Thank you Lady of Legolas soooo much! If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be publishing this chapter. Anna.
Chapter Six: Headaches and daydreaming

Arwen slid out of her bed and padded across the floor until she reached the doors with large windows set into the wood. There she flung them open and breathed in sharply as a bitter wind swirled around.

It would do her cold no good; she knew that perfectly well. But she needed to regain some touch and closeness to nature. As an elf, even though she was no longer immortal, she needed nature more than medicine to heal her.

The snow in the wind melted in her thick, luxurious hair and the ends tickled her cheek in turn as it swirled around her head.

In the bracing wind, taking the full brunt of its strength, she felt her head becoming less muddled and she stepped out onto the balcony, one of the many, and looked across the landscape.

The snow coated landscape looked dreary and dead. The leaves were still on the trees, hidden by their icy encasement, they were green, but to an elf's eyes, already Arwen could see them loosing their glow. The elves' departure to the Undying Lands was another blow to the Evenstar. She had been prepared to face mortality and embrace it, but she had always counted on the support of her kindred. Elrond, Galadriel, all the elves that had played prominent parts in her life had disappeared.

They had mounted a ship and had fled.

She was alone.

Elessar was always with her, but even he could not understand the pain she felt. The loneliness of mortality was cruel indeed.

~

Eldarion sat up and immediately regretted the action when he felt drums pounding in his head.

'You shouldn't have drunk so much,' a nagging voice said in his head. It sounded remarkably like Legolas'. 'Mortals cannot handle their drink. Feeble' it added with a silent laugh.

He opened his eyes and was shocked to see the form of the elf sitting on the bed in front of him.

"Good morning," Legolas said without a smile.

"G-good morning," Eldarion replied. The prince of Mirkwood was in his chambers? Why was he in his- Oh no.

The man groaned loudly and put his sore head in his hands. "I didn't?" he said softly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder that squeezed the muscles and Eldarion found himself leaning into the touch.

"You didn't," Legolas whispered.

"Thank god," the man said before blushing slightly and fumbling on his words. "I-I mean... not that...."

Seeing the amused smirk on the wood-elf's face, he buried his head in the satin covers and lay there for a while.

"Eldarion," Legolas said softly. "What happened last night..." He took a deep breath and tried to remember what he had been telling himself all last night. Mentally screaming at himself for what he had done, encouraged and enjoyed.

"It was a mistake. Lovely but a mistake."

He did not wait for an answer but stood up and left the room without a backward glance.

"Legolas," Eldarion said slowly, lifting his head up equally slowly. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew what was going to happen, what had happened. But he had ignored it. He should have credited Legolas with more intelligence than to think that a relationship between men- a man and an elf- would ever work out.

Eldarion slowly stood up and looked in the mirror.

His hair was disheveled and his eyes were still bleary from sleep. His skin was too pale in comparison to the misty, but still hard grey eyes. His stance was that of his office. Proud and tall, a true son of the last King of the Numenoreans.

He was hiding from himself by playing along with this game, hoping in vain for something from Legolas.

He was twenty-seven. Considered old enough to be a man amongst his people. Looked up to, revered to, he should stop playing the wistful daydreamer and play instead the Prince.

~

Inside everyone there is a daydreamer. In some they are more prominent however. Legolas was one of those people.

He was dreaming of a time, a day, a world where titles would not matter.

He and Eldarion would be able to go where they liked, do what they liked, and loved when they liked.

It was a pleasant dream, but a stupid one. It would never happen and the prince knew it well enough.

"Why did you not aid us?" he heard the King of the Mark ask sharply.

"Legolas?"

Maybe in that world, his father would not mind. He would be pleased and proud of his son who had done and accomplished so much in life. Legolas should have been praised. He had done so much.

He was part of the legendary Fellowship of the Ring. He had slain hundreds of orcs, he had many times protected King Elessar. But that was soon forgotten.

"Legolas!"

Legolas would have the world filled with trees, plants. These stone cities and countries would be taken apart. Ruined by the very thing that made it: nature.

"Legolas Greenleaf!"

The elf sighed and tilted his head to look out the window. How much he wished to be in that imaginary world. Running under the boughs of the tall trees, hand in hand with his fair Prince Eldarion.

A body blocked his view and reluctantly Legolas looked up.

"Are you with us now?" an angry voice asked.

"Hm?" the wood-elf replied and stared into Eomer's angry blue eyes.

How much he resembled the golden-skinned youth that had been Legolas' first love. The men of the Roherrim were beautiful; they were not given enough credit for it. Their strong limbs, blue eyes, and shining blonde hair.

"I asked you, prince why did you not aid us?"

"Eomer, friend," Faramir said with a hand gesture towards his seat. "Please sit."

Legolas looked up into the angry blue eyes and wondered why the man was so angry. "What have I done?" he asked Elessar in elvish, hoping that the other men present would not understand him.

"You were ignoring him," Elessar replied. "Where you off daydreaming again?" The King chuckled. "You must learn to control that habit of yours."

"My apologises milord," Legolas said sincerely. "My mind was occupied."

"Occupied indeed," Eomer muttered and took a sip from his chalice.

The table was a circular thing. Seated around it was two Kings, two princes and a Steward.

King Eomer of the Mark sat next to Elessar the Elfstone and next to Elessar sat his dutiful Steward: Faramir son of the late Denethor. Aside from Legolas, the other prince was Imrahil, ruler of Belfalas, a small coastal country with sweeping cliffs and majestic seas that crashed into the small bays and coasts.

It was a beautifully rugged country. Untamed by the hammers of men, its main city was that of Dol Amroth.

They were all here to sort out the situation of the orcs.

"I am sorry that we could not aid you in defending the borders of Rohan but we have trouble currently, lurking closer to home," Legolas said softly.

There were mumbles of agreement from all around the table.

"It is fine for Gondor and Mirwood!" Eomer cried, banging his fist onto the table heavily and making the glasses tremor. "You have men, healthy, able men that are willing to fight. What do I have? I have men that are scared of fighting in case they never see their wives, their children again. We are still recovering from the attacks during the War of the Ring, it will take decades before Rohan is completely replenished with fighters. What should we do? Sit back and let the orcs burn our villages and loot our homes?

Already I have had word that one village along the Anduin has been attacked. The children there are going to be orphans."

Immeadiatley Legolas' mind went to Lina, the small girl he had found. Her father would have fought for her, he tried to console himself, but he could still remember the burning images of towns and of the thatched buildings from the first attacks. He did not wish it to happen to her.

"You are not alone Eomer," Prince Imrahil said coolly, his grey eyes rational. "I have barely enough warriors to keep my borders protected. Many of us fell in the service of Gondor."

It was not meant as a direct jab at King Elessar, but the man winced all the same. It seemed his fault that the armies were depleted. But he knew that it was not.

"Well what about the other elves? They used to be the mightiest of warriors, know where are they? Hiding in their woods? The Galadrim aided us at Helms Deep, why cannot they again?" Eomer's questions were directed towards Legolas though the prince was not of that type of elf.

"Do not take it out on Legolas," Imrahil said kindly, with a swift glance towards the elf, which nodded, the action was barely perceivable.

"The elves are gradually diminishing each day. We see regularly ships sailing down the Anduin from Lorien and other places that the elves lived. I have also received news from Cirdan of the Havens that the same thing is happening there. If it is like anywhere else inhabited by the fairer folk, soon they will all be gone. They are hanging on for something. That something will soon be gone though. I do not know what it is."

"Neither do we," Legolas said quietly.

"A touching story," Eomer said sarcastically. "But we must return to the point of this meeting. What are we going to do? Orcs will stop for no one."

"The only way to prevent these attacks is death," Faramir said. "We'll just have to defend our borders as best we can."

"That is not good enough!" The King of Mark was an awesome sight to behold. His eyes were cold and urgent. His love for his people was evident. "I do not wish to fail them like my uncle...." he added.

"Your uncle did not fail them," Elessar said. "He was a noble man, he was just blinded by Saruman's powers. Many, Saruman had under his spell, including Gandalf for a short while. Tis nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yet I still am," Eomer protested and slumped back in the chair with the sigh of one weary of fighting and talking. The King of Rohan had aged mightily in the past twenty odd years. At the corners of his eyes were lines and his high forehead was marred with the lines from the frowns that so often rested there.

Everyone around the table had aged, Legolas thought glumly. Everyone except him and perhaps Imrahil. The man had some elven blood in him and it kept him looking young, but too one day he would die and leave Legolas on his own, alone and without friends. All that he knew and love would leave him behind. That was the punishment he received for the love and friendship he gave mortals, their death.

Even the mighty King Elessar Telecontar was aging. The blood of Elendil and the ancient King of Men, could not prevent the inevitable. Both he and Arwen would be left behind to grieve. But even she would soon part from the world.

Undómiel's mortality meant that she would be able to leave Middle-earth's shores as well though.

Only Legolas of the Elves would remain. Dwelling under the trees until the grief of their passing was too unbearable, then he would answer the desperate call of the Sea in his heart.

"How many fighters do we have?" Legolas asked, looking up.

"In total? I would say that Gondor could supply nigh on 20,000 strong, able- bodied fighters. Ithilien?" Elessar said turning to Imrahil.

"My country is small but my men are honourable and would seek valour. Four thousand," Imrahil said proudly.

"Ithilien also would offer her small troops, along with the Rangers of Ithlien, five thousand we boast," Faramir supplemented.

"Mirkwood's archers and swordsmen are dwindling, most of the elves are leaving, but we should be able to round up a party of a thousand at the least," Legolas said. "What does Rohan say?"

All eyes turned on Eomer.

"Ten thousand," was all he said.

"Then we may meet these forces with an army of forty thousand," Elessar announced and raised his glass. "We will divide them evenly amongst the lands and borders and together we will defeat this common enemy. A toast. An alliance between the great lands of Middle-earth."

The other glasses were raised except Legolas' who remained in his hand, but not held aloft.

Another alliance, he thought bitterly. Another promise to be broken. Mirkwood may not be able to hold their side of the promise. He knew that all his warriors no longer wished the clash of metal on metal, but the ripple of wood on water.

But he must at least hold up pretence. 'The false face must hide what the false heart knows,' he remembered his father saying him. 'That is the game of politics. You never win and you never lose, you just gain something of not much help'.

Legolas slowly raised his glass as they toasted.

"An alliance."

How many times had he heard that said?

Too many.

~

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