Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing the LOTR characters for a while…
A/N: The chapter is dedicated to the restaurant 'The Hobbit' and all my reviewers, with special regards to Lady Akiko and Hermione (for being so enthusiastic about my work! Thanks! It helps to know someone cares.)
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'In fact, Elves appear to have deteriorated generally since the coming of humans. If you meet Elves, expect to have to listen for hours while they tell you about this- many Elves are great bores on the subject- and about what glories there were in ancient days. They will intersperse their accounts with nostalgic ditties and conclude by telling you how great numbers of elves have become so wearied with the thinning of the old golden wonders that they have all departed, departed into the West. This is correct, provided you take it with the understanding that Elves do not say anything quite straight. Many Elves have indeed gone West, to Minnesota and thence to California, where they have great fun wearing punk clothes and riding motorbikes.'- The Tough Guide to Fantasyland, Diana Wynne Jones
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"The nightmares- they grow worse. They possess me, mind, body, and soul, at night- and haunt me like specters that one sees flitting at the edge of their vision during the day. I cannot escape them. I grow thin and wearied because of them. I can no longer eat, can no longer sleep. I spend my days wrapped in thick coils of fear and pain, reliving the days of hell that were inflicted upon me."
Elrond held his thin wife close to him, afraid to squeeze her tighter lest she might shatter within his embrace. Her tears soaked the front of his tunic, and as she spoke her voice quavered with pain.
At least she was speaking- for the first few weeks after he had revived her she had said not a word.
And honestly, she scared him while she was like this. She had always been strong, blazing with spirit. It was for this reason he had fallen in love with her- but now she was a mere wraith of the woman she had been before. He had despaired himself for the past months, devoting all of his free time to waiting upon her, but to little avail. He could only heal physical wounds- he could not heal mental. Again and again he thought of the elves that had been so tortured by the original dark lord that they had become themselves Orcs. And again and again he wondered if she was not dying from a broken heart.
"What would you have me do, love?" asked Elrond, desperately trying to keep his own voice calm. He did not need to add the burden of his own pain to hers.
"Let me go," she answered.
"What?"
"Let me go, love. Let me leave this place."
"Do you mean you wish to live in Lothlorien?"
Celebrian gave a laugh devoid of emotion. "No, I do not. I mean that I wish to depart over the sea, to live out my days in the old paradise with our ancestors. I believe that is the only way I can achieve my true healing and happiness."
Elrond was staggered. If she departed over the sea- he would never be able to see her again. To hold her in his arms, to admire her sleeping form as the morning sunlight traced patterns upon her face. Although he had feared for her death, it had not fully occurred to him that he might have to live without her one day. He didn't know…if he could manage. How does one willingly let go of a woman they have spent thousands of years with?
"Please, Elrond, my life, my sky, my star. If you truly love me, then let me leave." Celebrian slipped from his embrace and took his hand within her own emaciated grip, staring desperately into his eyes.
This was no way for her to live, he told himself. If he truly did love her, then he could not be selfish in such a matter.
"I will miss you dearly," he answered, voice finally breaking.
Celebrian gave the first true smile that he had seen since the day she had departed for her mother. "And I you."
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A few days later, a white boat was settled upon the shore of Middle Earth, awaiting its departure. Upon it were Celebrian, her handmaidens, and one stout sailor to guide the ship along its journey.
"Good bye, my mother," cried Arwen, waving her hand feverishly in the air. Beside her were her brothers, her grandfather, and her grandmother.
Her mother lifted one hand in a solemn farewell. Already she seemed to have recovered a little with the promise of a new land that calls all of her people.
Arwen would miss her dearly. Despite the fact that her family stood beside her, she felt truly alone in the world. She had not seen her Legolas for nearly a year, and that departure had been a bitter one. The only thing that had comforted her while in Rivendell was the ability to care for her mother, but now she, too, was departing from her.
"Grant me one last favor, my daughter. Be strong, and take care of your father for me. This parting will not be easy for him." Celebrian said, as she sat upon her bed with her Arwen.
"Yes- of course, mother," answered Arwen.
"I want you to have this, Arwen," Celebrian said, handing her daughter a beautifully wrought silver pendant. "It has been in our family since the dawn of time. Take care of it, and someday you will be able to hand it to your own beloved one."
"Will I ever see you again?" cried Arwen, taking the pendant into her grasp.
"Maybe. But maybe not. No matter what happens, though, I will always be with you."
She shuddered and clasped the pendant that her mother had given to her in her hand, but it offered her no comfort. Not like the golden chain had- but then she had been younger. Her mind wandered back to the parting conversation between she and her lover.
"Come back with me, to Rivendell," Arwen had pleaded.
But Legolas merely smiled that benign smile of his and shook his head. "I cannot- I have duties here to attend to, and you have yours. It seems we shall just have to be separated for a time, Arwen."
Again he had slipped the chain from his neck to give to her, but she stayed his hand. "Let it be a comfort to you, this time, love. The days and times grow darker, and one needs such a reminder as this. To be a light in the darkness rising"
Legolas looked at her longingly. "They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. But I cannot think it while you are here in front of me- my heart is fond enough. I hope that yours is as well."
"It is," nodded Arwen, beginning to weep.
"Please, don't cry- we'll see each other again. I promise. We shall be each other's light"
When finally she came back to herself, the boat was just a mere speck on the horizon. Her brothers and her grandparents were seated in the chariot that had brought them to the shore, waiting patiently for the rest to join them. But her father was standing by himself, a little farther off on an outcropping that looked over the sea.
Arwen's heart went out to him, and remembering her promise she wandered up the shore and stood silently by his side.
"I cannot believe that she is gone," he said after a few moments, his voice sounding distant to her. His hair was whipping out behind him, tossed by the ocean wind.
Arwen buried her face in his back, wrapping her arms about his chest. "Oh, Father," she sighed.
He turned and took her in his arms. "Arwen. You are all I have left of her now. You always reminded me so much of her…"
"Let's go," she said gently, taking his hand and leading him back to the chariot.
Her grandmother smiled sorrowfully at them as they took their seats.
"We are all grieved," she spoke. "Let us heal our pain with a few days of rest and remembrance- in Lothlorien."
The carriage lurched into motion, and then they were off to the birthplace of Celebrian, the paradise of the golden wood.
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"Anon, good traveler, why dost though come to my wood?" spoke the boy, wariness betrayed in his figure. He laid a careful hand upon the hilt of his sword.
The traveler was taller than he was, swathed in a long, dark robe with his face hidden by a hood. "I have business here," the voice answered from between dark folds.
"What kind of business, may I ask?"
"You may," said the man, a sort of grim amusement coloring his speech. He threw off the cloak and drew his own sword. "I have come, young one, to teach thee a lesson! Draw!"
The man came at him quick as a flash, so that the boy barely had time to parry. But parry he did, and then charged the man himself.
"I think it is I who will teach you a lesson!" cried the boy, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes and smiling in excitement.
The man smiled back at him, and threw back his own golden locks as he pushed against the boy's blade. As he did so he revealed himself not to be a man, but an elf. A handsome elf with green eyes.
"You have gotten better, Estel!" he praised.
Estel answered him by breaking his sword free from their lock and charging him again. In the months he had spent here, it had become sort of a tradition between them to role- play and test their agility as duelists. Estel had come to look forward to their play, when he could pretend to be an invincible hero and save the woods from 'evil' Legolas.
"Thank you, but should you be complementing me?" he asked after a moment.
"I suppose not," laughed Legolas, and gave a quick upstroke, catching Estel in mid-swing underneath his sword. Estel groaned and pushed back against him, but then Legolas's support was gone and he stumbled forward onto the ground. It didn't hurt, of course, because of the padding of the fallen leaves.
Legolas brought the tip of his sword underneath Estel's chin. "It seems that I have won."
Estel gritted his teeth as the sword was withdrawn and then leapt forward and tackled the elf about the waist.
Legolas fell to the ground under his weight, and the two rolled down the forest slope, laughing hysterically. They landed in a heap, with Estel on top of the other, unable to move due to their mirth.
"You certainly are a sore loser," gasped the elf after he had caught his breath. "Remind me never to engage you in true combat." Fitting, though, for the future king of men, Legolas thought.
"I am because I never lose!" said Estel with a grin, standing up and raising his arms to the sky. "You should know that by now, Legolas!"
"Oh, indeed," answered the elf, desperately trying not to laugh at the picture the boy made.
"Prince!" interrupted one of the maidens of their village, calling down the slope. "The king calls for you, and the boy."
Both were reluctant to oblige, but in naught but a few moments they stood in front of the king's throne, along with a few of the nobility. Legolas had never liked the nobility, even when he was little. They always used to look at him disdainfully- maybe it was because since he was the blood-heir, they could not take the throne before him.
Thranduil ran a critical eye over his son's appearance. For the first time Legolas noticed that his clothes were dirty and rumpled from the roll down the hill. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair, brushing out the few dry leaves that clung there.
"We have decided that the boy is well recuperated and able to travel home now," began Thranduil. "We are sending him back to Rivendell."
He then turned to Estel. "We shall give you a horse, and some men to accompany you."
Estel nodded solemnly. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy who only moments earlier had been laughing and playing with Legolas. His face was hard, betraying no emotion, though he must be disappointed. "Thank you, king."
Thranduil inclined his head, and then waved the boy away. Estel exited without a word.
"We have an important package that must be delivered to Lothlorien immediately," the king addressed his son. "If you wish, you may bear it."
"Of course!" cried Legolas, and then berated himself for appearing too eager. But this might be the chance to prove himself to his father! And adventure, while he was at it…
One of the nobles brought forth a long object wrapped in cloth, bearing rather the shape of a large sword. As the noble handed it to him, Legolas nearly dropped it because of the weight. It was the heaviest sword that he had ever handled, if indeed that was what it was, seemingly wrought not of metal but some more indestructible material.
"This is the sword of Gorthaur," his father answered his unspoken question, "the most cursed of objects besides the heirloom of Isildur, which is lost to us now forever. It holds great power, power enough to strike down one of his servants. Elrond was bearing it to Lothlorien to be watched over by Galadriel when he heard of his wife's condition, and was sidetracked here. He left it to my keeping until it was safe again to bring it out into the open and make the rest of the journey.
"The Orcs have been quiet now for nearly two months, so we have decided to attempt the transfer. The Witch-King is very eager to have it so that his power would be no longer challenged, so the utmost care must be taken on this journey. Do you understand?"
Legolas nodded. "Aye, father. You need not worry; I will take care of it."
Thranduil studied his son for a few moments, a strange expression upon his face.
"Very well. Prepare for your journey, and depart at once. Good luck."
Legolas bowed quickly, then hurried to his room to gather together supplies. He traveled lightly; he brought only his quiver and bow, a light elvish sword, and then strapped a sheath the size of Sauron's sword to his back. It went from his shoulder to his hip, it was so large.
Carefully, he un-wrapped the blade from its cloth. It was double-edged, sharper than steel, and dark as obsidian. The light seemed to vanish upon its surface, so black it was. His slid it gracefully into its sheath, and the material sang like a bell in the air as it moved. Cursed though it was, it was a magnificent weapon. He knew exactly the responsibility he had taken on for this journey.
After grabbing some travel food provisions from the kitchen, he was ready to depart. He said no goodbyes to his subjects and friends, but instead slunk out of a side passage, thinking it better to depart in silence instead of pomp and circumstance. He shouldn't attract any attention when he was not even begun on the quest.
The passage led out to a seldom-used path, which only his people could pick out if they tried. So he was surprised to find someone already there.
"I knew you would go without saying goodbye. Your father assigned you something important, didn't he?"
Estel looked seriously up at him, stroking the muzzle of his mount. His escort was a way off, waiting on the real forest trail.
He was a perceptive child indeed. "How did you know that?"
"When I was leaving an elf walked by with an object wrapped in cloth. He looked as though he was disgusted to touch it, so it must have been important. The only reason they would bring it to the throne room was if someone were to get rid of it," Estel studied the sheath on Legolas's back curiously. "Let me accompany you. I do not wish to go home yet."
"I cannot allow that. I will go on my own, young one. It is too dangerous."
Estel made a face. "It is not. No one ever beats me, remember?"
"You were laid up in bed for a week for precisely that reason, if you recall. Nay, return to Rivendell. I'm sure you will have enough foes on that journey. Goodbye, Estel."
"Goodbye, Legolas," said Estel solemnly, and then the child in him got the better of him and he ran and hugged his friend. "Take care. Don't get hurt, alright?"
"I'll be fine," Legolas assured him with a smile, gripping his shoulders. "May you have peace," he finished, and then freed himself from the boy's grip and took off down the path, dodging nimbly the rocks and tree roots. When he looked back, Estel was gone.
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She was calling. Her footsteps whispered over the ground beneath Arwen's loft. She was calling.
Unconsciously, Arwen obliged to her call and rose from the bed she had been sleeping in, walking half in a dream as she always did through the glowing wood of Lothlorien. Her feet led her down the path that led to her grandmother's mirror, the mirror of Galadriel. Yes, it was Galadriel who was calling her.
When Arwen arrived, her grandmother was standing in front of her mirror- water, and her father was standing a little father away, face hidden by shadows.
Galadriel smiled sadly at her. "Your heart still grieves for her," she said, not as a question but rather as a statement. Her grandmother always knew her mind.
"I was dreaming of her again," Arwen answered.
"Yes," said Galadriel laconically. "And you, son of my heart. Your grief still consumes you, even more than your daughter. That is understandably so. But one so wise and in such a position of power cannot remain disabled for too long."
Elrond did not answer her. Arwen turned her face away, grieved. It upset her terribly that her father hurt so much. "Is there not something we can do?"
Galadriel nodded and motioned to the basin of enchanted water. "I will show her to you once more. I am sure once you see how happy she is, you will no longer worry over her."
Pictures began to transmit through the mind-link that all three shared. Of a white ship on a cerulean sea, of women laughing and sharing secrets between each other, looking forward to the land of the Valar. Prominent among them was Celebrian, and she was glowing, just as she had before the Orc attack. Indeed, she was happy.
Gradually, the picture faded from before Arwen's eyes. She reached up and brushed away the tears that had formed during those few moments.
"I am glad she is healing," Elrond spoke, moving from the shadows. He still did not look fully recovered, but just those few images of his wife had managed to free him from the grip of his depression.
Arwen moved gracefully toward him, arms outstretched as she had when she was a child. Soon, she was safe in her father's embrace, and for the first time she fancied that everything would turn out okay. Her family would surpass this tragedy together.
"I have all of the love I need right here with me, besides," said Elrond, smoothing Arwen's hair from her eyes with a look of parental pride.
"Ah; but some of Arwen's love has been already taken without you knowing, Elrond," said Galadriel, looking at them through the corner of her eye.
Arwen froze, horrified. Of course Galadriel would know of her affair. She had not realized that until this moment.
Her father's face took on a guarded look. "Yes?"
"The Sindarian Elf Prince, of Greenwood, is it not?"
Images of Legolas and their love making rose suddenly to Arwen's mind, but she beat them back down with a vengeance. However, not quickly enough; her grandmother's eyes flashed briefly at her.
I had seen that their friendship would become important, Galadriel thought, but I had not known it went so far between them.
"Is it true, daughter?" Elrond asked softly.
"I am sorry father; I should have told you before I became so loose with him. Forgive me," insisted Arwen desperately.
"This will not do, Arwen. Our bloodline is the only that remains of the high kings and elves; an elf of your stature cannot behave with such irresponsibility. Now what shall I do with you?"
"What shall you do with me?! It is not as if I was changed irrevocably!"
"No; but how can I trust you after this? How will I know if you will not behave badly again?"
"You are overreacting!"
"Let her stay with me; I will watch over her and guide her as her mother would have," Galadriel cut in smoothly.
"Yes; I think that will be for the best. Do not let her leave this place," said Elrond coldly, turning away from his daughter.
"Father!" cried Arwen, tears filling her eyes. He was overreacting! She wanted to stay with him, not here, with people she hardly knew. Was what she had done truly that bad? Was it a crime to love another? Or was it simply a crime to grow up?
"Father, answer me," she growled desperately through gritted teeth, and received no answer. How could he be so cold?
With a cry, she turned and fled from the clearing, running away, anywhere. Desperation turned to anger, and then anger to sorrow and self-loathing. The energy was sapped from her, and she sank down beneath the boughs of a tree, wrapping her arms about her legs and burying her face in her knees. She had promised her mother that she would watch over her father, but now she had destroyed that, with her own hands.
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It was unnaturally dark for Greenwood on the path Legolas was walking, near the heart of the forest. It seemed not the same entity it had been before; as if it had changed somehow from the carefree place it once was. It was strange; it was as if the forest had literally been possessed. The gloom penetrated his heart as he fought his way through the mirk. He grieved for the forest and what it had become; he could not stand it.
But that was not all. From the moment he had entered the blackness he perceived eyes watching him, unfriendly eyes. He began to doubt ever taking this mission.
"Even in dark places there is light," he whispered to himself, clutching at his necklace.
Cackling came from around him, as if laughing at the notion.
"Who is there?" he cried, unsheathing the elvish sword at his side. His hands trembled as he held it before him.
The laughing came closer, and a pair of large, golden eyes confronted him. He cried out and dropped his weapon, and then the creature lunged.
"Yrch!" he yelled. Unable to retrieve his own sword, he unsheathed the morgol blade. It sang right through the attacking creature; such awesome power he had never wielded before.
The Orcs fell upon him mercilessly, but with Sauron's own blade he fought them off. The darkness around them became blacker and blacker, until Legolas could not see his own hand in front of his face; and then, just like that, the Orcs were gone.
The laughing, however, was still maintained. A voice, like the whisper of wind, murmured "Thief."
"Who is there?" he asked again.
"Do you not know? It was I who had once wielded that blade," it answered, again light, like wind. The tone had become even more sinister, and Legolas shrank from it.
"Gorthaur ," Legolas whispered.
The laughing, the horrible laughing, so increased in pitch that Legolas could not stand it. He brought his hands up to his ears and tried to block it away, but it would not go. A pair of fiery eyes formed themselves in front of him, all that he could see in the unnatural night. Was it merely a nightmare? Could he not awaken now? It had gone on long enough.
"No, elf, this is no dream," said Gorthaur, and then Legolas was being strangled by an invisible grip, lifting him high into the air. Tentacles of darkness wrapped themselves around his body.
The sword, he thought. It will save me. With a swift movement he slashed at the eyes of fire, and Gorthaur howled, dropping him to the ground.
Trusting his instincts, Legolas rose and ran, hopefully in the direction of the exit.
A stag, glowing white, appeared before him and offered him its back. It was one of the forest creatures he had known since birth, one of his loyal subjects. He thanked it and leapt upon it, knowing that it could take him away from this warped Greenwood of Gorthaur, this Mirkwood.
The darkness began to dissipate about him as the stag ran, and his heart sang with joy. He was going to make it!
He was just in sight of the exiting path, when an Orc leapt onto the stag behind him. Before he could react, he felt a heavy object connect with his skull, and he knew no more.
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"Yrch" is Orcs, in elvish
"Gorthaur" is elvish for Sauron
A/N: Yep, took a while again, didn't it? However, I promise, I'm back for the year.
I was inspired suddenly by some fanfictions I read, and this is the result. So what did you think? You think the quest is corny? Well, then, review and tell me. I rather like it, though. (BTW, I know in the movie Sauron had a mace but…I don't like them. So, in my story, he has a sword.)