Saltine Droplets

AN: Yes, this is my first LOTR fic, even though I've been obsessed for quite some time now. The end didn't turn out the way I had hoped. Please review and keep in mind, this has been done over a few weeks during lulls in French class.

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all know I don't own them no matter how much I love them. Sadly. Okay, on to the story!!

It is said that elves do not cry. Said that their hearts reside in their chests only, not in their thoughts, their actions, or their words. A single tear would ruin their fair face.

My father had always praised me. "This child will make a great king! He lives by his bow! Never let your heart get in the way my son and you shall be a great ruler." When I killed my first beast, the arrow sinking into its flesh with a snap, my face did not change. My eyes did not water as I watched my mother sail for the undying lands alone. I did not pause from my fighting as I witnessed my younger brother leave this world by way of the sword. Not once have saltine droplets stained my face.

During the Battle of Helms Deep, when I released arrow after arrow from my quiver, hitting some of the thousands of beasts below me; as one of the greatest eleven commanders died in my friend's arms; while I avoided death unlike so many of my comrades; time after time, my face was like that of stone.

But now, as the cold hand of Elessar rests in my own, am I close to tears. My dear friend, unflawed except for his mortality, the Greatest King of Men, the once formidable Ranger of the North, has now forever left this land of Middle Earth to never return.

I give my blessing to him in his new life and make to rise when the voice of Arwen across from me stops my feet. Her long, dark locks cover her face as she strokes her husband's hand. "Thank you. Thank you, Legolas." She looks up, and I fear there is a hint of moisture in her eyes.

I nod to her, feeling her pain. She has lost the man she loved, and I, my best friend. Taking it no longer, my feet start again and I make for the door. I push on the heavy wood, almost hoping that stepping out of the room will wake me from this awful dream. It doesn't.

As much as I will them not to, my thoughts drift to memories of Aragorn; king, warrior, husband, and companion. My hand rests on my heart trying to calm it, but it is no use.

Visions, words, memories flash before my eyes. Wave after wave of emotion rush over me and it is too much for me, I, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, trained to fight and win over anything, can not handle the waves running through me. I steady myself and wait for calm, slowly it flows into my veins and I close my eyes to feel a light breeze brush my face and blow through my hair.

Namarie, ninmellon.

The breeze stops and with a look to the sky, my eyes burn. And I believe that saltine droplets finally broke through the surface and shamelessly ran down my face. At last, my tears are shed.