Maia and could not truly die, but instead, his spirit was barred from returning home and he was forced to wander Middle-Earth forever, in a totally powerless state." Gandalf's spoke, voice with resigned sadness over someone who was once his friend and a great leader of the maiars. "It's a common misconception that the destruction of the One Ring resulted in the death of Sauron. However, it isn't that simple, as Sauron is a Maia, which makes him immortal. When Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's finger, it destroyed his physical form. He had actually managed to regain a pitiful physical body during the course of our journey to destroy the One Ring—Pippin briefly witnessed this form when he looked into the Palantir and was seen by Sauron—when the One Ring was destroyed, this body faded away, leaving only a malicious spirit in its place. Sauron put so much of his power into the One Ring that he essentially crippled himself when it was taken away from him. With the One Ring destroyed, Sauron would never be able to take a physical form again." Gandalf sighed, his thoughts taking on a sudden foreboding turn as he recognized that both spirits still roamed Middle Earth, "Like Saruman, he would be forced to wander Middle-Earth as a spirit who could no longer affect the living world. The threat of his return to power was thus over for good."

"Well, that doesn't sound very comforting," Gimli muttered, eyeing Gandalf while taking along puff from his pipe as he studied the men and elves gathered before him. It was no surprise to them that emissaries from all over Middle Earth had started arriving to affirm the news of the defeat of Sauron and the arrival of the Isildur's heir, the news of the battles that took place all over the lands had been relayed.

A messenger from the Kingdom of Dale had arrived, and news about the battle that took place there was also relayed. An emissary from Greenwood, also arrived, delivering news of the siege that happened from Sauron's forces in Dol Goldur that attempted to eradicate the elven realms within his reach. It was also with the emissary's great pleasure to relay that the Greenwood King along with a small party, will be arriving to Gondor to witness the coronation of the King.

Eomer and Faramir both studied the minute copy of the landscape, the mountains and lines depicting of the boundaries between countries and alliances showing the massive lands that Sauron and his allies had tried to attack. It dawned on them all then, the massive toll of deaths and the innocent lives that were lost all to defeat the great evil. "Easterlings were reported to have attacked the Kingdom of Dale. The people of Dale was forced to flee to the Lonely Mountain."

Gimli chose that moment to interrupt pricing together the events that lead to the Battle of Dale, "My father and I did come to Rivendell to report that about a year prior, emissaries from Mordor were seeking knowledge about the Shire, was offering overlordship and alliance, but the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and the Men of Dale had expressly refused."

"Alongside with the War of the Ring, they fought greatly the attack sent to destroy them. Sauron sent a large contingent of his Easterling allies to assault Dale to prevent his enemies from joining forces, and they crossed the River Carnen while Minas Tirith was being besieged. The combined forces of the Men of Dale under King Brand and the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills, under King Dáin II Ironfoot met the Easterlings in battle. Though Sauron's forces were probably more numerous, it is likely that the Dwarves and Men of Dale were better equipped, thanks to the Lonely Mountain's armouries. Nonetheless, after three days of heavy fighting, the Easterlings forced them to retreat to the Lonely Mountain, where they were besieged. King Brand and King Dáin II Ironfoot both fell fighting before the gates."

Gimli fought the grief that almost over took him, "King Dain is dead?" The usually happy go lucky dwarf was swarmed with sadness at the news of his kin's death.

"Despite winning the battle, the Easterlings were unable to capture the gate, instead besieging the Mountain for many days. It was not until news of Sauron's defeat arrived from the South that the tides changed. Seeing the morale of their foes being sapped, the Armies of Dale and Erebor led by their new Kings — Bard II and Thorin III Stonehelm — managed to lift the siege on March 27th, driving the Easterlings out of Dale."

"What would have happened if they had failed?" Merry spoke after much silence, offering a comforting hand on Gimli's shoulders to offer the dwarf support.

All eyes turned to Gandalf. The wizard paused in thought as he recalled his quiet course with a certain dwarf named Thorin long ago. A plan had been out in place to reclaim Erebor and that plan had been wise. "Though it is impossible to tell the future, Sauron's Easterling armies would likely have been able to join up with Sauron's forces from Dol Guldur in their attacks on the woodland realm of Greenwood, potentially tipping the scales in favor of Mordor. The corruption of Greenwood might have been completed, and Dol Guldur could become an obvious staging point for a future assault on Lothlórien, though a successful invasion of Lothlórien would have been very difficult due to the Lady Galadriel and her Ring. Both Rohan and Gondor would also be further threatened by a victory of Sauron in the North, and Eriador and Rivendell, too, would have been in danger."

"And what of the Elven realms? Had they remained unscathed throughout all of these?" Aragorn spoke finally after much contemplation, his eyes scanning the emissary that was sent from Greenwood, Alden stood to the side of Legolas, a client conversation passing between them before he too, recounted the events that took place.

"Nay, my lord. A series of assaults were made by the orcs of Dol Guldur against Lothlorien and the Woodland Realm which happened simultaneously with the Battles of Dale, Pelennor Fields, and the Black Gate. The first assault in Lothlorien occured when the orcs from Dol Guldur swarmed into the forest in a full scale assault, only to be driven back by the Galadhrim. The second assault took place four days later and happened simultaneously with the assault on Mirkwood. Again, both attacks failed. Seven days later, the third and final attack on Lothlorien occurred, causing much destruction but again the orcs were defeated. Three times Lothlorien was assaulted by the orcs and three times they were easily repulsed not only because of the Valor of the elves but also because of the power of the Lady of the Light. When the Tower of Barad-dûr finally fell in ruin, Lord Celeborn led the Galadhrim across the river Anduin, stormed Dol Guldur and took it. My lord, King Thranduil also had the victory in the North, clearing his realm from Orcs and other foul beings. He met with Lord Celeborn not long after with plans to rename the elven realm combined as Eryn Lasgalen."

"It seems that in his desperation to conquer Middle Earth, he was too complacent to honor that alliances as much it could be broken, could be forged." Gandalf's voice spoke with pride as he regarded all the men, elves, dwarf and hobbit before him, a smile gracing his features, "Victory would not be achieved without the strength of…friends."

The morning came the day after the battle, and it was fair with light clouds and the wind turning eastward. The elf prince and the master dwarf were up bright and early moving about and inspecting the damage and carnage, an obvious evidence of the aftermath of the battle that took place over the field. The two friends had already planned to tour the white city in search of their other companions, namely the hobbits who were separated as one rode with them from Rohan, and the other who rode ahead to the White City with Mirthrandir.

The aftermath—although, victorious they may be—did not ease the pain and heartbroken of those who fought when it was time to pile up the bodies. It was a surprise and dim news to find the corpse of King Theoden, thrown off his horse as he tried to fight the nazgul that attacked.

It was to Eomer's surprise too, to find his beloved sister among the bodies of fallen soldiers. The Lady's arm appearing to have been broken. She was rushed to the Healing Houses as soon as Aragorn had inspected that the sheildmaiden was still alive and still within the reach of help.

"It is good to learn that they are still alive," Gimli's gruff voice filling their long walk up towards the white stone steps of Minas Tirith. "For they have caused us great pains over our march over Rohan, and I would not have such pains wasted." Recalling the time they gallantly fought heat and exhaustion to save their little friends from the hands of Saruman's forces.

Minas Tirith, originally named Minas Anor was built to guard the former capital, Osgilliath, from attack. When Osgilliath fell into ruin, Minas Tirith became the heavily fortified capital city of Gondor. The Citadel of Minas Tirith, with its soaring White Tower of Etchelion at three hundred feet high, stands at the top of the structure, with the Court of the Fountain, the Kings's house, the Merethrond—Hall of Guests, barracks for the Guards of the Citadel and buildings that would accommodate the distinguished guests, and sacred White Tree before it's doors.

The fashion of the White City was such that it was built on even levels, each delved into the hill, and about each level was set with a wall and in each was a gate. Each level were with a height of a hundred feet, built on a narrow shoulder called; The Hill of Guard or Amon Tirith, which rose to the height of the fifth wall, was hedged with great ramparts right up to the precipice that overhung its western end; and in that space stood the houses and domed tombs of bygone kings and lords, for ever silent between the mountain and the tower. The first level was surrounded with a high thick wall guarding the first entry—The Great Gate—and provided the only entry in and out of the city, while the walls of the entire city was white, this wall was black and thickest for it was exposed to more attacks and siege—The Othram.

Within the great Citadel, a high vaulted ceiling rises on black stone columns to form the grand Hall of Kings. Polished marble statues stand to attention, frozen visages proclaiming the dignity and might of Gondor yet mute in the face of it's slow decline.

Beneath an empty crown stands two stone thrones, one alabaster white and perched atop a flight of stairs; the other black, offset and barely elevated above the gleaming tiled floor of the hall. These are the seats for the King and his Steward, though only one had seen use in centuries. In the absence of a King, Denethor ruled. It was with him that Gandalf the White sought to reckon as the threat of Mordor pressed in upon the realm of Gondor.

Together the elf-prince and the dwarf entered the battered down gates of Minas Tirith, and folk that saw them pass marvelled to see such companions; for the elf-prince was fair of face beyond the measure of Men, and his voice a velvet baritone allure as he spoke with his dwarf friend who continued to stalk beside him, stroking his beard and staring about. "There is some good stone work here," Gimli said as he looked at the white walls, "but also some that is less good, and the streets could be better contrived. When Aragorn comes into his own, I shall offer him the service of the stonewrights of the Mountain, and we will make this a city to be proud of."

The talks immediately spread like wildfire throughout the people of Gondor of a ranger from the North that commanded the army of the dead that lead to their unprecedented victor over Sauron's forces during the great battle over Pelennor. The tale of a pure blood as a result from being Isildur's direct heir did not escape the people of Gondor nor did it from all the other races that participated in the great battle. Gossips about the heir's origin or the authenticity of his line circulated like a tidal among the race of Men. It had been so long since they had been lead by a figure. The line of Isildur thought to be long dead and hopeless. Some believed, a few were skeptical, but one thing was for certain; many laid witness to the ranger wielding the fabled Andúril, forged from the shards of Narsil, the same sword that stood against Sauron long ago, known to some as the Flame of the West. The fact that it was known that the broken shards were in the possession of the elves and was with consent, forged and given to the man who now wield it spoke much of the ranger's identity.

The rightful heir, the King had come forth to claim the throne.

"They need more gardens, "Legolas countered lightly, "the houses are dead, and the there is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn come into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die." As soon as he finished his statement, Legolas' thoughts strayed to his home—Greenwood. He had not thought much of his home since his abrupt departure almost a year ago. Has it really been?

So much has happened since then, and so much of him has grown and learned. His eyes are open now. He was not blind before, but he was neither oblivious. He knew the suffering and injustice, not even from Sauron but the sheer capability of every race for cruelty and discrimination. He was not blind to the greed every race was burdened with, whether for land, riches or knowledge, every race was capable of evil. It was with this acceptance of the bitter reality he discovered after the battle by the Lake Mountain that no race was superior than the other. It lead him to leave Greenwood for a time and during his travels when he was years younger, he had only kept to himself or strictly surrounded himself only with Aragorn and with the Dunedain, and even after learning so much, it was to his surprise that there was still so much to learn from the world.

Glancing at his friend who continued his own silent mutterings about his plans to help Aragorn rebuilt the white city, Legolas felt a kind of gratitude and kinship, an unlikely friendship forming between men from two different races who were for most of their life harbored hatred towards the other. It was while traveling with the fellowship that opened his eyes that all their differences from one another only made them stronger, each member had something to contribute, each member had a role to perform. In a moment of epiphany, Legolas felt respect blossom in his heart over his friends. Not one race was superior than the other. There was still so much to complete, yes. Mordor was still threat. The Tower stills stands, the ring not yet destroyed and the eye of Sauron still an ever living threat, and yet in the midst of it all the elf discovered there was a profound peace in just being. Letting go of his worries of the past and his anxieties of the future at the moment brought him a second of clarity.

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deepening." Gandalf's solemn voice pierced the silent room. The floors made of white marble, pillars dark as the night lined both sides of the grand throne fit for the true King of Gondor. No one dared utter a sound, all in contemplation over what would happen next. The battle over the Pelennor Fields had been won, but victory was elusive to their grasp and they could not find it in their hearts to celebrate.

Another minute of silence passed before Aragorn spoke, "If Sauron had the ring, we would know it."

"There is only a matter of time. He suffered a defeat—yes—but behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping."

"Let'im stay there. Let him rot! Why should we care—" Gimli's gruff voice rose with anger at the seemingly never-ending turn of events. It seems that every time they moved a step ahead, evil was two steps ahead of them.

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom." Gandalf's voice lowered to a mere whisper, his grief and regret yet still clear in his tone as if he had shouted them, "I've sent him to his death."

"No." Aragorn turned, his eyes sweeping over the silent group of fearless warriors made of men, elf and dwarf around him. "There is still hope for Frodo." His eyes flickering with an idea. Like a spark igniting and the fire tracing, running over the fuse until it reached the blasting cap. "He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that." Aragorn added, his eyes staring intently at Gandalf, and surprisingly at Legolas, whose face remained impassive except for the slight flinch of the elf's cold eyes. Legolas' arms crossed over his chest as he deciphered what the King of Gondor was trying to say.

"How?" Gimli's voice was the only sound that echoed around the room, oblivious to the growing turmoil in the elf's gaze as understanding and realization dawned on his face. A memory resurfacing—a memory of a dire incident thwarted not too long ago but almost felt like it was a lifetime from here.

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands. And we gather our full strength and march up to the Black Gates." Aragorn's conviction hard and clear in his tone, his eyes determined as he stared at the wizard.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms—" Eomer stood out from the group, voice the sound of reason for what he thought was a linear plan to defeat the evil that resided in Mordor.

Aragon's mouth twitched in a sad smile, his mind going over two friends who were not there with them in council. Ever since that night in the Golden Hall, he had wracked his head for the twisted strategy Sauron had pulled over them almost causing them a friend and potentially traumatizing another. "Not for ourselves," Aragorn started, his voice starting out firm as his eyes turned to stare at the elf, silent and contemplative by the corner of the grand throne room. A silent conversation seemed to have passed between them before the ranger spoke again, "But we can give Frodo his chance, if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us."

Gimli and Eomer shared a confused look between them, before their attention was garnered by the elf's voice, calm yet cold in the face of a memory that would forever haunt him at prospect of what he almost lost that night. "The night after the celebration the stars were veiled, a dark energy walked the halls of Meduseld, his intent to spy and gather information consumed him. His plan, draw out the weakest, use her death as a distraction, while he force out the information about the ring from another one of our own."

"What has Alex and Pippin's accident have anything to do with this?" Gimli's voice asked, his eyes soft at the memory of his friends but also itching with irritation at the relevance.

"We can use Sauron's own strategy against him." Legolas answered, giving Aragorn a nod who added excitedly, "Keep his eyes fixed on us, and keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion." Legolas' voice finalized the plan Aragorn had formulated. His face hard but his eyes betraying the pain and longing. Even if they do succeed, Alex had disappeared and there was no way of knowing if she would ever return. The pain in his heart only soothed with the thought that wherever she is, she was out of reach of the Dark Lord and whatever evil that would sprung out of Mordor should they fail.

Gimli stared, unable to believe his ears at what the elf and the ranger had thought about. The plan was outrageous, devious and downright suicidal. The dwarf's eyes swept over his friends who had gathered around him, their faces all bearing the determination to see Sauron's end through and through. In that moment, Gimli felt pride swell in his heart, it was too late to back down now, too late for second guessing and fear. In that moment a sinister smile stretched over the dwarf's rugged features, his eyes shining with mischief, "Certainty of death. Small chance of success…what're we waiting for?"

Unbeknownst to them all, the wizard was silently contemplating the plan only half convinced of the success of it, "Sauron will suspect a trap. He will recognize his own plan even before you could successfully execute it." Gandalf's eyes sweeping between the man, the dwarf and the elf. "Aragorn, he will not take the bait."

Aragorn's eyes glittered with challenge at what he thought about doing next, "No, I think he will."

Two days later the army of the West was all assembled on the Pelennor. The host of Orcs and Easterlings had turned back out of Anórien, but harried and scattered by the Rohorrim they had broken and fled with little fighting. Scouts reported no enemies remained upon the roads east.

All now was ready for the last throw.

Legolas and Gimli went to ride together in the company of Aragorn and Gandalf. Among them also were the company of the Dunedain, and much to Legolas' surprise, the sons of Elrond—Elladan and Elrohir.

At last the trumpets rang and the army began to move. Troop by troop, and company by company, they wheeled and went off Eastward. Upon the fourth day from the Cross-roads, and the sixth since leaving Minas Tirith, they came at last to the end of the living lands and began to pass the desolation that lay before them. So desolate were those places and so deep the horror that lay before them that some of the hosts were unmanned that they could no longer walk or ride further.

Aragorn looked at them, and there was pity in his eyes rather than wrath; for these young men were from Rohan, from Westfold faraway or husbands and sons and farmers from neighboring provinces, and to them Mordor had been a childhood name of evil, and yet unreal, a legend that had no part in their simple life; and now they walked like men in a hideous dream made true, and they understood not this war nor why fate should lead them to such a pass. From the Battle of Pelennor fields almost a week and a half had passed, was less than six thousands total of men they had with them then. Six thousand men to challenge at the Black Gates and the might of Mordor.

They advance slowly now, expecting every hour for some answer to their challenge, and they drew together, since it was but a waste of men to send out scouts or small parties from the main host. At nightfall of the eleventh of the march from the White City they made their last camp, and set fires about it of such dead wood and heath as they could find. They passed the hours of the night in wakefulness and they were aware of the many things half-seen that walked and prowled about them and they heard the howling of the wolves. The wind had died and all the air seemed still. They could see little, for though it was cloudless and the waking moon was four nights old, there were smiles and fumes that rose out of the earth and the white crescent was shrouded in the mists of Mordor.

It grew cold. The morning came and the wind began to stir again, but now it came from the North, and soon the land seemed empty. North amid their noisome pits lay the first of the great heaps and hills of slag and broken rock and blasted earth, the vomit of the maggot-folk of Mordor; but south and now near loomed the great rampart of Cirith Gorgor, and the Black Gate amidst, and the two Towers of Teeth tall and dark upon either side.

The two vast iron doors of the Black Gate under its frowning arch were fast closed. Upon the battlement nothing could be seen. All was silent but watchful. They were come to the last end of their folly, and stood forlorn and chill in the grey light of the early day before the towers and the walls which their army could not assault with hope. Yet they knew that all the hills and land were filled with hidden foes, and the shadowy defile beyond was bored and tunneled by teeming broods of evil things. As they stood they saw all the Nazgul gathered together, hovering over the Towers of Teeth like vultures; and they knew that they were being watched. But still the enemy made no sign.

No choice was left to them but to play their part to its end. Therefore Aragorn now set the host in such array as could best be contrived; and they were drawn up on two great hills. Before them Mordor lay like a moat, a great mire of reeking mud and foul smelling pools. When all was ordered, the fellowship along with their friends rode forward and the banner and heralds and trumpets. There was Gandalf as chief herald, and Aragorn with the twins, and Eomer of Rohan, Legolas and Gimli and the hobbits. It was an unlikely twist of fate that every race has a representative who have come to collect justice from the evil who had a hand in all of their peoples sufferings.

"Come forth!" Aragorn cried, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him!"

It had been almost five months since the ring had been destroyed. All things now made ready in the City; and there was great concourse of people, for the tidings had gone out into all parts of Gondor, and all that could come to the City made haste to come. It was a joyous occasion, one that would last thought the ages and pass on onto legends. The City was filled again with women and fair children that returned to their homes laden with flowers. From all over Middle Earth came musicians that spun the most beautiful songs most skillfully on all the land.

The fields outside of the city were filled with tents of the soldiers and those who were unable to be accommodated within the Citadel. The Merethrond is filled to the brim with Lords and Ladies from all over Middle Earth. Delegates had all come from all the corners of the realm to celebrate the defeat of Sauron and to lay witness in the coronation of Elessar, a spark for the Age of Man signified by the return of the king.

The Citadel and all of its servants had been in constant movement since their return from Mordor. The slow yet consistent arrival of distinguished guests a month and a half after their victory from the accused marshes of the dark lands, was a welcomed reprieve from the suffering and despair that has almost gripped the Middle Earth, with its center being Gondor.

The transfer of power and the transition of leadership had not been as smooth sailing as expected. The line of command had been distinguished ever since Denethor was killed and his last actions as steward had been less than rewarding, and the death of his first born, the responsibilities had fallen to his second son, Faramir, who had needed to recover from almost death. Everyone was scampering about, the arrival of Frodo and Sam along with the small army that sieged the Black Gates a month after their victory had sparked even more public attention towards the Citadel and the now widely known members of The Fellowship. It did not ease matters that a maiar were seen traipsing the halls of the White City. The story of the fellowship, with the attention centering on the ring bearer and their adventure was now gaining even worldwide attention.

Two months after their arrival to the White City, Gimli had brought dwarves that would later rebuild Orthram and the Main Gate. A show of gratitude and of loyalty to the coming King of Gondor. The gate restructured was made of Mithril, the shining white gold glittering in the morning sun, hard and steadfast to withstand any attack that would attempt to siege the great city. It was huge and daunting that even the elves marveled at its extravagance and beauty.

As part of their plan to slowly rebuild the city for its people, a band of Wood Elves had also arrived to provide assistance in sowing the earth, making it rich for growth and rebirth of the barren lands that were forgotten.

The sudden presence of multitude of elven delegates and lords increased the people's curiosity. Aragorn's closeness with the race of elves was noted with fascination and trepidation in some. Elves were regarded as higher beings of knowledge and skill and it was with slight wary from those who had no reason to be acquainted with the Valar's first born previous.

It was chaotic, and yet a welcomed chaos. The healing houses scouring whatever help they could find, while the dead were being commemorated, and the field were rid of the foul carcass of the orcs and other creatures that lead the siege to the city. The land now filled with tents and lodging for all who came to see the uncrowned King—Isildur's last heir. The growing number of visitors and well wishers have not dwindled and had only increased when the schedule for the coronation was announced.

It was to everyone's emotional surprise however, was to witness the White Tree in blossom again. A silent yet powerful gesture that the return of the King is blessed by the Valar. Everyone was slowly but surely basking in the celebratory mood.

Except for the elf-prince. As much as he had rejoiced in the defeat of the the great evil, he felt it in himself he could not fully immerse in the joyous occasion, as much as he felt a part of him particularly missing. He felt unworthy of the celebration in their honor and the legends that are being sung of their great adventure to slay the one ring.

Morning and night would converge and yet he remained unchanged, in his place, his mind continued its punishment of the terrible events that lead to Alex's departure. Now that evil had been distinguished, his days are now filled with routine that would obligate him to fulfill his duty to Aragorn, a much needed council to slowly bring order and leadership to the race of Men and security to the people of Gondor. In a sick turn of events, it was as if he was brought back to Greenwood. His work became his escape, yet now it became viscous. No matter how much he immersed himself, he could not escape his own heart and mind. He saw the pitiful glances of Gimli and the hobbits. The questioning glances exchanged between them, even the ones reflected in Aragorn's was enough to anger him and weaken him. They were daggers to an already wounded heart that is close being bled dry.

Everyone had finally had the chance to rest and gather strength from the months of endless torture of battles, the stress and the exhaustion almost suffocating them with its tight grip as they fight the forces of evil in all shapes and form.

They were free now. They were safe. Peace has been restored to Middle Earth, and yet in the quiet of the night, his thoughts haunted him, his heart ached and his soul felt lost. This was the one foe he had no knowledge how to defeat, a problem he had no skill how to solve. Doomed to forever feeling incompetent and not enough to face the biggest hurdle of his life.

The sun and moon continued its dance along the clear sky, the wind changed course, the flowers bloomed and died, the life seemed to have moved on for the world, but not for him. He remained the stone in a flowing river, unmoving, ignored.

The arrival of the elves from Lorien brought him a welcomed respite from his dominating thoughts and self loathing. Even the usual private elves of Greenwood, lead by his father had surprised him. Thranduil's presence, accompanied only by a few delegates from their court reminded him of his homeland and he felt homesickness settle into his bones. The conversation following his father's arrival sparked no anger in him anymore.

Much has changed. Astonishing how a year can make such an impact on an elf that have lived almost three millennias.

Thranduil saw the pain his son tried to hide, the longing he was himself very much familiar with. With a private meeting, an audience comprising of Aragorn, the fellowship and his son, the events leading up to the defeat of Sauron and his forces sent from the North were recounted. Politics covered much of that meeting, along with the plans to work closely with the elves to rebuild the world, reforge broken alliances and finally abolish the resentment and the differences. It will take more than a single meeting, a sheer act of will to see things through, but with the threat finally dissipated, they all felt a world full of possibilities ahead of them.

In a twisted mirror of circumstance, Legolas found himself on the other end of the pole. Now he was in the thirst for the subject of Alex and his father's knowledge of the entire thing. Unlike their previous confrontations consisting of raised voices, battle of wits and anger, this time however, Legolas sat quietly listening to his father recount the details that happened over the course of his deployment fifty years ago. He understood now his father's hesitation at the time. His own behavior then clear to him now how unreasonable and beyond reach of logical thinking he was.

"Was she hurt?" Thranduil timidly asked, his voice soft as he regarded the forlorn figure of his son. The room was grand, leather bound seats adorned expanse and the stone walls decorated with luxurious drapes and carpeted floor rug offering a much needed douse of color in the otherwise gray room. The large elongated windows that adorned one side offered a fantastic view of the scenery, the wind blowing giving the room ventilation.

Legolas sat on the chair, quiet and contemplative as he mulled over his father's question.

"The news of the battle at Helm's Deep had reached Greenwood…"

"No. She wasn't hurt." Legolas answered robotically. His eyes the only clue to his inner turmoil, s he sat still and unmoving, "But the worst wounds are not seen on the outside. The deadliest ones are the ones that allow us to bleed quietly, internally…inside."

Thranduil remained standing in silence over his son's words. He almost silently chastised himself at the callousness of his question. "You should know," swallowing before proceeding to say what he wanted to, "Elves have lined up outside our gates. Flowers are once again being hung and prayers for her safe return are flooding." At Legolas' startled stare, Thranduil continued on. "Did you really think the army of elves that fought in Helm's Deep would forget? Her bravery and stories of that battle had spread far and wide in all elven realms."

It was almost a complete minute of silence before Legolas spoke, his voice rough with untold emotion as he recalled the despair on the night before the battle, "I told her to run to you should the worse happens."

A ghost of a smile lifted up the corners of Thranduil's lips, "And I would've protected her the instant she stepped into Greenwood." Staring at his son's profile, "But I expect she didn't listen, or, I gather she refused…?"

Legolas felt a small smile over the memory. Remember the way Paul had shoved him to get her out of the mountain. No, Alex definitely would have never listened. "But, I doubt you would have recognized her now."

"A flower could no longer recognize a hurricane than when it is facing it directly in the eye." Thranduil uttered smiling, "It was a mistake to think of her as meek, Alex was far from it. I should've seen it then. The same fire in her eyes and same strong willed character I see in you. The same rebellious trait. You married a hurricane."

Legolas could not stop the silent laugh, the smile gracing his face until the same memory that made him light sobered him immediately. "I am slowly losing my mind." The only phrase he could think of to describe what he felt as his soul drowned in immense pain and grief. This was far more painful that when he first found out she had disappeared years ago. Then, he held hope for her return. Then, he was incredibly naive of the bounds of what he felt for her. Then, he had the luxury of escaping and denying reality with his own pride.

This time he knew what he could've had and in a sinister twist was snatched from him.

"Your thoughts have far less impact on this world than you would like to think." Thranduil's voice was firm and yet there was no hint of condescencion or anger, "If you're willing to be objective and watch all your thoughts, you will see that the vast majority of them have no relevance. They have no effect on anything or anybody, except you. They are simply making you feel better or worse about what is going on now, what has gone on in the past, or what might go on in the future." Thranduil's voice broke through his son's silent somber mood, "If you spend your time hoping that it doesn't rain tomorrow, you are wasting your time. Your thoughts don't change the rain. You will someday come to see that there is no use for that incessant internal chatter, and there is no reason to constantly attempt to figure everything out. Eventually you will see that the real cause of problems is not life itself. It's the commotion the mind makes about life that really causes problems."

"How do I go on living without her?" For the first time since that night at Dunharrow, Legolas allowed himself to reflect the turmoil he constantly felt boiling inside of him. His eyes a mirror of the pain in his fëa.

"You re-create the world within your mind because you can control your mind whereas you can't control the world. That is why you mentally talk about it. If you can't get the world the way you like it, you internally verbalize it, judge it, complain about it, and then decide what to do about it. This makes you feel more empowered. Reality is too real for most of us, so we tend to temper it with our mind. We constantly use our minds to defer us from life, instead of actually living it. In the attempt of holding the world altogether, you are just really trying to hold yourself together. True personal growth is transcending that is part of you that is not alright and needs protection."

Like his breath was taken out from him, Legolas felt his heart constrict at his father's words. "How does reality differ to what is in my mind? Everywhere I look, I feel only pain."

"Your inner growth is dependent upon the realization that the only way to find peace and contentment is for you to stop thinking about yourself. If you want to achieve peace in the face of your problems, you must understand why you perceive as certain situations as a problem."

In a cruel twist of fate, Legolas felt bewilderment and understanding swim in him. Unable to put an order in his conflicting thoughts and emotions he only thought to ask, "How did you do it? How did you manage all these years without Mother? How did you refrain from fading…" Legolas challenged, his eyes suddenly a reflection of blue coals that burned with desperation.

Thranduil stood facing the large window admiring the vast land extending out. The earth before them was richer now more healthier. A certain glow of new life, young and rejuvenated shone under the warm rays of the sun. Taking a large inhale, without turning to his son, the elf-King stood solemn and contemplative. "Have I ever told you about the flowers in your Mother's garden?" Casting brief glance over to his son who sat by the leather chair gazing into nothingness, the same cerulean eyes, now frosted and faraway, "Your Mother had always loved the flowers. She would teach me that there is beauty in simply being. The beauty of just existing." A ghost of a smile lifted up the corners of the Thranduil's lips before he continued, "But there is one in particular that I found such a nuance, in the early days when she had just started tending to them—the rose." A gust of chill wind flew into the room and the silence stilled, "Beautiful in its visage, and yet in its pursuance of self preservation, its stem is littered with tiny thorns. Prickly little nuances. I've lost count how many times I have cut myself on them."

Legolas' eyes moved to his father who still remained stood but the window, a ghost of confusion crossed his face as he remained silent and bewildered about the the sudden conversation of his mother's garden and the flowers that adorned in it. Having no energy left in him to contradict his father, he allowed himself to listen. Even the mention of flowers had brought painful memories.

"Imagine how it felt when that thorn pricked your hand and the thorn remained in there lodged, the pain vibrating. When that thorn is touched, it is very painful. And because it hurts too much it becomes a serious problem. It becomes difficult to move or use the hand, afraid that a slight touch would make the pain erupt again. In the end, it makes your life very difficult. The thorn, then, becomes a constant source of disturbance." Both elves remained silent, both trying to absorb the meaning behind the analogy, the other very much familiar with it, the other on the cusp of understanding it. "To solve it, you have two choices; first, to look at the thorn and decide that since it is disturbing, you decide that nothing should touch it. Second choice, is to decide that since it is disturbing when touched, that you decide you need to remove it." In that moment, Thranduil turned, staring at his son with a look that conveyed all understanding and love, "Believe it or not, the effects of the choice you will make will determine the course for the rest of your life."

"If you decide that nothing should touch the thorn, then that becomes a work of a lifetime. If you want to go for a walk in the woods, you'll have to thin out the branches to make sure you don't brush against them. Since you often need the use of your hands, you'll have to find a solution for that as well. Perhaps you could design an apparatus that acts as a protective device. If you really put a lot of energy into it and your solution seemed to work, you would think that you had solved your problem. Without realizing, you have built your whole life around that thorn, and you are proud of it. You found a way to go about life, without anyone or anything touching that thorn. But now you have a new problem—you fell in love. This is a problem because in your situation, it's hard to even touch. Nobody can touch you because they might touch the thorn. So you design another kind of device that allows closeness amongst people without actually touching. You have deluded yourself into thinking you have succeeded. You have deluded yourself into thinking you have removed the pain, when in fact, the thorn is just there, still in your hand, still lodged. In the event of an accidental nudge, the pain returns, and then you devote time to making a more stronger device to protect it."

"Where are you going with this…?"

"The truth is, the thorn completely runs your entire life. It affects all your decisions, including where you go, whom you're comfortable with, and who's comfortable with you. It determines where you're allowed to work, what house you can live in, and what kind of bed you can sleep on at night. When it's all said and done, that thorn is running every aspect of your life without you realizing it. It turns out that the life of protecting yourself from your problem—the thorn—becomes a perfect reflection of the problem itself. You didn't solve anything. If you don't solve the root cause of the problem, but instead, attempt to protect yourself from the problem, it ends up running your life." Thranduil bowed his head, closing his eyes, surrendering to the pain. He had failed his son. In more ways than one. "You've convinced yourself that because you have minimized the pain of that thorn, that you had actually solved it. On the contrary you are far from it—all you did was devote your life to avoiding it."

"Notice how you aren't asking how to get rid of the thorn; you are asking to protect yourself from feeling it. If you do not decide to remove the thorn, you will end up both responsible for the thorn and everything you've pulled around yourself in the attempt to avoid it. You have managed to compound the issue by avoiding it. The minute you allowed the core problem to stay, it expands out into multiple problems."

Horror filled Legolas' eyes as understanding finally dawns on him about what his father was trying to say. "Adar, I can hear them—the gulls. The sea calls to me…"

"This is what people do. They let the fear of their inner thorns affect their behavior. They end up limiting their lives just like someone living with an external thorn. Ultimately, if there is something disturbing inside of you, you have to make a choice. You can compensate for the disturbance by going outside in an attempt to avoid feeling it, or you can simply remove the thorn and not focus your life around it. Do not doubt your ability to remove the root cause of the disturbance—the thorn—inside of you."

"How do I free myself of this pain?"

It has been so long since the Elf-King felt that his son needed him. In all the years of their life, and the growing separation that was finding its way between them, for a long time, the Elf-King thought he had finally lost all touch with his son. Yet in that moment both found the solace in each other. They were never that far part. They were mirror images of each other. In that moment, the father and son found comfort in each other. "Find yourself." Thranduil answered, "Find yourself by letting go. Let go by allowing yourself to feel the pain. Feel the hollowness, the dropping sensation in your heart. Feel the weakness that comes over you. Let go of the hurts of the past and the anxieties of the future. The difficulty lies in choosing to avoid the situations that would allow them to release or to push them back down in the name of protecting yourself. Allow yourself to feel the pain, and let go. Do not drown in them. Awareness does not fight, awareness releases it. Once you accept that it is alright to feel these emotions, then they can no longer disturb you inside. And then you can be free. You will see the beauty of Being, without boundaries. The beauty of existing."

Legolas opened his mouth but was silenced when Thranduil raised an elegant hand, "I have my own thorns," a sad smile adorning his face before he moved from the window to stand in front of his son, "and in my choice of avoiding those thorns to protect myself, I have managed to give you your own." bending to his knees to better see his son, "I have caused you so much pain. In the throes of my own pain at the loss of your mother, I lost sight of the one thing that I should have valued more, you."

"Adar…"

"I owe you and your mother, a lifetime of apology. The years that I should have been with you, were wasted on me finding myself while the kingdom pressured you into a role you despised. You hid yourself behind your title, and your duty, as did I. You learned to ignore the thorn and chose to protect yourself by covering it. You placed people at a certain length, unmoving when your assumptions were proven right and critical about those who were genuine enough to offer you friendship. I should have been there for you. Not as your King, but as your father."

"I'm not going back. Not after everything." Legolas' voice broke through the silence. His eyes straying to his father who stood frozen, "I gave my word to Aragorn. I am to be his council, to provide assistance and wisdom. There is nothing for me in Greenwood."

"What about your crown…"

"I have no desire to be king."

"Whatever you choose, you will always have a place in Greenwood." A small warm smile, spread over the Elf-King's handsome features, before standing up and clasping his son's hands into his own, "Your mother is proud of you. As am I. Free yourself, so that you may love her with all that you are, without boundaries. Alexandria has her own thorns, too. She has to heal in order to love you as you deserve. And you deserve it son." Thranduil's voice faded to a firm note, "You deserve a love that is unconditional. You were both made for each other. I have faith you will both find each other, no matter how many lifetimes."

0-0-0-0

Sweeping over Minas Tirith walls, racing the top of the City, through a blizzard of white flower petals dancing in the wind. The City had been restored, gleaming white under the bright sun. The Court of the Kings crowded with over four thousand people, all cramming the wide path leading to the Tower Hall.

The crown of Gondor glints in the brilliant sunshine, in the hands of Gandalf, a solemn smile spreading across the Maia's old face, as he places the crown upon Aragorn's head. "Now come the days of the King," Their faces reflecting the victory that finally was theirs. What was once elusive, was now palpable and everlasting. "May they be blessed." Gandalf finished, triumph coloring his wrinkled face, the worry and turmoil of the past year long gone.

Slowly, Aragorn rises, confidence squaring his shoulders, turning to face the crowd who cheered and clapped for their King. "This day, does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world that we may share in the days of peace." A roar of cheer, gaiety and laughter erupted all around them, as Aragorn's voice floated above the crowd in a song that serenaded the coming of the Age of Man.

Walking down the path laid before him, carpeted for a royal entrance, yet the ranger-turned King still felt the same. The same man who longed for a peaceful and quiet life, his eyes kind and full of wisdom. Wisdom gained from bearing witness to the loss and suffering, the sacrifices of those he held dear to gain the freedom from oppression. His eyes turned to the line of friends and alliances that had been formed, all paying their respects to the rightful King. A rightful King not only in blood, but by strength of character and a beacon of hope. Eowyn and Faramir with kind smiles who bowed their heads, to Eomer who moved a step forward, a brother and a comrade in battle who also bowed in respect.

As he reached the center of the crowds procession of elves dressed in silver and whites, led by Legolas approached the King, "Hannon le," Aragorn's gruff voice spoke volumes of his gratitude towards his friend. Young he was when they first met and now years later, despite him being older, their friendship had only blossomed. Aragorn was not only thanking the elf prince for his strength in battle and loyalty, but for deciding to be his council. A sacrifice he knew was not easy to make not when the elf prince had his own people to lead.

Legolas' eye glinted mischievously, understanding passing between them before inclining his head and stepping out of the way as a surprise awaited for the King of Gondor.

Aragorn's eyes scanned the elves that came. All familiar, and all he had once looked to for guidance, before his gazed stopped. A banner carried aloft bearing the White Tree of Gondor in full flower, the ranks of elves parting to reveal Arwen. Her eyes shining with unshed tears. Mortal now, but deeply in love.

Elrond looks on, sadness and acceptance mingling on his face, before breaking into a smile. His eyes moving to glance at the Elf Prince who stood watching the King and his future queen embrace, celebrating their triumph over hopelessness and despair.

The pair moved, as as they stood before the four hobbits, dressed in their old clothes, clean and mended, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin bowed their heads in respect to the King. The crowd watching with awe-filled eyes as the King raises his hand, "My friends, you bow to no one." Dropping on one knee, kneeling before the hobbits, his head bowed. No sooner as the crowd followed suit. Four thousand people from different races all bowing down to pay homage to the tiniest and simplest of all beings.

Frodo's eyes shone with ears and disbelief as he watched the crowd before them give thanks.

The celebration lasted the entire day. The parade of the King was greeted by thousands of cheerful faces as they descended the levels of the White City. The procession ended back at the Citadel where a hearty feast was laid out. Everyone in attendance was in a celebratory mood. Toasts and speeches were given, each offering good graces and well wishers to the newly crowned King of Gondor. Hopes for the future in the Age of Men were given. Each delegate was a witness to the coming peace signified by the crowning of the King.

Along with the celebration of the crowning, was also a celebration of victor as the members of the fellowship were given recognition. It was to everyone's surprise, especially to Frodo and Sam to find that Merry had now been given the title as Esquire of Rohan, and Pippin who pledged his services to the then steward of Gondor in recompense for Boromir's life, as the Guard of the Citadel.

All four hobbits where knighted by Aragorn, and was given permission to return to the Shire and are welcome anytime should they decide to visit Minas Tirith again.

The celebration dragged on, the cheers and stories recalled, as well as honoring those who were dead and the sacrifices of the many for good to triumph over evil. On the far corner, most of the original members of the fellowship sat quietly, all with small smiles on their faces as they regarded each other with camaraderie. A kinship formed while on the journey to destroy the One Ring.

"We did it. We finally did it." Pippin muttered, his age moving between everyone. All four hobbits, along with the Gimli and a silent Legolas sat, observing the room. All in attendance were prominent people all around Middle Earth.

Merry's face fell, his eyes downcast as chanced a glance over at Gimli, and the silent elf, before moving to spy Aragorn across the room who was busy listening to lord regale tales of the once flourishing kingdom of Gondor.

"We did, Pip. We saved the Shire, and the rest of the world. I just…"

Pippin's smile slipped from his face as he saw melancholy paint over his friend's face, "What?"

A nervous glance towards the elf, before Merry spoke again, this time his voice almost silent. "I just wished…Paul and Miss Alex were here to witness it." Frodo and Sam snapped their heads, all of them aware of how the elf suddenly stiffened. "They are as much a part of this fellowship as we are. I know they felt like they did not belong at first, but they did not also had any cause to risk their life, and yet they did. Why is no one talking about them?" Merry finished, his eyes hard gazing across the table silently challenging Legolas to look his way.

Gimli watched with hawk-like eyes as the table was once again swallowed in an uncomfortable silence, no once dared utter a word as they all waited with baited breath on how the elf prince was going to react. He knew the hobbits knew the truth. He knew knew the hobbits spoke to each other about what happened while they were separated. Gimli was not blind. He saw the concerned stares and the guilt filled glances the Frodo and Sam tried to hide every time they would come across the elf. Admiration blossomed in his heart for the brave young Baggins. The silent one who volunteered for the quest and despite it all, had the heart to talk with Legolas. What the pair talked about, nobody will know, but respect was well deserved as soon as they both erupted from the study with quiet grateful glances and silent smiles. But still, despite the calm facade that the elf tried to portray, his eyes betrayed him.

"Aye. Paul was brave in heart, with soul of steel!" The dwarf cheered, "Ya absolutely right lad. Why should songs be sung about us and leave two important people out of it?" Slamming his mug of ale down the table, "Aragorn and I wouldn't have survived back at Helm's Deep if it weren't for Paul and the pointy eared princeling dangling the rope in front of ours noses!"

In a quick change of atmosphere, smiles slowly spread amongst their faces. Exchanging brief glances, "We wouldn't have won that bet if Miss Alex hadn't changed her mind about him losing." Pippin spoke, jabbing a finger in Legolas' direction. At this, their entire table erupted in joyous laughter, "She did apologize, did she, Legolas?" Pippin's attempt at puling the elf into the conversation almost futile, before the elf smiled silently to himself, recalling the memory at the stables vividly.

This time, Legolas felt the searing pain and he did nothing to stop it. The hollowness in his heart grew before it seemingly disappeared just as quickly as it came. Like what his father said, he allowed himself to feel every lingering emotion. "I would have done anything for her." Was his only reply, before a small smile graced his lips turning to watch the hobbits all expel the breaths they were holding.

"Is it really true? Miss Alex was an elven princess?" The ever silent Sam spoke, and in his eyes Legolas saw admiration and awe.

"She is."

With a dreamy look, before taking a large gulp of ale, Sam continued, "She was the fairest I have ever seen. With the purest and bravest of all hearts." A blush coloring his cheeks before moving his gaze to Frodo who understood the memory that flickered over his friend's face. "Many thanks to her for saving our lives by the river Rauros."

Legolas nodded, touched by the sudden sincerity he saw in the hobbits face. The conversation moved to more lighter matter about the missing duo and soon the hobbits had started singing the jovial tune that Alex and Paul once sang. The hobbits laughing as they tried to get the words right. Gimli who sat on the side listening in tired his hand as singing which only fueled more of the ruckus of laughter and incessant jibe.

In their immersion, they all failed to noticed the elf, quietly detangling himself from the group, making his way towards the quiet end of the citadel, under the cover of the slowly easing night. He recalled his father's words, recalled his advice about facing his pain, and yet despite the knowledge, no amount of wisdom or strength could prepare him for the onslaught of emotions that battled inside him. The months he spent holding it all in are not threatening to spill out.

His father was right, he had only succeeded in avoiding the thorn. He had only succeeded in covering it and then ignoring it. In that moment, he squared himself, his own anger for his own weakness shining like a polished armor.

A muscle worked spasmodically in Legolas' throat as, with a look of wordless, impotent rage directed at the silent vastness of the land before him. Walking closer towards the edge of the Citadel, the loud celebrations fading to dull silence as he left the ruckus of the King's Hall. The cold wind blew, the chill air caressing his face and yet did nothing to cool the simmering anger of resignation in his veins.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Legolas leaned beside by the marbled wall that served as the final guard against the abyss below. His mind recalling her porcelain face vividly, wanting to memorize every line of it.

"I want you back, Alex," he pleaded into the empty void, voice low yet tight unable to give care and throwing caution to the wind on how and where he should begin or should his sanity offer him cause to be talking to the wind. "By the Valar, don't leave me! There are a thousand things I want to tell you, places I want to show you. But I can't if you aren't here. Alex, please, darling... please don't go away." Only the whisper of the wind and the slowly fading sun heard his plea.

"Listen to me," Legolas begged urgently, somehow convinced that she could hear him, could feel his fëa reaching out to her and help her understand how much she meant to him. "Listen to what my life was like before you hurtled into it—Life was empty. Cold. Colorless. And then you happened to me, and suddenly I felt feelings I never believed existed, and I saw things I'd never seen before. You don't believe that, do you, darling? But it's true, and I can prove it." His deep voice ragged with unshed tears. The thorn was embedded deep and in his decision to remove it, he knew he would only bleed and he welcomed it then, expected it. "The flowers in the meadow are blue," he told her brokenly but only the cold night air heard him. "The ones by the stream are white. And on the arch, by the arbor, the roses are red." Reciting the patches of flowerbeds all teaming with life and colors. They all had color to him now and he knew Alex would have noticed every single vivid contrast if she was here.

Lifting his hand to rub his jaw, he continued. "And that's not all I noticed. I noticed that the clearing by the pavilion looks like the very same one where you taught me how to observe the clouds. Oh, and darling, there's something else I have to tell you: I love you, Alexandria."

Tears choked his voice and made it a tormented whisper. "I love you, and if you don't return I'll never be able to tell you that."

The silence stretched on, the cover of night only providing a much welcomed blanket to shield him from curious eyes. There was no one there, he had only himself and the goblet of wine to bear witness to his breaking. The silence was interrupted when the sky blew up in a riot of colors, all glittering and magnificent as it painted the dark canvas with its shining colors like diamonds and precious gems embedded in the caves, like starlights that come alive. The ruckus of cheers from the hall and the people below in the city celebrating the crowning of the King, and a welcome of a new age, the fireworks working its magic.

Yet he remained unaffected by it all. Still the same. Even more miserable. Still alone.

Thoughts of their heated debate on the forests of Lorien flittered across his mind and then his thoughts strayed to how amused he was and confused about her anger. His own bewilderment after years of her disappearance flashing behind his eyes as he replayed them all his head. A jealous rage enveloped him in that instant as he recalled her proud announcement that she was engaged to someone else. Is that what happened? Did she go back to him after everything. After their whispered confession to each other?

After all, she was hurt. How many times was he going to hurt her before she decided to eradicate him from her life and move on? Did she marry some faceless man after all?

Driven by anger and desperation, Legolas clutched the goblet of wine on his hand tighter and abruptly switched from pleas to stern threats. "Alexandria, don't you dare leave me! If you do, I'll have Enyelwen's painting put up in my quarters here in Gondor! I swear I will. Do you hear me? And then I'll gift her that matching bracelet you threatened me with. I'll make Enyelwen my mistress again. She'd love to fill your shoes as the Princess of Greenwood..." Empty threats, that's what they all were. His heart constricted and his mind a muddled mess. Only empty threats that would have no consequence or importance.

In a sudden chill reminder, his mind conjured up the memories of what she narrated she went through all those years ago. Images all horrifying and visceral tore at him. The coldness seeping into his bones, a parallel of her brush with death while confined, locked and forced to endure solitude all in the desire of the people around her to force her to conform to their ways. Anger unbidden simmered in his veins, that faded to helplessness. With all his strength, he had naught the ability to save her should the worse of his imaginations be true. What if she needed him? What if she was suffering somewhere?

His mind tortured him needlessly. A black void of different scenarios fluttering in his dark mind and almost consuming him with either blind rage or heart wrenching despair. In all the words, all the titles and accomplishments that could be adorned upon the elf prince, he remained a being of limited options in that moment.

The minutes became an hour, and then another, the celebration fading to a dull faraway sound, the fireworks had all been spent and night returned its chilling hold of the darkness, and still Legolas kept on talking, switching mindlessly from pleas to threats and then, as hope finally began to die within him, to cajolery: "Think of my immortal soul, sweetheart. It's black and, without you here to make me mend my ways, I'll undoubtedly slip back into my old habits."

He waited, listening, watching with keen, sharp eyes as the world before him remained stoic and unchanged. The sun had long since retired. The night silent and unforgiving in its denial to provide him with answers. Even her ghost could have not made their appearance that night. The stars laid witness to his growing despair. He could not go through it all again. His heart could not take anymore of the grief like the last time. And then, suddenly, the determination and hope that had driven him to talk ceaselessly to her memory crumbled. Despair wrapped around his heart, suffocating him, and tears stung his eyes. Placing the goblet down onto the white marble, both hands braced in front of him as he leaned his head down, his massive shoulders racked with sobs. "Oh, Alex," he wept, "I can hear the gulls. I don't know how much about it you know, but that is not giving me hope. How will I go on living without you? Take me with you," he whispered. "I want to go with you..."

Hoping she heard him and finding that daydream blossom in his heart that she might understand him then, but she didn't understand nor heard him at all, and Legolas knew it. Or perhaps she understood too well, he thought grimly. No doubt she clearly understood that he had failed in his promise to her and that he had repeatedly disappointed her.

Legolas gazed down at the beautiful pale landscape, bordered by the slope of sharp mountains and the great river from afar, the pale moon casting a dream over the unmoving land. He knew perfectly well that he deserved her hatred and contempt. Now that she was fully conscious of the truth, he waited despite knowing he deserved, expecting her to banish him from her life.

Or had she already?

"I realize my behavior to you has been unforgivable," he began tightly, and the sound of his voice filled with dread. "Naturally, I don't expect you to want to remain married to me…" He stopped and cleared his throat as if it was clogged. "I lied," he began again, his voice rough with emotion, "that day at the river when we made the agreement. I lied, when I said I'd make the plea to abolish our marriage. I couldn't do it. I will not go through with it. Anything I have will always be yours. But I would like keep something of you for me," swallowing the lump and the thought of chastising himself for his own selfishness at the moment of what he was about to admit to the night, "I will remain bonded to you. That is the only thing I want to keep for myself. The only thing I'll have of you."

Legolas cleared his throat again and added, "There's something else I want to tell you... Before we left for Edoras, Paul explicitly recounted how you reacted when you came to Greenwood and had all your illusions shattered. Most of what you heard from the court about me was true. However, I would like you to know that I did not sleep with anyone while I was married to you."

Pausing, Legolas gazed up at her ghost, a memory of her beautiful face that day by the river appearing like a mist, an apparition reminding him of what he almost had . Sitting atop a branch with a pole in her hand, her eyes dancing under the sun, her hair catching the wind and creating a halo around her. Her face free from worries, and laughter coloring her cheeks pink, unconsciously memorizing every line of her face so that he would have it before him in the empty years that lay ahead of him. In silence, he looked at the memory of her, knowing she represented every hope and every dream he cherished in his heart. Alexandria was goodness and gentleness and trust, strength. And love. She was flowers blooming on the hillsides and laughter floating through the halls.

Unbeknownst to the elf-prince, an audience stood a little faraway observing him. Privacy was afforded to the elf-prince, his words will be kept a secret by his kin and his extended by laws who all stood unknowingly by accident had heard him and his pleas to their grand daughter.

"He misses her." Arwen's soft voice filtered through the quiet window that faced the garden of the Citadel. The moon already high and glowing bright providing them with more light than the scattered posts along the fountain. Not like the audience would ever need the light to see through the dark and the veil of sadness that seems to have fallen over the hunched form far off.

The Evenstar's voice soft yet longing as she observed the Prince who stood solemnly and alone by the edge of the Citadel. Elf's eyes see everything, as well as the elf ears who can hear at great distance and this regard they had no choice but to lay watch as grief was delivered to them through their eyes and ears. The words of the Prince slicing through their heart. The Evenstar, of all, felt affinity for the pain and longing of the Prince. She had once been in his place. Hope was ever fleeting and even through there were moments she thought she naught the strength to see through it, in the end she did with triumph. "How long has it been?" Arwen spoke softly, internally cringing at having to disrupt the silence.

"Almost six months." Elrond's somber voice filled the air, "I am at fault…"

"My son has no plans to return to Greenwood." Thranduil's baritone voice surprising the audience that stood quietly in the dark. "He intends to stay here. He has already given his word to Elessar to be his council, along with his dwarf-friend."

"He will fade." Elrond's face contorted in forlorn. His dark eyes straying from the sad figure of the Prince to the King, who still after so many millennia stood regal and unchanging.

"With all my heart, I hope not. He is strong but he is in pain and I fear this pain he will forever carry with him. He has confided in me of the call of the sea." Thranduil answered. "He will see his word to the end," his sharp blue eyes moving to Arwen for a fraction, understanding passing between them, before he returned his stare towards Elrond, "and then after, after much change and the world of men has learned to stand on its own feet, time can only tell when he intends to sail."

Immortality is a double edged sword. A curse as much as it is a gift. There is much cause for the elves to choose to depart. Death is inevitable, just another path everyone must take, another journey to see through. One path that has been denied to the Elven race, hence their longing for the Undying Lands.

"Perhaps we have been too harsh with our judgments of their binding." A voice rarely to join conversations interjected. Glorfindel stood to the side, his profile partially hidden by the shadows casted by the columns, yet his gray eyes contemplative and understanding as he gazed out towards the vast plains that stretched before them. The night air had suddenly turned cold, the seasonal change is upon them. The biting chill of the air from the mountains moving and unmerciful as it flowed down towards the plains. "If Alex is any like her grandmother—my Aemilia— she is headstrong. Surrender is naught to be found in her spirit. Trust the Valar, even when the light is still naught yet in sight."

Silence engulfed them in that instant. Glorfindel's statement only offering a temporary ease over the possibility of a dim lonely future that now stood taunting over the Prince. Four pairs of eyes remained stood silent.

The silent night continued on, the moon a constant lookout as the celebration died down and the lights that once glittered along the White City had started to dissipate. The first rays of the morning sun filtered in through the clear sky. The dark blanket lightening to a pale grey before casting light shades of purple and pink over the horizon. The chilly air had not warmed and the White Tree remained stood, nourished and alive. Its leaves leaving a carpet of white petals on the marbled stone floor of the Citadel as the first signs of life from the inhabitants of the City began to move about.

The celebratory mood hadn't died down despite the turn of night to day. The people woke to a bright morning. The clear morning sun and chill air affording them a sign that a new age ahead is going to be full of possibilities.

The chill morning air woke the soldiers and Knights that had laid tents scattered across the plains of Pelennor, this white thick flags hung in all posts indicating the country they represent. Most are already awake in that hour, some still in slumber from the previous night's celebration. The race of Men, are slowly learning that there is strength in unity and in numbers. They may carry the scars of war and the grief of the men and warriors they lost but in the coming day, it offered them a chance to right things they could and accept things they cannot.

The camp was busy. The horses were being unsaddled and fed. A small, smokeless fire had been stoked. Broadswords, battle-axes, lances, and shields were placed carefully by the heavy leather saddles. Some of the men were busy, others in a relaxed halcyon mood as the early morning air blew across the camp.

The Pelennor Fields lay just outside the city of Minas Tirith, on the west bank of the river Anduin. The land ran down toward the river in slopes and terraces. The City of Minas Tirith was located on the south-western corner of the fields, at the foot of Mount Mindolluin. A road ran north-east across the fields to the Causeway Forts on the river bank; a distance of twelve miles. The North-way led from the City through the fields to the Forannest, or north-gate, before turning westward to become the Great West Road to Rohan. The South Road came from the southern provinces of Gondor and passed through the Pelennor Fields on the way to Minas Tirith. A number of other paths also criss-crossed the fields.

The Pelennor Fields were home to farmers and herdsmen who had barns, pens, livestock, granaries, and kilns for drying hops and malt which were located on the Pelennor. The fields were fertile farmland, with tilled fields, orchards, and small brooks flowing down to the Anduin. After Minas Ithil had fallen and been renamed Minas Morgul, the Fields were walled by the great wall of Rammas Echor by Ecthelion II in year T.A. 2954, to prevent an invasion and presumably the Fields took their name because of this enclosure. While the City of Osgilliath stood a few distance away from Rammas Echor, to sum it all, northeast of Minas Tirith some twenty miles away.

During the War of the Ring, the people and livestock evacuated the lands seeing the coming invasion of the forces of Sauron from Minas Morgul. Indeed Orcs and evil Men overran the Rammas Echor on the thirteenth of March and on the next day besieged the city. Homes and trees were burned and trenches were carved through the fields and filled with fire. After the battle, the grass began to grow back on the fields, Snowmane's Howe, where Théoden's horse was buried, grew especially green. The location at which the Witch-king and his steed had been killed was stained black and no grass grew from the scorched earth.

"Ya bright and early tis' morn," Lord Ector commented, spying his squire moving about outside the tent, preparing a simple meal to break the fast.

"The King's been crowned, my lord." The young boy smiled, his dirt smudged face reflecting the excitement, "The armies of Mordor had been disbanded, and the men are talking about going home." His quiet voice wafting along the chill morning air, the sun barely peaking around the sharp edges of the mountains that surround them.

"Ah, yes, home." The knight sighed, his eyes gazing over the far horizon. The encampment had began to stir. The horses relaxing on the open field while the bustling White City with its residents showing unrelenting signs of life.

Lord Ector's tent was located closest to the wall of Rammas Echor, some parts had seen the horror of the last war and in rubbles, offering him the grand view unobstructed. The sheer size of the vast plains that make up from the fields of Pelennor all the way to the great Anduin River its path leading to its divide of Osgilliath was truly a humbling experience. With the limited number of the warriors left after the battle and the siege at the Black Gates, only a handful of experienced men were left. A few only stationed by the wall, while the rest were congregated closest to the White City.

The Knight's thoughts strayed to the challenge the new King would face as his first order of business after all the celebration had died down and after all the visitors had returned to their own countries and life would resume is the safety of the occupants of Gondor. If the sight before him was any indication of the sheer land territory of Gondor, a massive recruitment of soldiers is indeed on the close horizon for the Kingdom of Gondor.

"His grace Lord Eomer, have you seen him this morn?" Returning his attention at hand and recalling his young squire's longing for home.

"Aye, milord. He's woken early and has made his way over to the Citadel." The boy nodded, "No doubt, to spend last in council with the crowned King." Wiping the mud and dirt that stained his hands with a raggedy cloth before proceeding to dump the bucket's contents and moving to stack more hay upon his lord's steed.

The Knight nodded, his attention however was garnered when he spotted something in the distance. Dropping his steel mug on the dirt, the knight stood almost in dumbfounded uncertainty as his steps took his slowly to the encampment's edge. His eyes, though may not be like an elf's, could swore he saw a lone figure gliding over the distant plains.

Shielding his eyes from the morning sun, the Knight moved closer still, his gaze sweeping over the two guards that sat obviously distracted over the wall, their attention on the simple breakfast of bread and stale wine. His sweeping gaze moved to the rest of camp's edge, noting that not one soul saw what he was spying in the far distance.

"By the Valar…" surely his eyes must be playing tricks on him. He was neither dehydrated, distraught or in a delirium to have conjured up a blurry image. But he was positive that whatever it was he was seeing was moving. The white visage almost like it was floating yet moving with purpose in the distance. Despite his current confusion, he saw the outline of the City of Osgilliath behind the distorted figure and knew that no soul resided there. The rehabilitation would have taken months and the King had opted to wait. Where had this figure come from?

"Boy!" His voice loud as he called for his squire, who stumbled in his feet in a hurry to dress his lord's call. Without turning to his squire, he said, "Go and call Theobold forth! And have a rider to send word to the Citadel."

"My…my lord?" Fear froze in his veins at the tension present in his lord's voice. The square of his shoulders and the steady gaze over the horizon a dead giveaway that something was amiss that morning.

Ector whipped his head around, his eyes blazing in a mix of uncertainty and panic. It couldn't! Could it?

The figure's only identifying mark is the white robe it currently wore as the ends flapped in the distance, the head a halo of dark hood. But, he died. Saruman was slain. "Have a rider sent word to the Citadel and make haste!" The boy stood frozen before he swiftly turned, his foot sliding over the loose dirt, planting him face down on the ground. Quickly regaining his footing, he stammered before disappearing in search of Lord Theobold and sending a rider barely in his riding style towards the Citadel.

"You there!" Ector called, gaining the attention of the two distracted soldiers on top of the built wooden turret. "Alert the soldiers on guard!" Before he ran back into his own tent, his movements hurried as he collected his blade and bow, his thoughts in a barrage of alarm and curiosity over the approaching figure in white.

Slowly, the King's Hall had started to fill again with the distinguished delegates and guests. The long table filled to the brim with warm meal to break their fast and with the presence of the Evenstar, the household had already started to move in synchronicity of the usual operations of running a large castle such as this.

The long table now lined with the members of the fellowship sat closest to each other, the other vacant seats being filled by lords from other realms. The contrast from last night's loud celebration to this morning's quiet happy-filled glances was not a stark difference. Their lungs filling in with air that felt natural and not constricted after the previous year filled with much anxiety and troubled thoughts and gazes.

The long table was filled with light talk, some friendly banter and jest. "Has anyone seen Gandalf?" Frodo's voice small, yet curious echoed around the hall. His inquiry was met with equally curious glances and sudden realization that indeed Mithrandir is missing that morn.

"I'm sure Gandalf's just resting," Sam uttered, his own eyes moving about the room, "Last I saw him, he was responsible for the display of fireworks last night." His eyes dancing with mirth as the hobbits all exchanged nostalgic glances. Some things never change indeed. Gandalf was called a 'Disturber of the Peace' back in Shire and his fondness for the glittering sparks would often excite the younglings of Bag-End.

"Would you do the honor of waking up Gandalf, Pip?" Merry's playful tone disrupting the curious glances and the three hobbits exchanged a good laugh at Pippin's sudden pale complexion.

The peaceful morning was interrupted however by the sudden loud horn coming from the barracks. The once light mood disrupted by the sudden intrusion of armed King's soldiers who stalked by the main stair that lead to the Citadel, their steps heavy with purpose and urgency.

In full royal regalia, the most at ease attire Aragorn was ever in, met the two guards by the fountain, "What is it?", ignoring as the rest of those in attendance at the breaking of fast made hurry steps to the end of the Citadel that afforded unhindered access of the view of the fields.

"A slight disturbance, your grace," one of the soldiers bowed, "The Lord Ector sends word. He tracked something moving about from the ruins of Osgilliath."

A startled gasp interrupted Aragorn, his concerned gaze sliding over to Arwen who stood off by the corner of the marble rail. In his peripheral he saw as Legolas froze in intense, bewildered stare over the plains before horror snapped him into action that had him sprinting across the gardens, his legs almost flying in his haste to get to the stables.

"What is it….? Arwen…?" Aragorn's confused gaze shifting between the guards and to his maiden whose hands had now found their way over her mouth, her face a mixture of disbelief, awe and slight panic. Her tear filled gaze moving from the scene before her to the ranger-turned King, "It's her," her disbelief coloring her tone before realization and joy taking over. All of a sudden, as if having woken from a dream, Arwen's face became a mask of determination before her eyes locked on her father and brothers, "It's Alex!" Staring in horror as a parade of defensive line of soldiers stood just by the turrets along the wall that separated the Pelennor fields and the vast stretch of land all the way to Osgilliath.

Without preamble, Eomer was pulled from his confusion by a fuming Thranduil whose eyes had now turned an icy shade of blue challenging the now young King of Rohan, "Those are your men down there, residing by those tents?"

Eomer returned with a glare of his, while bewilderment crossed his face. He could not understand the sudden action of the elves and what commotion they had spotted over the far horizon. His gaze sweeping noting that everyone seemed to froze and then spring into action all of sudden. "Yes." He grunted out, his gaze moving between Aragorn and the elves who had now moved towards the stables saved for the Evenstar and the Greenwood King who still stood while his eyes seemed to darken even more before he stepped closer, "I have no argue with you young King of Rohan, but if your men touch one hair from my daughter's head…" Thranduil's voice trailed off. The threat loud and clear as if he had voiced the out loud.

Aragorn could have sworn everything suddenly moved in a sickeningly slow motion as he watched Elrond along with his twin sons and Glorfindel sprung for the horses, before everything snapped into a hastened pace of hurried steps and commotion. The sound of hooves bouncing on marbled stone steps like a sound of pouring torrential rain in an otherwise bright calm day, as almost everyone who could a hand on a horse, most especially the elves who blatantly ignore the awe-filled stares of the people around them.

0-0-0-0

Alex stumbled for the third time since running across her Nana's garden. The bright sun was unrelenting as it's ray's shone down her. The heat already seeping into her bones, the gown did nothing to cool her down despite of the intricate yet sheer lace pattern that adorned her upper torso. The bare back design of her gown the only solace from the crippling heat and yet she could still feel the sweat that started to fall down her back. Her long, thick locks starting to stick to her bare skin.

The adrenaline rush of nerves and excitement had never dwindled. She's in haste, she was in hurry to get back to him. She knew she had to right whatever was said and left. Frustration simmers in her veins the deeper she traipsed into the forest. The thick branches all tangled together and soon she was enveloped in darkness that almost felt like night in a matter of minutes.

She had no idea what to expect either. Fear and anxiety taunting her with its hold as the longer she dredged on, the more she could feel a spark of uncertainty start to settle in her. Shaking herself to rid of any morbid thoughts, she pushed herself forward. The thick trees and lush vegetation around almost looked like they were closing her in.

Unable to fathom what was happening she tried with sheer will to continue on her trek. Irritation nibbled at the back of her mind. Refusing to surrender, forcing herself not to entertain the idea that she might be too late.

Did they win?, she asked herself, but it was not impossible for them lose either, her mind taunted.

One step over another, Alex felt for her hem and started to lift the hem of her gown up. It was as if she was only realizing it then that she was still in her wedding gown, the straps of her shoes digging onto her feet, feeling herself wobble a bit at having to navigate the jagged terrain of rocks, soil, and mud in high heels. In her haste to get back to Legolas, she forgot about everything else.

Go! The life of the Elder is with you. She heard her Nana's voice in her ears. It was like something snapped and it propelled her into action. The exhaustion she thought she felt from the tumultuous day creeped into her skin, and then suddenly evaporated and she felt a renewed vigor as she continued. She will not be thwarted, she decided then. She had already come too far and she needed to see him again. She had to go back to him. To ask for forgiveness for the way she had handled the situation.

Swatting a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face, Alex decided to pause and catch her breath. The large tree she was currently hiding under provided her with enough protection from unfriendly eyes. The large branches reaching out and the leaves almost reminding her of the trees back at Fangorn Forest.

Looking around her wearily confused and finally feeling the emotional exhaustion catching up with her, she decided to speak, "I don't suppose you…can talk can you?" Her eyes tracing the bark that stretch on upwards towards the sky that to her surprise seemed a confusing shade of pink and pale purple. Fuck! I'm losing my mind.

Shaking her head, she decided to move again, "I'm definitely losing my mind. I'm talking to a tree." She muttered quietly, resuming her trek through the now thick forest before her. "Well, I mean, I am half elf. Talking to a tree seemed like something half of me is suppose to do…" She was startled however when a rush of cold wind moved the foliage around her. Once warm, humid surrounding cooling down and giving her back a chilled reminder that she might be no longer in the same world. Gazing up the try and catch a glimpse of the sky, she found instead staring into two dar orbs that stood silent and watching her every move. The grey and white owl that sat perched on the large branch, unmoving and eerily familiar continued to stare at her. Its feather ruffling in the cool wind the only indication that it in fact there.

A ghost of smile and excitement flowed in her veins as she now with more conviction continued to walk. She was in Middle Earth! The cold wind unmistakable as she likened it to the chilly air that flowed between the mountain back at Dunharrow. In her haste to finally reach the encampment, Alex missed the deep step down but fortunately regaining her balance but still soaking the end of her dress and her ankles on the cold water. Following the stream she found she was facing the expanse of a wide river. The once lush forest before her now gone and replaced with a city that looked to be in ruins. The river although alive and flowing, looked dark. The ruined city was divided into two sides by the wide body of water that flowed in the middle. What the hell?

Slowly and with much trepidation, Alex surveyed her surroundings. There was no sign of life anywhere. No shadow or breathe of any living creature around her. Turning to look behind her, Alex saw the thick expanse of forests and knew there was nothing there if she turned back. The only thought now was to go forward.

Trying to balance herself in her gown and heels, Alex maneuvered her way over sharp rubbles and ruined buildings towards the only bridge she saw not too far that would lead to the other side not the ruined city. Every once in a while, her head would turn, trying to catch a shadow or a lingering mist in her peripheral, trying to spot anyone she could ask for directions.

The city was deserted she finally accepted, making her way out of the ruins. Feeling amazement and fear swallow her at the sight that greeted her. It was plains, and more plains. The vast expanse of land that stretched before her was daunting. The sheer size rooted her to her spot for a minute. The sun that she once tried to spy under the cover of the forests now showing its brilliance. "Shit." Biting her lip as she tried to study the place she found herself in. "This is not Dunharrow." Far from looking like Rohan either, her mind added.

Alex's eyes scanned the horizon and spotted a wall faraway. On the farthest mountain, she spied something White glinting in the distance, like it was carved out of it. The unmistakable white color a stark contrast from the green and brown that covered everything in front of her.

Alex swallowed and felt her throat contract, the scratching reminding her of her thirst and then the exhaustion settling in. She was not hopeless, she decided then. She could maybe find a horse, ask for directions.

You could also get lost, raped, killed….want me to go on?

"Fuck." Uttering a single word that perfectly describe her current predicament. Ignoring her thoughts she decided to go for it. The earlier adrenaline she felt as her Nana urged her to go, her own need to return ignited like wildfire in her veins. She was too far gone now. There was nothing for her if she returned.

One step over another, she made her way over the land, the lighter details of the terrain offering her a clue that the criss crossing lines were pathways, roads that navigated through the large piece of barren land before her. The wall on the far opposite glared at her, almost challenging her to go near it.

Minutes ticked by and the chill air provided her with comfort from the bright ray of sun. She paid no mind to her thoughts. The warnings all going off inside her head were ignored. She was in Middle Earth, this is her home. A longing deep in the pit of her stomach started to burn with need. A need to primal that it made her choke with a sob. He was her home and she would not let another minute go by without him knowing it.

The wind whipped her hair in every direction and the ends of her gown already caked with mud and dirt, her legs screaming for rest but Alex refused to relent. She had to find her way back to him.

Closer and closer, Alex felt relief slowly crawl up her spine as she spied men moving about the wall and outside, the turrets were glistening with the hurried movements of people with their armors glinting under the bright morning sun. Not orcs! The relief was short lived however when she spotted a line of soldiers moving into formation blocking her possible entrance inside.

No. No, no, no, no…panic shot up her spine as she registered what was happening. Expecting fear to follow suit, she surprised herself when anger took hold of her. Wherever she was, whoever these people are, they are not going to stop her.

Suddenly she thought of turning around. The river may lead somewhere, if she was lucky, she'll find a boat perhaps if she followed the water it may lead her to a place she might recognize. Doubt filled her. It would be futile and entirely useless if she lost somewhere alone. Steeling her resolve, her gaze hardening over the horizon, she only had one choice.

All her life she had expelled the idea of her title. The entitlement it brought with it was something she would usually avoid, but at the moment an idea struck her, as she quickened her pace towards the towering gates. "I'm Alexandria of Greenwood!" waving her arms as she tried to gain the attention of the soldiers lined. Up close she felt slight relief as she recognized the seal of Rohan on one of the soldier's shield, scanning the turrets, she found the flags of a White Tree and another flag, this time in color green with a white horse and the cropped image of the sun in the corner littering around the wall and the now obvious encampment.

"It's me—Alex! I need a horse. Please! I need to get to Dunharrow!" Alex shouted, hoping that someone from the Rohan soldiers would recognize her. But they were still a little far away off and Alex reminded herself that human hearing was shot for shit.

What was in range however was she, with their arrows. Alex's eyes widened watching them all knock their bows, holding them. Everything then slowed, a ringing in her ears deafening as fear pumped blood into her veins. In a split second one of them turned, as if whipping his head as someone called for him. The soldier quickly sidestepped, almost slipping on the dirt, and running for the lined blockade waving his arms and shouting something undefinable. Alex could not even find it in herself to admire her eyesight or how she could vividly and with clarity spot the soldiers, their armor or their seal from her distance.

One by one, the soldier's dropped their stance, as a long line of horses galloped. The dust whipping around them.

Alex felt her eyes water with tears as she recognized the one person ahead of everyone else. The unmistakeable blonde hair, and square of his broad shoulders as he pushed his horse harder. She noted that it was not Arod, but nevertheless the horse obeyed. His gaze burning a hole in her.

With a cry of happiness, Alex hiked up her skirt, picking up her pace and running towards the horde of horses all bearing people that she finally recognized. People that she knew by heart.

Legolas had not the heart to beat his horse, but the sight of her almost made him want to. The soldier who it belonged to had no other option but to surrender as soon as his hands had a hold of the reigns, quickly jumping atop the steed and navigating the marbled stone steps of the Citadel, down and out of the city.

She could've been a mirage, a figment of his suffering mind, but he knew he wasn't the only one that recognized the figure in the distance. The Evenstar's startled gasp still ringing in his ears as he left them all and with a frantic panicked haze decided he had to get to her.

The horse breathed and the loud pounding of its hooves on the ground in sync with the rapid beating of his heart. The encampment over the field was large, the makeshift pathways between the tents intertwining and Legolas had no mind to figure them out all. In his haste, he had his beast jump over stalls, small campfires, leaving overturned tables and scattered pots. Everyone's attention was now on the elf bearing the royal seal of Greenwood. His hastened movements affording him bewildered stares and questioned gazes. He was almost there, gritting his teeth as he saw the line of soldiers preparing a defense. His eyes hardened into icy blue as rage and fear unlike any other filled him. He ousted his horse faster, he could see her now, waving in the air and trying gain the attention of one of the soldiers.

"Hold!" Whipping his head startled as another voice rang out. By his side was another elf, whose gaze was directed at the soldier—a knight—standing behind the line. Legolas recognized the face of the Knight, but he had no time to procrastinate with names, beside him Glorfindel continued to order the knight, who saw them and frantically understood the order.

She was a vision, after months and with how she left. Her wild hair was flying in the wind, her face reflecting relief she stared at him before she sprung into action and picked up her gown and started running towards him. He silently prayed to the Valar that she was real. That whatever he was seeing was not a figment of his cruel imagination. As if hearing his heart, he saw her fall, before she regained her balance, reaching for her feet and pulling her shoes off before throwing them with an urgency of an angry tiger before she resumed running again. "Stupid fucking heels." If that was not such an Alex move, her voice made him laugh unable to stop himself from grinning and soon he was jumping from his horse, his arms opened just in time as almost like with practiced precision she launched herself onto him.

A sob tore from Alex's chest, her arms wounding round him. Her mind a jumbled mess of what just happened and where to start talking. "I'm so sorry…I'm sorry..I didn't mean to disappear…" Alex sobbed, her mind and heart a jumbled mess of words and emotions.

"It's alright. You're here. You've returned…" his soothing voice was like music to her ears. His arms tightening around her. His own words getting choked up at the sheer intensity of the emotions swirling inside him. Burying his face on the crook of her neck and taking much needed inhale, her scent filling him. Intoxicating in its familiarity and it filled him with warmth, like a final piece was finally right. His world finally standing and no longer tilting balancing on the precipice of madness and despair.

"I couldn't… I didn't marry Tom." Alex spoke, pulling back to look at him, "It's you. It's always been you." Tears flowed down her face despite the smile that grace her beautiful face.

It was music to his ears. To hear the unbridled confession from her and the same intensity reflecting in her gaze, he held on. His arms becoming impossibly tighter around her. She was finally his. She's finally here with him. Gone were the threats , gone were the risks and what ever else that held her against him.

With an ache, he unwound his arms, his hands gripping her face, his thumbs unceremoniously wiping away the tears that fell from her emerald eyes. "You've returned…" Legolas murmured unbelieving that she was finally here with him.

Alex nodded, more tears threatening to spill, "I'm right here…I'm right here, love. I'm real, and I'm never leaving you again." Alex half-laughed, half-sobbed recalling his own words to her that day on the forests of Lorien. So much has happened since then, so much has changed. Burying her face on the crook between his neck and shoulder, it seemed like everything she did was a mirror of his own, this time she was the one assuring him of her presence. Alex noted, that Legolas looked weary. His eyes, despite his handsome face, were bloodshot and shadowed from lack of sleep.

He stroked her hair, her back and continued to hold her to him in fear that she might disappear again. Words left him then, he had no words to say to her but what his own assurance by physical touch that she was there. She was saying things that made his heart fly and all the pain and bitterness of the past months seemed to have melted in an instant.

They both collapsed onto each other, both exhausted, both spent from the roller coster of events and emotions that plagued them for the past year.

"How, Alex? How did you manage to return?" Legolas finally asked when he could speak, his tone was as ravaged as his face.

"I tripped and hit my head, I was so scared when I woke up. I was at the church about to be married and I have no recollection of how I got there…I couldn't go through with it. Not after everything we've been through. I called off the wedding. My mom and Tom had to let me go…" Alex managed to say, her throat was tight with emotions at seeing the signs of his obvious suffering. "I'm so stupid. I'm sorry for disappearing. I didn't want to I swear…"

Legolas shook his head, his smile wide as he leaned his forehead over hers and closed his eyes as he let his fëa feel every presence of hers, the contentment filling him, wiping away all the despair and desperation of last night. "There is nothing to forgive, meleth. You're here, that's all that matters." Before his lips descended on hers in a achingly slow kiss. A kiss that his wife, much to his heart's content, very much returned with vigor.

"I love you, Legolas."

"And I you, always."

"Really? Always?" Alex chuckled, biting her lip as she remembered the first time they met, "When you first saw me, you hated me…remember?"

"No, no…wait. Allow me to explain, you were a mere babe then, and you were crying and shouting for your dog…" Legolas laughed, and this time he felt from the bottom of his heart all the way to his soul. It felt good to laugh again. To feel the light weight, free falling sensation. Gone was the hollowness in his chest.

"Oh, so you didn't hate me, thank God." Alex said mockingly a smile crossing her face, "You just found me irritating—what a relief!" They both laughed, before Alex's face regained its seriousness and gazed at her husband's face with all the admiration and love that she hoped he could see, "When I first saw you, I thought you were an angel."

This time Legolas could not hold himself, and crashed his lips with his wife's. He understood what she meant. He had once heard her talk about "celestial beings' during one of her nonstop tirades when she was younger. Beings revered as servants of higher being, powerful and omnipotent. Always describe with extreme beauty and wisdom.

The kiss was abrupt but not lacking in intensity. By the time Alex opened her eyes, she was reminded of where she currently was and with coincidence so was Legolas which made her question, "By the way, what happened? And where are we?" Alex swallowed, "Did we…win?"

It felt like foreign but Legolas welcomed the smile that stretched on his handsome face. Gratitude was an overwhelming feeling, mixed with true love and joy and it was encompassing, vibrating his every nerve. "We did. We're in Gondor, the ring has been destroyed six months passed. Frodo and Sam are safe, and Aragorn has been crowned King."

"Wh…what…?" Alex was left speechless, wrapping her mind at all the information she just heard. She could've sworn that the smirk on the corner of his lips was due to her shock, but another surprise caught her attention. Behind him, was a crowd of onlookers and the identities of each one brought memories—memories of her younger self in Rivendell.

Legolas noticed Alex froze, holding her hand in his own, he slowly turned giving her unobstructed view of the people that gathered.

"Alexandria…?" Legolas recognized the voice. The same voice that earlier sounded commanding and held so much power now sounded mesmerized. His grey eyes staring intently. His gaze mirrored the awe at seeing her after so many years. The last he had saw her, she was a child. With pride, he saw her as a grown woman now. Even more, she radiated strength and tenacity. Something that hauntingly reminded him of Aemilia.

"Hello…Glorfindel." Alex's eyes glistened with more unshed tears, her eyes moving to the other people beside him, all unsure of how to react but all with smiles and longing on their faces. Faces of her family from Rivendell. In hindsight she should've realized it, until she remembered she was a mere child then. But the resemblance is uncanny as she scanned Elrond, and her Nana's twin brothers and finally at Arwen. Her eyes strayed back to the elf. The same tall, regal elf she remembered so long ago. "Papa,"

Legolas watched as his wife was engulfed in warm embraces. She was finally with her family. And he noted with glee, that Alex was forthcoming about it all. The reunion was bittersweet, his mind recalling the events that lead to them there. The tragedy that had to occur for fate to grant him a wife.

"She told you?" Elrond asked timidly, his eyes filled with happiness as he held his great granddaughter's face in his hands. Studying her face as if memorizing every line.

"All of it. I'm sorry about everything I said…" Alex started feeling remorse color her face as she recalled the words she hurled at them.

"I'm the one who should apologize. I shouldn't have been so brazen about everything." Elrond's voice held guilt before it was squashed as Alex hugged him and like a father holding his child, Elrond held on. The youngest of the Eldarion line.

Alex's eyes widened at the sight of Aragorn, unrecognizable in his royal regal, standing inconspicuously beside Arwen, a smile on his lips. "Holy fuck, Aragorn…Is that you?" Alex could not contain the laughter that bubbled out of her as she embraced the ranger, "You cleaned up nice. And I heard you're a King now…." Raising an eyebrow in jest as she bumped shoulder with the King of Gondor shocking the soldiers that continued to watch them.

Alex's arrival at the Citadel well after the bittersweet reunion with her family sparked even more joyous cheer as the the hobbits all bounded and raced towards her. Eowyn who was tearfully hugging Alex soon sobered and blushed as she turns to introduce Faramir who stood off to the side with a glazed expression on his face as he stared at Alex.

As if Legolas could anymore feel his heart burst at the elation of his wife being there, his father made an appearance and he saw his wife suddenly launch herself onto another elf who loved her completely and unconditionally.

Thranduil's eyes shone with much controlled tears. Much like that of the astonishment and awe that Alex's family felt, Thranduil could not take his eyes off his daughter who looked far from the young, pale, naive girl he remembered.

Their last encounter on the night at the gardens before her sudden departure. The daughter that stood before him now, very much held the regal stance and beauty of an elven royalty. Her eyes shone with wisdom and a spark of strength and wit that would rival any court to tears.

"Anel nin…" Thranduil murmured, stunned into silence as he continued to stare in disbelief that Alexandria was finally there, she was finally home.

"Adar…" Alex sniffed, closing her eyes and allowing all the feeling of happiness, elation and warmth all course through her. The last person she saw before she left, the only person at the time who protected her and never left her.

Legolas could have sworn his heart expanded at the endearment his wife chose to address his father. She was very much his daughter, he mused. In the time he left her in his care, Legolas knew then in his heart his father took his role to heart.

It was sometime after the joy of Alex's return and reunion had simmered down they all sat for a noon meal. The hobbits all gathered around, Frodo and Sam especially had, in their earnest insistence, offered much gratitude to Alex who only smiled and waved them off. Their own little reunion brought Alex to more tears, recalling the last they were together. With her almost drowning, and offering them a head start in an act of bravery that almost claimed her life. Alex, would not have any of the misplaced gratitude. For her, Frodo and Sam saving the entire Middle Earth warrants that she should be the one thanking them instead of the other way around. In the end, they decided that they should just laugh it all and over a pint of ale, Alex made a toast to the bravery and resilience of the hobbits.

Gimli could not contain his shock when Alex drank the entire pint in one breath. The dwarf giggled and cheered as the elves all turned to him and to his nonchalance gave the elf-prince a knowing glance, "I told ya, she's once in a lifetime lad!" Shaking his head still in amazement at the elven princess' tolerance for the beverage.

Throughout the entire gathering, the eel-prince could not separate from his wife more than a few minutes. It was as if the both needed the assurance the other was within distance of each other. A slight brush of hand, a stork on the back or the more callous, was holding of the hands. In the event that the other was pulled away for a conversation, the other's eyes would not stray from the other. It had been so long since they had finally been given freedom to express their adoration of one another or to have finally be able to claim each other. It was a liberating feeling, as mused by the elf-prince that finally he was able to have by his wife.

Unable to content themselves with fleeting glances and secret-filled stares, and smiles, both had finally found a way to free themselves of the people around them. As much they had loved those, they had finally had a chance to be alone.

His lips found her again, and now that they were finally alone, they both finally allowed themselves to cherish each other without distraction. They were all smiles and silent laughs at the sheer joy at having found each other again.

"Forgive me?" Legolas spoke, holding her close and looking into her eyes that held so much love and adoration for him.

"For what?"

"I should've told you when I found out. It should have been me. I should've been forthcoming with you about it. I should've spared you pain and betrayal, not subject you to it all over again."

"You did nothing, Legolas. It was not your fault. I should be the one apologizing. I'm sorry for always thinking the worse of you."

"I deserve it." Legolas shook his head, accepting that his own actions where his own fault for allowing her to see him in a light that is less than appealing. That cloud would always hung over their heads and he decided then he would work with everything in him to prove his love for her. "I'm undeserving of you, but I need you. I will prove you to my devotion. Everything I am, everything I have will always be yours."

Biting her lip to stop her chin from quivering, Alexandra raised her eyes to his. "I think," she whispered, trying to smile, "I don't want you to prove anything. I trust you." A mischevious glint shone in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her closer, laughingly, "And I think, Greenwood deserves to see us together, if only to cause chaos to their gossiping—"

With a groan, Legolas pulled her into his arms.

"Now that you've said all those other things," she whispered when he finally lifted his lips from hers several minutes later, "do you think you could possibly say 'I love you'? I've been waiting to hear that since you began and—"

"I love you," he said fiercely. "I love you," he whispered softly, burying his face in her hair. "I love you," he groaned, kissing her lips. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."

Alex closed her eyes, savoring the sound of his velvet voice floating over her ears. Each word, each enunciation like a soft caress to her soul, her smile rivaling the bright sun. "Marry me." Alex's eyes snapped open, her eyes immediately finding his blue orbs, seeing determination in them. "Marry me, Alex."

"I…" her brow creasing, trying to decipher Legolas' obscure offer, "I thought I already was…?"

Legolas smiled, both pleased at her answer and amused at her bewildered stare, "Marry me, in front of the whole world. I want them to know I'm yours. I want you to have my vows. "

Tears blurred her vision, swallowing passed the lump in her throat. This was what she was suppose to feel. A proposal that left her reeling and flying. Elation filled her feeling like her heart could not expand anymore. "Yes." Nodding and kissing his lips as she laughed loudly this time, "Yes, I'll marry you. Again and again, in a thousand lifetimes, in a thousand different worlds. Yes!"

He unwound his arms, before bending on his knee and offering her a ring—sapphire blue with diamonds around the band. Legolas smiled noticing her shocked expression at him conforming to a tradition that was definitely from this world, but she definitely recognized. "I had a talk with Paul about your traditions when we were at Meduseld. I know how important this gesture is back at your world and I want to honor it. I had Gimli conspire to create a trinket that would symbolize this moment for us."

Alex offered her hand, sliding the ring and feeling the snug fit. Holding it out and admiring the magnificent cut, the sapphire even more shiny under the bright light, the blue stone reminding her of his eyes. "Legolas, how much did it cost you?" But, the elf-prince only shrugged, smirking as he recalled Gimli's confused stare when he approached the dwarf with the request, "Perks of having a dwarf for a friend."

Without so much as a thought, Alex dragged Legolas back to the hall, the amused glances they all welcomed them gave Alex the confidence to raise her hand and showcase the ring. The only people that mattered were all in that hall, and all understood the significance of the moment, despite the quirkiness of the tradition.

"Gandalf, where have you been?" Sam's voice held much endearment and softness for the old wizard who now stood by the entrance to the King's hall, his face a mask of mischievousness hidden behind a smile. "You're late!" Accused by the hobbit, laughing as he gazed at Frodo who only shook his head at him.

"A wizard is never late, Sam." Frodo amusedly admonished turning and giving Gandalf a knowing smile, "He arrives precisely when he means to."

A chuckle reverberated along the high walls of the hall. Aragorn's own face mirrored a curious yet amused expressions that obviously knew the wizard was up so something. "I heard congratulations are in order for the Prince and Princess of Greenwood?" Gandalf's rough voice echoing around, this time Legolas and Alex turned to stare at the wizard. "Then that would mean that another celebration is only fitting…" moving to walk down the long entrance to stand in front of the couple.

"I can tell there is something sinister at work here, Mithrandir. Something is up your sleeve, I can feel it." Legolas' eyes narrowed in suspicion, the ghost of a smile not he corner of his lips the only give away that his statement was a light banter to the wizard's peculiar behavior and cryptic talk.

"Indeed. A royal wedding—I expect you would need a hand in these preparations." Gandalf smiled wider now, his staff standing erect beside him before he turned to Aragorn, the hobbits and Gimli, "A good friend once told me, I was merely a wizard. Apparently what you both need is a fairy godmother." Laughter bubbled out of Gandalf as Alex's eye suddenly widened in realization of what…or who he was referring to.

"Didn't think I'd miss your royal wedding, did you?" Paul stood by the large entry way, heaps of what looked like boxes all scattered around him. His hands on his hips as he stared at everyone in rapt amusement before it settled on his best friend and the elf.

Alex was speechless as she watched Paul do a rendition of a catwalk down the hall. Gimli and the hobbits all laughing and cheering as Paul reached both of them and giving Alex a cocky smirk, his eyes roaming her up and down before a ghost of pure disappointment crossing his face at Alex's appearance. The disgust for her gown apparent on his face, and in his impression of a drag queen he announced, "Oh honey, we will induce envy and rage!"

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AN: Yay!

first things, first. i'll call it out myself, haha, if that wasn't the most mary sue moment you have read in this fandom than i don't know what is. running across the field in a gown, to have your romantic interlude just screams romance. =)))

second, lemme give credit where credit is due. I was emotional and a sobbing mess when I wrote the exchange between Legolas and Thranduil. Their entire conversation, especially Thranduil's dialogue is credited to Michael Singer's book; The Untethered Soul.

I was reading that book, trying to pull myself out the dark and it deeply resonated with me. I decided then I need to have it in here. If you haven't read that book, I deeply suggest you read it. I once again, apologize for my long absence. If anyone of you understands how hard it is trying to pull yourself out of a mental gutter while applying for hundreds of jobs and getting denied, understands how much havoc it wrecks in my self esteem and confidence. Your follows, favorites and reviews have all made me smile in my darkest days. I am so sorry for making you all wait. I have only one last chapter, and maybe an epilogue.. i dunno. =)

ps. to redruby8, hope i didn't disappoint...only 6 months though, not 30 years..*winks*

pps. if you are a fan of my writing, please check me out over at watt pad. my name there is: happypill1111. please check out my other story. it's still in the works and i haven't updated ina while too, but I would love to know what you think.

Anyhoo, Leave a review before you click close. x0x0 =))