Though that had been the plan, Tarisilya wasn't thrilled when Legolas accompanied her to their common chambers in the guesthouse of the King after they'd had dinner with the royals and Gimli.
She had hoped the meal would distract her, give her enough serenity for the conversation ahead. But if Gimli hadn't talked enough for five, there would have been unpleasant silence prevailing far too often, because Arwen and Aragorn in particular had of course noticed the tense mood. After a lot of hugs and the initial smiles about the four of them finally being in immediate proximity to one another again, the expression of concern had never left their friends' faces.
While Tarisilya appreciated Arwen's offer to sit with her in the fireplace room, she wasn't ready yet to exchange more than a few polite phrases with anyone yet, least of all with her husband. First, duty was calling, and she had a feeling, once that was done, she would have fallen asleep on her chair already.
Legolas halted in the doorway indecisively as she sat down at her desk with an apologetic shrug. There were quite a few letters she had to write that couldn't wait. The usual chaos on her table bothered her so much for the first time that she brushed a few parchments harshly to the ground and just pushed everything else backward a bit to create some free space.
Legolas watched her impatient gestures without comment, without pushing her which she was very grateful for.
When she already expected him to just leave, he suddenly asked: "Do you want to ride after the Lord? I'll come with you if you want me to. The settlement just has to do without me for a while then. And on the way, we'd finally have enough time again that would only be ours."
"No." After the less than ideal welcome, she hadn't expected him to suspect what was weighing on her mind so quickly. Though she did long to attend the mourning ceremony in Imladris, she couldn't ask another journey like that of her child. "Thank you for the offer, elwen. I appreciate that. But the Lord and I, we've already said our goodbyes earlier. And the three of us are better off in Gondor right now."
"What did he say?" Legolas stepped behind her and carefully took her shoulders, relieved that she leaned back against him out of instinct already, nuzzling her healthy cheek against his hand.
Tarisilya realized quickly how good that felt, in spite of everything. That she couldn't deal with even more problems right now, didn't mean she wanted to be alone.
There was no one that Glorfindel could go to, she realized with a startle. Thondrar and he were too estranged from each other to really give each other purchase.
And she would have been exactly in a situation like that if her husband's mistakes in Ithilien would have become his doom. Even close friends among Men couldn't replace the warmth of a family or of a century-old acquaintance. Her father, her brother, Glorfindel, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn … Everyone dear to her was gone from these realms already or would be leaving soon. It was one of these evenings when she wondered if she would really manage to stay much longer.
"Glorfindel and Erestor have been close for millennia. Even closer than they both knew themselves, I think. Under different circumstances, if they wouldn't have to talk to Glorfindel's wife and the powers in the west about that first, they'd probably long been married. Glorfindel doesn't know how to deal with all of this. It's frightening, seeing him of all people so helpless. I hope, Lord Elrond finds the right words to reach his heart."
Without looking up, she knew that Legolas was about to answer something and quickly shook her head, firmly clenching her teeth. "I'm sorry. I want to. But I … I can't. Not yet …"
"Then you don't have to." He interrupted her by taking the quill from her and closing the inkwell, pulling her up then to give her neck a kiss. "The pigeons can make up for a few hours of delay tomorrow. Come to bed, Ilya."
Again, she somehow made it to take a deep breath instead of snapping at him again, unrestrained, but he could probably still make out the disconcertment, the irritation on her face. Did he really think, that would have been a way to make anything right? Possibly like he'd tried last time, without considering her wishes and needs?
With a sigh, Legolas rested his cheek against her healthy one, trying to establish a contact that she couldn't fully allow right now. His gestures felt almost as clumsy as in the very beginning when they'd got to know each other. "I just want to hold you in my arms until you fall asleep, elwen." Her brief hesitation had visibly hurt him more than any reproach she could have loaded him with.
"Do you want me to help you?" He tapped his knuckles against the thin metal under Tarisilya's dress.
"Please." The top was as good as impossible to put on and get out of alone anyway.
For Aragorn, it was of course completely incomprehensible that she wanted to keep this on even here in the Citadel, while Gimli on the other hand had hardly been able to wait for meeting her, to promise her that his people would craft a new shirt for her immediately because the old one was already becoming too tight. Let it look exaggerated and too careful. She preferred her friend smiling at that over risking once again that someone would harm her baby.
Yet it was a relief, finally being able to breathe freely again. And in spite of all her dull anger for Legolas – his cautious touch on her bare skin managed to chase away some of the coldness inside of her. If that would help, not having any nightmares tonight, she was ready to take this step towards him.
She slipped the rest of her dress off as well and went ahead to the bed. After a long time spent in a talan, it felt foreign; she trembled when she slipped under the light linen. Her eyes got stuck on the window, at the stars that had lost even more of their shine on Middle-earth a few days ago. As a child, she would never have expected to feel such pain at the sight of the sky one day.
It felt better than she'd thought when her husband laid down with her and took her in his arms.
This time, he let her cry without saying a word.
The next day began with a hint of panic. Legolas had no idea how Tarisilya had managed to get up and leave the chambers without him waking up. He wasn't sure he liked it. It did prove the trust between them and the fact that it, fortunately, had not become lost in spite of all the trouble, that she was not even able to disturb a warrior's light sleep, sure. On the other hand, he had to wonder if she still did her best to avoid a conversation.
Since he himself had been lying awake until dawn, he was furthest away from being rested as could be, feeling battered instead. He didn't know his own crumpled reflection in the mirror.
The latest hour of the night brought many considerations to light that you would otherwise shrug off with a mild smile. Thoughts here to stay when you were staring only at a stubborn fog of depression instead of a sunrise. Could it be that his wife was slipping away from him? That he'd only exposed her to all the suffering in their life together for their love no longer being strong enough now? The possibility alone felt like a burning wound in his very soul.
Tarisilya hadn't said anything of the like, but …
But. Something was different. She was being different. A shadow had erased the last remains of Tarisilya's youth from her pretty green brown eyes at last, leaving behind a she-elf who'd seen too much misery. And the worst was: She was completely alone with it. Her family had left her, entrusting her to his care, and instead of helping her …
This needed to stop. They had to make this right.
First, Legolas had to find his wife though. When he'd searched the Citadel, the Houses of Healing, and the stables without success for the third time, the subtle fear in him started to grow. What if she'd indeed come to the conviction last night that she'd given him enough chances to prove himself a caring husband and preferred to live somewhere else, way too far apart from him?
Drowning in these gloomy thoughts, Legolas almost bumped into a figure all clad in white at the level's gate who cleared their throat with their eyebrows raised when he tried to push past them with a vague, murmured apology.
"I can see, the Sindar of Eryn Lasgalen are still not big on warm welcomes."
"Mithrandir?" Legolas stopped in surprise.
The maia had been seen close by again and again in the last few days, most of the time, in Ithilien, in Emyn Arnen, in Osgiliath, even by the ruins of Mordor in the distance. That he was returning already though he'd left Minas Tirith right after Aragorn's and Arwen's rescue, confirmed something that Legolas had already suspected for some time: Mithrandir was saying good-bye. He was one of those that had nothing left keeping them here anymore.
Though it was making Legolas sad, seeing one more person leave, in this case, he would give Men the chance to spend a few last hours together with their friend. For him, this wasn't a final goodbye, after all.
"You will excuse me, right? I hope you'll be staying long enough for another evening at the fire together."
"What's a few days of lingering more or less for people like us?"
Mithrandir winked at him, not as cheerfully as usual though. His eyes repeatedly roamed Legolas' sloppy appearance, his wide, old tunic, and dirty riding boots. "Shouldn't your father have taught you how a realm leader needs to appear?"
Legolas had seldom cared less about his looks. "He's tried, but I lack his love for exaggerated jewelry alone for that. I don't mean to be impolite, but I'm being expected."
"Are you now?" Mithrandir's headshake left no doubt that he'd been better informed about certain events than Legolas liked. He didn't like feeling analyzed so deeply by people he knew so little about in return.
Just like the other members of the Fellowship of the Ring, he owed his life to the maia in more than regard, but they'd actually never talked much. Mithrandir's dealings had always rather been with Thranduil. When it had come to the White Council, Legolas had never even been allowed in the room; and on their journey in the war, too, thanks to Legolas' night watches and Mithrandir's leading duties, there had been surprisingly little time for conversation. There'd always been some distance between them that had been quite convenient in some way. Mithrandir had a talent for telling you things you didn't want to hear.
"At least I hope so." Only reluctantly, Legolas accompanied the maia through the gate, still feverishly looking for a way to get away as quickly as possible. "Otherwise, I did indeed realize too late that my path almost led me into an abyss."
"It's not even ever too late for short-lived beings at their last breath. So why should elves of all people be denied the chance to make up for mistakes?" Mithrandir's long beard twitched suspiciously. No matter how old he got, his biggest joy still came from standing by somebody with advice.
"Go now," he smiled when Legolas took a breath of relief. "Because, making others wait, that, immortality should never be an excuse for. If you hesitate for too long, all that's left to say good-bye to are shards of the past," he added, more solemnly, when Legolas took another questioning look around the yard.
Legolas needed a moment to understand which room in the guesthouse of the King Mithrandir was staring towards. It was the tired grief in his bright eyes making it clear. Recent events could leave no one cold who had ever spent extended periods of time in Imladris.
And whether he liked it or not: Legolas was among those affected by them the most.
The chambers that Erestor had occupied during his short stay in Minas Tirith was far smaller than the ones that high guests like the Steward and his wife stayed the night in during their visits, and than the ones of Legolas and Tarisilya, too. Only a single room with the most necessary equipment. It looked almost like a prison cell, Legolas found when he finally brought himself to open the door. There weren't even any curtains, no tablecloth, no vases, no pictures; nothing that would have expressed individuality. He doubted that it had been Aragorn's choice, assigning such a room to the elf that Lord Elrond had provided him with as an advisor back then. It had been Erestor's own decision to live so humbly.
Most of the time, the guesthouse was quite silent, and today, there seemed to be especially few servants in the hallways. The room itself wasn't breathing either. No creak of wood, no ray of sunshine falling through the window. A bed so smooth as if no one had ever used it. It was almost as if the room was trying to remind you that its former owner would never live here again. Erestor's family ring lay on the single simple table, that he'd sent to Minas Tirith back then after engaging in this game of lies with the Stewardaides. A deep black, massive jewel that Elrond's advisor had wanted Tarisilya to wear at some point, many centuries ago.
These were the surroundings of someone who hadn't had anything left tying them to this world for a long time, and who had yearned for another.
What made Tarisilya feel so low slowly started to reach Legolas' heart, too, after all. All of this was wrong; and first and foremost, this death had been so damn unnecessary, so useless, no matter how close you'd been to Erestor or not … In spite of the mistakes he'd made in the end, the librarian would have had much to give to the world of elves in this time of turmoil. Instead, his soul was now trapped in the Halls in loneliness, and no one could say for how long …
When the sun fought its way out from behind the clouds for a brief moment, another thing of metal flashed on the only chair, a part of which had been pushed under the table so that you couldn't make it out immediately. Expecting a weapon, Legolas rather reached for the item, out of caution alone, in case Tarisilya was really on her way here. It was a flute.
Footsteps he recognized immediately approached outside the door, so he quickly put the instrument down on the table and hurried to meet Tarisilya before she could possibly flee again right away.
But running was not what she was here for at all. With a large bag over her shoulder, she passed Legolas by to enter the room, greeting him with a surprised but tender smile. Opening the cabinet, she started to neatly fold and pack the few pieces of clothing in it. The flute and the ring, she carefully put in between them so that they wouldn't get damaged during the transport.
"Strange, isn't it? That someone so indifferent to his environment could indulge in art as abstract as the music of all things."
"You don't need to do this, Ilya." Legolas had an idea that it was Glorfindel who had asked her to pack Erestor's things. The Lord should rather be glad that he wasn't anywhere within reach, or Legolas would have told him a few things about going easy on pregnant elves.
"But I want to. His Majesty will send the messenger as quickly as possible. Since I already can't be at the ceremony in Imladris, I want to make myself useful at least. Besides …" Tarisilya hesitated for a moment, then pointed at the carpet next to the bed. "I had to look for something in here. It's too heavy for me."
Fulfilling the silent request, Legolas lifted the book that measured almost an arm's length and was so thick that Tarisilya in her condition was well-advised, not trying to move it herself. It had a black cover embroidered with gold and pages shimmering just as golden. The illustration of a rare black big cat had been stitched to the front.
"Open it," Tarisilya told him. "It was his gift for me. I'll probably spend the next few years reading even while I'll add my own thoughts to it. And I have to copy the last part immediately so that the messenger can bring it to Imladris. There's a few previous versions of the book, and whenever Erestor started a new one, first he copied everything he'd already written. Glorfindel wants to take the first versions to the west with him so that the elves there don't have to do without the wisdom and the observations throughout the centuries either."
A melancholic smile curled on her lips; it was clear, her thoughts were being in the past. "All I know so far is a few lines. Will you read me the first entry? I'll be done here soon."
Legolas did it hesitatively though it didn't quite feel right. This was something between Erestor and his wife, and when it came to this subject, he seemed to find the wrong words on principle anyway. He felt like intruding on a very private matter.
Erestor's round, plain writing was something you recognized immediately if you had ever tried to understand the organization system in Elrond's library. No title, no headline, no dedications or any images on the inside. The content started right at the top edge of the first page.
"First Age, in the year five hundred and ten:
So even the last big warrior of Gondolin has now fallen. While the others are singing songs of greatness and honor, I'm left with nothing but anger, hungry like the flame devouring the one who was meant to be the difference. He has spoken to me of the Valar's grace. What is left of these empty words? The shredded corpses he forced me to leave under the ruins of my house. Golden strands streaked with blood on a wall of rock. The dying light of the Golden Sun. A broken shield. The certainty that nothing on this world is forever."
This room was far too quiet, Legolas noticed once more. Even the quiet thud of the book being closed sounded like a crack of thunder. Or maybe it only was his own pulse, going dangerously quickly again already, that made him miss everything else. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Ilya? Hasn't this elf made you suffer enough, without you having to deal with his legacy on top?"
"The past can be unpleasant, can it not? No wonder, no one wants to read about it." Her tone had him startle as if she'd punched him. He had never heard Tarisilya talk like this, filled with so much cynicism. If she'd felt being treated unfairly, that had always resulted in sadness so far. The change scaring him ever since yesterday had come in this regard as well.
"Why? To spend your life with nothing but memories, at the expense of the present? Do you want to end like him?" His mouth was once again talking before he'd even really considered his words in his head. Erestor was one of the few beings able to make him lose control like that.
It had been long since he'd managed to think of this highly dangerous eccentric as the same enthusiastic administrative genius who had allegedly helped his father so much after the War of the Last Alliance. And the good deeds that Erestor had done before his death there made up, without any doubt, for many of his faults after the war, but it couldn't make all of the past forgotten.
To his surprise, Tarisilya still didn't get seriously angry. Only the bitterness remained when she came to stand opposite Legolas at the table, pulling the book up to open the few last pages that were still empty. Her fingertips were trembling when she traced the last entry's letters.
"If by that, you mean that I'm not viewing this world with so much trust anymore, you could be right. I can't bank on three thousand years worth of experience. I don't ever want to feel so overwhelmed by a situation again that I'd rather get help behind your back than find the guts to talk to you."
"You did what you thought was right." Bracing all his weight on the tabletop, Legolas reached out one hand to raise Tarisilya's chin so that she didn't look away in shame. "But I do have to wonder if I ever gave you the feeling of being inferior to me, so much that you can't even tell me when you think I'm wrong."
Instead of assuring him that he had never been patronizing her, she did exactly what he was asking her to. She answered honestly. Every of her words hit him like the icy touch of a dagger blade. "Between us, I was always the younger one. Why should I have changed anything about that? It was convenient. I could always trust you to hopefully do the right thing. I didn't need to take any responsibility. But that's over. Now at the latest." With her hand cradling her belly, she left no doubt what she meant. "I have to find a way to drop this role, both for our child and for myself. My father also used to tell me that you have no future when you live in the past."
Carefully turning the page, she stared at the empty space that only seemed to wait for someone to use it. "But Erestor made me see that you can't have one either if you don't even know the past. I have much to learn."
"Will you let me help you do so?" Legolas realized that he had been wrong once more. It would be endlessly difficult for Tarisilya, but in the end, it might indeed be good for her to take this job. He wouldn't keep her from it. He'd already restricted her freedom far too often without even wanting it; he understood that only bit by bit.
His fingertips caught a tear before it could even fall, then remained on her cheek. "I fear for you, Ilya. And for us. I don't want to lose you to philosophy."
And maybe that was the real reason why he couldn't really let the grief for a fallen Firstborn in for the first time. Because of the creeping fear that this tragedy would establish that abyss between his wife and him for good because she might become just as distanced, eaten up by her own demons just as much as a certain librarian once had.
"You will not. I can never live without you anymore." It was her turn to wipe away a tear of relief from his face, to breathe a gentle kiss to his hand.
But then she pulled away from his grasp, slowly enough to not startle him again. "This path has been assigned only to me though, and you will not always like what is waiting on it for me. I will never be helpless again." Taking a deep breath, she closed the book and grazed the large, glowing eyes of the image on the front. "Like it or not: I'm the watcher now. Know that I won't be looking away just because it's you."
"I would never ask you to. Still, maybe there's at least one thing I can you support with. Copying takes a lot of time, elwen, especially if you don't want to make Lord Glorfindel wait for it for too long. I'm able to see well enough again by now, to manage that." Tarisilya would hopefully know how hard it had been for him to make this offer, and not only because his eyes were still burning unpleasantly every now and then. That it was mostly her, he wanted to do this for, not least because he did listen when she said something and hadn't missed her critique earlier either.
There were many ways that he, too, could and wanted to learn from her in, and he should finally make a start. This whole exhausting labor might make sense in a way he just couldn't see yet. For her sake, he was ready to do his part.
Tarisilya's expression brightened a little. She nodded, it looked grateful. "I've already ordered paper from the scribes. Let's get started right after lunch."
"As you wish." Legolas already felt once more as if he'd just climbed a steep mountain in a minimum of time. Tarisilya, too, looked pale and haggard. Being inside this room shook her visibly. For now, it had to be enough for him to know that she was still standing by him.
"Come on, you still need a lot of rest." He carefully lifted the book that would from now on probably remind him whenever when he'd enter their chambers how important another elf had once been to Tarisilya. He wondered if he would ever get rid of this thorn in his heart, in spite of everything.
"I cannot sleep now. I finally need to write to the others before we can eat with the royals." But she did follow him, leaving the packed bag next to the cabinet so that the messenger could get it later.
"Lord Celeborn is surely worried sick already. I wouldn't have survived the last few months without him. And someone has to go look for Conuiril. Maybe she's still on the ship."
That Tarisilya was already doing well enough to worry about her cat, was somehow calming. Legolas tried his best to keep a straight face. "Who knows, maybe she likes it in Lórien? If you need something to pet, there's enough squirrels at Cair Andros."
"Then it's about high time I finally get to meet them." A smile of his wife, no matter how wistful, could bring light to a tormented soul even on a day like this.
After everything that had happened, Tarisilya gave Aragorn great credit for freely offering to hold a mourning ceremony in the early evening, in the same spot of the White Tower's courtyard where they had once mourned the elvish victims of the Stewardaides. There was no grave yet this time either, no relatives in this city, only memories and the flames towering up towards the sky.
But this time it wasn't just Gimli who joined them. Mithrandir was present as well, just like a few soldiers and many workers who had come to appreciate Erestor very much in his time spent here. In his undeniably subjective final report to Aragorn, Glorfindel had done his best so that there wouldn't be even more mistrust towards elves and people on Middle-earth would remember about Erestor that he'd stood by his people's side for millennia.
Tarisilya was very grateful about Gimli's presence in particular. Just like last time, he was by her side immediately when she joined the others, as the last to do so. Writing those letters and copying the book pages had almost made her forget the time, once Legolas had reluctantly left her alone with the latter, to go ahead.
But that had been necessary. Now that the last pigeon was on its way and that she – not least thanks to her husband's help – had already made good progress with her work, she felt somewhat ready to make it through the ceremony. Especially with someone by her side who, after their first initial issues, was always helping her mostly when Legolas was once again ducking out of something.
He'd come at least. But that he remained standing at the other side of the fire as if he didn't even notice her, hurt, especially after the last few hours of silent harmony that she'd actually spent with the feeling, he could comprehend a little why what they had done there was so important.
"You need to understand." Gimli touched her elbow, embarrassed, that was all he dared to do.
"Oh, I do." Tarisilya heard it herself that she was already venting her anger again. She saw it in the way, Aragorn and Arwen were startling who had never got to know her like this. She just didn't have the strength to pretend right now. "Erestor still stands between us, even now."
Gimli tried to object but closed his mouth again because he couldn't think of anything to sugarcoat the situation with, and started to fidget with his long, dark jacket.
Tarisilya signaled Arwen that she was ready for them to start singing after she had briefly eyed her husband through the flames once more.
The hazy orange light of dusk and the fire made it hard to tell, but she was almost certain, she'd spotted a suspicious glistening on his cheeks before his eyes closed firmly.
At least, Legolas joined the laments, word by word, and his bright, beautiful voice supported Tarisilya's every time with the necessary stability when it threatened to break. For that, she was quite grateful in the end after all.