Part Five: Set Adrift
He noticed every little mountain pass they rode through, taking care not to step upon even one branch that stuck out from the rocky ground. I did not understand the nervous glare in Frodo's eyes as we set through the Misty Mountains, but I have a feeling that the memory of our past journey through a darker pass has been set aflame through his heart, and mind.
Gwyn was beside herself in silence, her songs and lighthearted chatter stopping the moment the horses stepped upon the rocky path. There was something of despair floating in the wind, and of that sadness, the air was cold and crisp, wrought of hostility.
"You are not wanted here. Return back, " spoke the wind
"There are no trees waiting for you." hissed the clouds that passed fleetingly.
"You are not wanted. Return." sang an eagle, circling again and again over our heads.
Even rock seemed to speak as they clamored and chimed with our passing. Arod neighed often, jerking his way back to the paths we left, as if he could not stand staying for yet another slight moment. The sun was high, and its rising marked the seventh day of our journey. However, I felt as if only a mere hour has passed. In my heart, I know I will find peace only in wandering, riding forever for some unreachable land.
"My lord?"
Gwyn's gentle chirp seemed to jolt Frodo into a state of energy, and he looked up as well. The hobbit's face seemed to become quite strong, no longer pale as it once were, and his hands no longer shook with doubt. He led Ruphin with not a rein or saddle, but in the Elvish fashion, looking for all that is green, as if he was forever riding in such a way. He rode with the air of a hobbit learned in the ways of riding, with a dignity and a confidence to spoke of his inner maturity. Of course, the touch of Gwyn's hands upon his back and clasped around his waist must have served quite well as the purpose for such grandeur.
"Yes, Gwyn?"
""We ride to Rivendell, of which my mother speaks in the tones of brevity and respect. But the house of Elrond has passed. We ride now to a forgotten Home."
" - To an exiled Home." piped up Frodo, his eyes never straying far from my own.
"We have come this far. I promise, no harm shall fall upon you, for it is indeed a forgotten Home. No one dare pass through."
Gwyn bowed her head, lifting her hand to her heart. She murmured an apology and let the hand fall in salute. How long will it take for her to understand I no longer an heir to the Woodland Realm? If I were to speak of my refusal to inherit the throne, her eyes raise in tears, and Frodo wears a look of utter pain each time this happened. So I let it passed, though it eats away at my mind, and my heart. The cover of royalty has been lifted from me but even now, far away from home, Gwyn utters not my name, but "my lord" as if that is all I shall ever be, and all I should ever hope for.
"But, Legolas, what are you searching for?"
I would answer Frodo but I had not the heart to say it. So I let it be, and rode on ahead. The gentle reprimands of Gwyn reached my ear as I continued riding, and to those, Frodo's quick arguments eased my mind. I could quickly get lost in their words, and forget the cloud of memory that has already begun to form in my mind and blur my heart.
===
We stopped to sleep on the left side of a great outcrop of rock, to warn off the east blowing wind and to save our fire from being blown dead. I have grown used to pipe smoke, in fact, I have smoke quite a bit with Gimli over the years, and did not even second glance when Frodo removed from his pack his old pipe.
As I continued to prepare the pheasants we shot for dinner, I noticed that Gwyn stopped building the fire and walked to Frodo. I have forgotten that very few in our realm has seen a pipe, let alone the act of smoking one.
"What's that, Frodo?"
"It's a pipe. You never seen one?"
The birds were so bony, not at all as plump or well fed as the ones in our land, and I considered going back and trying to hunt for better fare. But the darkness which surrounded us was thick, as heavy as fog. A great many shadows has been spotted, making their way through the darkness and I did not desire to leave such two merry folks by themselves. Not with such an angry wind blowing.
"Why, even Legolas smokes!"
"Do not speak lies of my lord, Frodo."
"He lies not, Gwyn. I do, but I much rather breathe in the scent of fresh air, rather then smoke that clouds the lungs of hobbits and drawves alike."
Frodo laughed and puffed into the air a smoke ring, that made Gwyn stare off into the distance in wonder. She is but a child in my eyes, born in the spring of the frozen rain six hundred years ago. Such naivete and such merriment often made me feel the weight of my years sharply, as if a great knife is being honed against my skin. I have no longer the sense of joy that Gwyn has, even in something as simple as a night out among the stars and watching rings of smoke fade away into the sky's abyss. I grieve that I have lost such a pure side of myself.
"Do you want to try?"
"Can I?"
Gwyn's eyes flicked to me at first, in doubt and then she quickly took the pipe into her hands. Feeling its weight, she grasped the handle and placed it in her mouth. Frodo gestured to her how to take a breath of it, and she followed. How her eyes widen, and her cheeks flared! I could almost remember the first time I tasted smoke in my mouth, after Gimli's heavy laughter. There was no soothing property to it, no matter what they say. The pipe brings more ruin to my nerves then fifty goblets of wine.
But Gwyn took to the pipe far worse than I. She removed the pipe from her mouth and sat there, coughing, as Frodo hurried to pat her back in worry. All I could was laugh. She is, after all, but a child in my eyes, yet her words and actions have given more joy to Frodo then any of us, any of his past Companions could have.
It was a tender moment that I know I will look often to during times of pain and worry.
===
That night, I did not sleep, caring more to stay awake with my bow and quiver across my lap. How Gwyn sleeps, hugging herself into a ball to escape the cold. Frodo sleeps as well, though his eyes closed but only two hours ago. He has far greater a stout heart then before. I hear his speeches in sleep and in dreams, and they are enough to convince me of something I have already suspected.
How gentle love is, when one loves the right one. I have never felt that kind of love before. My heart flows as freely as the rivers of my home. If I were only born of a heart that were of wood and leaf, I would stay forever content, and live my days to its utter vacancy in peace. But the woman I love is already taken. Her heart belongs to another.
"We can not live like this, in hiding, Legolas."
"We need not hide any more, my Lady. Say yes, and rid us of this pain."
"I love another."
"You love me, do you not?"
Her fair skin against my own, the dark waves of her hair in my hands, the touch of her lips against my own - were I to live with those memories forever as a comfort to my grieving mind?
The flames of the fire were dying slowly, and with it the stars above seemed to go farther into the dark sky. The light seemed to fade away, leaving behind nothing more but darkness. And in that darkness I saw a reflection of her gentle eyes staring back at me.
===
It was an afternoon in her home. I sat quietly in the shadows of her room, drawing in the sun and wind that blew from the open windows. The sound of her footsteps climbing the stone steps of the palace of Men sounded like the beating of my heart. Around the palace, the distant peaks of mountains, so unlike the ones near my realm, could be seen, filled not with snow, but veiled in smoke. The conversations of men and women drifted from below, from the streets. They spoke of candid matters, haggling for food and arguing about petty thrifts, and the stench of food cooking seem to evoke the smell of fire in the air. The palace was always warm, lit with many fires, to warn away the cold. How she must have suffered from the memory of her home - it too was built of stone, and smelled of fire. But here, she was so far away from her people.
"Legolas."
Her eyes were wide with pain, and she hurried to fasten the lock on her door. But before she could turn to me, I rose from the corner and wrapped my hands around her shoulders. She has kept the smell of the river, solid and flowing, and of the trees, rubbed close to her skin. Its scent was a part of her people, our people, forever. Not even if she were to live a whole eternity with the race of men, she will never rid herself of that fragrance - and to that, I kissed, slowly, softly, never letting her hand slip from my own.
"You can not come here, like this alone. I have not the will to endure it."
"You love me, do you not?"
I have known her since the day I was born, our families of close kindred to one another. She would have been my wife, she would have been mine, if only she could have been mine - but since the day we met, her heart belonged to another. I have asked her the same question a thousand times, a millions times, as oft as new stars are born, but she never answered no. I think in her heart, she knows, if she were just to utter the word, shake her head, I would leave and never return. But she never answered.
She slipped away from me then, and hurried to unlock the door. Her body clothed in the fabric of men, her eyes darkened by weary nights of endless worrying, and the creases of pain forming ever so slightly against the eyes that I have loved - all of them spoke to my heart and made me drunk with sadness.
"Will you not run away? All you need to say is yes, and I'll do it. I swear."
When she turned to look at me, her eyes were filled with tears, and slowly she reached out to stroke my face. The touch of her against my own was so bittersweet, and filled with parting. Something in her has begun to fade, I see her light slowing being consumed by the avalanche of sorrow and anger around her. I could not save her from her fate.
"Leave, Legolas, and never return here."
"You mean not what you say."
"Leave."
"You love me, do you not, Arwen?"
===
It was sunrise when Gwyn awoke, her temperance already forged by the strict, but loving hands of her mother. Before she even placed a hand to her hair, or a piece of food to her mouth, she hurried to pack the blankets, rebuild the fire and set out to making breakfast. But regardless of how early she risen, Frodo was already awake, and preparing the horses for the day's journey. The gentle looks that they exchanged and the lighthearted and happy talk and laughter become a blessing to my ears. All night, I have heard nothing but the silence of long past days, where hope once lingered. But like the clouds that passed overhead, there was no hope left - only a veil of once were.
"My lord, what plagues your heart? Will you not let your servant hear of it?"
"No, Gwyn, it is a sorrow fit for only one who knows not what love truly is to feel. We ride to Rivendell today."
===
Note - and so begins my version of the events after Lord of the Rings. I know that this twist, and the twists yet to come, will upset quite a few people, but please, no flames! Feedback eaten and turn into creative fluids. thank you! By the way, Gwyn is, regardless of frist impressions, not a Mary Sue.
He noticed every little mountain pass they rode through, taking care not to step upon even one branch that stuck out from the rocky ground. I did not understand the nervous glare in Frodo's eyes as we set through the Misty Mountains, but I have a feeling that the memory of our past journey through a darker pass has been set aflame through his heart, and mind.
Gwyn was beside herself in silence, her songs and lighthearted chatter stopping the moment the horses stepped upon the rocky path. There was something of despair floating in the wind, and of that sadness, the air was cold and crisp, wrought of hostility.
"You are not wanted here. Return back, " spoke the wind
"There are no trees waiting for you." hissed the clouds that passed fleetingly.
"You are not wanted. Return." sang an eagle, circling again and again over our heads.
Even rock seemed to speak as they clamored and chimed with our passing. Arod neighed often, jerking his way back to the paths we left, as if he could not stand staying for yet another slight moment. The sun was high, and its rising marked the seventh day of our journey. However, I felt as if only a mere hour has passed. In my heart, I know I will find peace only in wandering, riding forever for some unreachable land.
"My lord?"
Gwyn's gentle chirp seemed to jolt Frodo into a state of energy, and he looked up as well. The hobbit's face seemed to become quite strong, no longer pale as it once were, and his hands no longer shook with doubt. He led Ruphin with not a rein or saddle, but in the Elvish fashion, looking for all that is green, as if he was forever riding in such a way. He rode with the air of a hobbit learned in the ways of riding, with a dignity and a confidence to spoke of his inner maturity. Of course, the touch of Gwyn's hands upon his back and clasped around his waist must have served quite well as the purpose for such grandeur.
"Yes, Gwyn?"
""We ride to Rivendell, of which my mother speaks in the tones of brevity and respect. But the house of Elrond has passed. We ride now to a forgotten Home."
" - To an exiled Home." piped up Frodo, his eyes never straying far from my own.
"We have come this far. I promise, no harm shall fall upon you, for it is indeed a forgotten Home. No one dare pass through."
Gwyn bowed her head, lifting her hand to her heart. She murmured an apology and let the hand fall in salute. How long will it take for her to understand I no longer an heir to the Woodland Realm? If I were to speak of my refusal to inherit the throne, her eyes raise in tears, and Frodo wears a look of utter pain each time this happened. So I let it passed, though it eats away at my mind, and my heart. The cover of royalty has been lifted from me but even now, far away from home, Gwyn utters not my name, but "my lord" as if that is all I shall ever be, and all I should ever hope for.
"But, Legolas, what are you searching for?"
I would answer Frodo but I had not the heart to say it. So I let it be, and rode on ahead. The gentle reprimands of Gwyn reached my ear as I continued riding, and to those, Frodo's quick arguments eased my mind. I could quickly get lost in their words, and forget the cloud of memory that has already begun to form in my mind and blur my heart.
===
We stopped to sleep on the left side of a great outcrop of rock, to warn off the east blowing wind and to save our fire from being blown dead. I have grown used to pipe smoke, in fact, I have smoke quite a bit with Gimli over the years, and did not even second glance when Frodo removed from his pack his old pipe.
As I continued to prepare the pheasants we shot for dinner, I noticed that Gwyn stopped building the fire and walked to Frodo. I have forgotten that very few in our realm has seen a pipe, let alone the act of smoking one.
"What's that, Frodo?"
"It's a pipe. You never seen one?"
The birds were so bony, not at all as plump or well fed as the ones in our land, and I considered going back and trying to hunt for better fare. But the darkness which surrounded us was thick, as heavy as fog. A great many shadows has been spotted, making their way through the darkness and I did not desire to leave such two merry folks by themselves. Not with such an angry wind blowing.
"Why, even Legolas smokes!"
"Do not speak lies of my lord, Frodo."
"He lies not, Gwyn. I do, but I much rather breathe in the scent of fresh air, rather then smoke that clouds the lungs of hobbits and drawves alike."
Frodo laughed and puffed into the air a smoke ring, that made Gwyn stare off into the distance in wonder. She is but a child in my eyes, born in the spring of the frozen rain six hundred years ago. Such naivete and such merriment often made me feel the weight of my years sharply, as if a great knife is being honed against my skin. I have no longer the sense of joy that Gwyn has, even in something as simple as a night out among the stars and watching rings of smoke fade away into the sky's abyss. I grieve that I have lost such a pure side of myself.
"Do you want to try?"
"Can I?"
Gwyn's eyes flicked to me at first, in doubt and then she quickly took the pipe into her hands. Feeling its weight, she grasped the handle and placed it in her mouth. Frodo gestured to her how to take a breath of it, and she followed. How her eyes widen, and her cheeks flared! I could almost remember the first time I tasted smoke in my mouth, after Gimli's heavy laughter. There was no soothing property to it, no matter what they say. The pipe brings more ruin to my nerves then fifty goblets of wine.
But Gwyn took to the pipe far worse than I. She removed the pipe from her mouth and sat there, coughing, as Frodo hurried to pat her back in worry. All I could was laugh. She is, after all, but a child in my eyes, yet her words and actions have given more joy to Frodo then any of us, any of his past Companions could have.
It was a tender moment that I know I will look often to during times of pain and worry.
===
That night, I did not sleep, caring more to stay awake with my bow and quiver across my lap. How Gwyn sleeps, hugging herself into a ball to escape the cold. Frodo sleeps as well, though his eyes closed but only two hours ago. He has far greater a stout heart then before. I hear his speeches in sleep and in dreams, and they are enough to convince me of something I have already suspected.
How gentle love is, when one loves the right one. I have never felt that kind of love before. My heart flows as freely as the rivers of my home. If I were only born of a heart that were of wood and leaf, I would stay forever content, and live my days to its utter vacancy in peace. But the woman I love is already taken. Her heart belongs to another.
"We can not live like this, in hiding, Legolas."
"We need not hide any more, my Lady. Say yes, and rid us of this pain."
"I love another."
"You love me, do you not?"
Her fair skin against my own, the dark waves of her hair in my hands, the touch of her lips against my own - were I to live with those memories forever as a comfort to my grieving mind?
The flames of the fire were dying slowly, and with it the stars above seemed to go farther into the dark sky. The light seemed to fade away, leaving behind nothing more but darkness. And in that darkness I saw a reflection of her gentle eyes staring back at me.
===
It was an afternoon in her home. I sat quietly in the shadows of her room, drawing in the sun and wind that blew from the open windows. The sound of her footsteps climbing the stone steps of the palace of Men sounded like the beating of my heart. Around the palace, the distant peaks of mountains, so unlike the ones near my realm, could be seen, filled not with snow, but veiled in smoke. The conversations of men and women drifted from below, from the streets. They spoke of candid matters, haggling for food and arguing about petty thrifts, and the stench of food cooking seem to evoke the smell of fire in the air. The palace was always warm, lit with many fires, to warn away the cold. How she must have suffered from the memory of her home - it too was built of stone, and smelled of fire. But here, she was so far away from her people.
"Legolas."
Her eyes were wide with pain, and she hurried to fasten the lock on her door. But before she could turn to me, I rose from the corner and wrapped my hands around her shoulders. She has kept the smell of the river, solid and flowing, and of the trees, rubbed close to her skin. Its scent was a part of her people, our people, forever. Not even if she were to live a whole eternity with the race of men, she will never rid herself of that fragrance - and to that, I kissed, slowly, softly, never letting her hand slip from my own.
"You can not come here, like this alone. I have not the will to endure it."
"You love me, do you not?"
I have known her since the day I was born, our families of close kindred to one another. She would have been my wife, she would have been mine, if only she could have been mine - but since the day we met, her heart belonged to another. I have asked her the same question a thousand times, a millions times, as oft as new stars are born, but she never answered no. I think in her heart, she knows, if she were just to utter the word, shake her head, I would leave and never return. But she never answered.
She slipped away from me then, and hurried to unlock the door. Her body clothed in the fabric of men, her eyes darkened by weary nights of endless worrying, and the creases of pain forming ever so slightly against the eyes that I have loved - all of them spoke to my heart and made me drunk with sadness.
"Will you not run away? All you need to say is yes, and I'll do it. I swear."
When she turned to look at me, her eyes were filled with tears, and slowly she reached out to stroke my face. The touch of her against my own was so bittersweet, and filled with parting. Something in her has begun to fade, I see her light slowing being consumed by the avalanche of sorrow and anger around her. I could not save her from her fate.
"Leave, Legolas, and never return here."
"You mean not what you say."
"Leave."
"You love me, do you not, Arwen?"
===
It was sunrise when Gwyn awoke, her temperance already forged by the strict, but loving hands of her mother. Before she even placed a hand to her hair, or a piece of food to her mouth, she hurried to pack the blankets, rebuild the fire and set out to making breakfast. But regardless of how early she risen, Frodo was already awake, and preparing the horses for the day's journey. The gentle looks that they exchanged and the lighthearted and happy talk and laughter become a blessing to my ears. All night, I have heard nothing but the silence of long past days, where hope once lingered. But like the clouds that passed overhead, there was no hope left - only a veil of once were.
"My lord, what plagues your heart? Will you not let your servant hear of it?"
"No, Gwyn, it is a sorrow fit for only one who knows not what love truly is to feel. We ride to Rivendell today."
===
Note - and so begins my version of the events after Lord of the Rings. I know that this twist, and the twists yet to come, will upset quite a few people, but please, no flames! Feedback eaten and turn into creative fluids. thank you! By the way, Gwyn is, regardless of frist impressions, not a Mary Sue.