"Legolas, what happened? Please, come out," Lenwe whispered to her twin.
Legolas just stared at the ceiling. Silver tears stained the wrinkled tunic.
*He's crying. What has happened?* Lenwe wept inwardly for her brother and friend.
"I killed him…it was my fault." The words came softly, and the speaker spoke as one condemned.
Lenwe immediately realized who he spoke of.
"Legolas, it wasn't your fault. Aragorn died of a heart attack. You carry a burden not meant for your shoulders. Let it rest."
Legolas trembled, remembering that day, three weeks ago.
"Aragorn has passed, yes. But he is at peace, finally. He wouldn't want you to waste away, mourning him."
Legolas turned away, weeping. Lenwe continued.
"I had only met Aragorn a few times. But he loved the sun, and the trees, just as you do. He would not want you to forsake the world because of his death." Lenwe risked a glance at the shaking Elf.
Legolas had relaxed slightly, and though he still trembled, he fell into a deep sleep. His eyes were open.
***~***
Three days later, the Great Hall
Legolas entered, slightly afraid. Lenwe had stayed with him for the past few days. He was still very thin, but color had returned to his face. In honor of his friends death, his hair hung loose.
Thranduil smiled at his son.
"Legolas, come, sit." Thranduil gestured to the last empty chair. Legolas froze. He stood there, dumbstruck.
For the chair they had offered him was not the chair he usually sat in.
Nay, this chair belonged to someone long dead…
Aragorn.
The Elf who sat in Legolas' chair arose, confused.
"M'lord, I am sorry. Have I caused you pain?" the Elf, called Earfea, had planned to stay another month, to arrange the wedding. He now planned, in light of recent events, to leave the next day. He and Thranduil had agreed that Legolas needed time to recover.
Earfea offered his chair to Legolas. Numbly, the prince sat down. Deciding not to wait for servants, Lenwe slipped to her brother's place and carried the food away. Thranduil noticed this, concerned. The vision of his son, frozen, played through his mind. Legolas had cried, which he rarely did.
But now, tears fell in a torrent.
*Legolas is very brave.* Thranduil thought. It had taken Thranduil himself six months just to eat in the Great Hall after his wife's death.
Legolas was still numb with fresh pain. It had been three weeks. Why couldn't he let it rest. Why?