Chapter Thirteen: Death

'If this is death' Legolas thought and sat up. 'Then it is far stranger than I ever thought.'

Looking around, he was in the middle of a plain. It was luscious and green, it reminded him of Rohan and a sudden sharp pang struck at his breast and Legolas gasped.

He would never see Rohan again.

The sky was clear and blue; it was not obscured as it had been before by the thick curtain of snow. The sun was bright and warm as it shone on the figure of the elf.

Legolas lifted up a sleeve and was startled to find that it was heavy and had some kind of armour on. It was a maroon colour, yet when he raised it higher, it got lighter in tone.

The prince sighed and stood up, swaying slightly as he felt nauseous.

The land around him suddenly started spinning and Legolas fell to the ground clutching his stomach and wailing.

"A! Tampa!" [Ah! Stop!] he cried and another wave of sickness washed over him. Suddenly Legolas felt a fresh breeze upon his brow and blinking, found himself staring at the Sea.

Next to him was the form of Elessar and Gimli. The ranger was not yet clad in the robes of his Kingship and Gimli was.... well Gimli.

Legolas' grinned widely and hurtled himself at the man. Maybe this had all been a dream. A horrible dream. He had survived! And hope sprung up and but then it disappeared quickly when he felt straight through Elessar.

They stood there, still staring at the Sea. As if nothing at all had happened. Legolas looked up with wide eyes from his position on the sand and started sobbing.

Before he could gather his senses, the air around him blurred again and he was back in the glade in Mirkwood.

He was shivering in the branch in the tree overlooking where his mother lay defenceless against the orc that was wielding the knife.

As if in slow motion, he watched the knife hurtled down at his mother's chest. Niphredil screamed loudly.

Legolas threw himself from the tree, he was moving far quicker than anything else. Maybe... maybe this was some kind of thing that took him back in time and he could correct something. Yes!

He stumbled slightly when his feet slapped against the ground but then he righted himself and was still sprinting at the orc.

The knife was only centimetres away from its target.

With a cry like a wild animal, Legolas launched himself at the orc and the same thing happened again. He fell straight threw the orc and onto the other side of Niphredil.

The knife stabbed down true and Legolas knew that this was not some dream to right a wrong, but a memory.

"Legolas Greenleaf," a voice commanded and Legolas blinked. His eyelid brushed against a tear on the verge of falling onto his cheek. It toppled off and started rolling down his pale skin.

Another tear and another tear came and then the landscape shifted again.

He was crouched on a grass path before a large hall.

The doors were impressively large. They looked large enough for an Ent to easily pass through them. Maybe that was the idea, Legolas thought light- headedly

The passage through the three different places made him feel dizzy and his stomach was still revolting.

He switched his gaze back up at the door. There was one knocker at normal height for an elf or man and then there were a couple of ones of different sizes.

Legolas chuckled slightly and got up on wobbly legs and staggered towards them. He reached the one that was at the right height for him and then knocked.

The sound was loud and seemed to echo around the valley.

"Legolas, enter," the same booming voice, answered.

Timidly, Legolas pulled open the doors and was confronted by a sight that made him reel back and gasp again.

In front of him stood one of the Valar.

Námo, Mandos, the guardian of the Halls of Mandos. The keeper of the House of the Dead.

Legolas then realised the truth, he was dead and this was to be his home for the rest of eternity. Turning around briefly, he stared helplessly out back into the valley.

Mandos was a majestic sight. The Valar was as tall as the highest knocker on the door and his mantle was black like a night and it was studded with gems that were brights as the stars.

Legolas turned back and faced the Lord. But he looked past the Lord and into the Halls of the Dead itself.

He could see the spirits of the dead flitting past, contented smiles on all of them. The Halls of Mandos was a place of rest for many, for those weary of life, it was their goal.

At the back he could see the most beautiful woman ever. Her hair was as dark as raven's wings, and yet it seemed darker. Her eyes were grey as a stormy sea and her fingers were thin and long as she spun the fabric of time onto the spindle. She was Vairë the Weaver: spouse to Námo.

Legolas' eyes then widened as he slowly recognised the woman that was walking towards him and finally stopped behind Námo.

Her skin was as pale and soft as the clouds in the sky and if her face was the clouds, then her hair was most definatley the white of the snow that fell from it in showers.

The fine white hair fell over her slender shoulders abundently. She was dressed in a simple beaded gown that was brighter than her hair. Enhancing the tone of her body was a vivid red mantle draped around her.

"Legolas," she murmured.

"Mother," he answered.

"My little elfling has grown up," Niphredil said with a smile, tears starting to fill her luminous eyes. "My, my, aren't you a handsome elf. You certainly took after your father."

Legolas had. He had the same darker skin and darker blonde hair. His features were softer than his father's though courtesy of his mother, and he had inherited a sylphlike body. Willowy and slender, but still well muscled.

Niphredil lifted out a hand to carress her son's cheek but she was stopped by a command from Námo.

"Niphredil," he said softly. "You must wait until the judgement."

Legolas swallowed deeply.

"Are you prepared for the judgement Legolas?" Námo asked, the deep eyes boring holes into the prince.

"Yes," he replied his voice trembling slightly.

The Lord of Mandos nodded his head and his face had almost an encouraging expression upon it. Do not fear, LegolasI am sorry that before we could not find you immeadiatly. You were lost in a plane of memory, it was hard to retrieve you from it. However, now you are here, and we will get back onYour body will be taken away as it only burdens those that are deadYou may feel slightly disoreientated to start with

That was right. Legolas felt as though all his innards were slowly melting. The process was painless but unexpected.

His foot touched the floor and immeadiatley Legolas felt lighter as though all his worries were dropping away. Briefly Legolas studied his arm and found that it looked the same, if slightly translucent in the ghostly light of the Halls.

The next foot nearly passed over the line and he nearly fell into his mother's hug when he felt something pulling him backwards and with a shriek Legolas fell onto the ground outside.

In contrast to his featherly light right side, Legolas' left arms, legs and torso felt so heavy and ungainly. They were still connected to the living world and his body was still with it.

"No," Niphredil said, her hands moving to her mouth to cover the widening 'o'.

Mandos' tall body loomed at the doorway and he gazed down at the elf. "Legolas, you are still part of the living world," he deemed.

Legolas growing more frustrated snapped back: "That much is obvious!"

To his surpise, the Lord chuckled softly in mirth before taking up his normal expression. "Your bind with the man is so strong that he and you are both not willing to part. This will meant that unless you choose which world you belong to, you will wander in the nether planes, a limbo until your soul can return to Mandos."

The elf's body suddenly felt cold in fear. He was doomed to eternal wandering unless he chose life or death? This was all to sudden for him to be expected to give an answer. Life would usually be the choice option. It would mean returning to his love, Eldarion, whose bond with him was so strong that it opposed even death.

However rest in the Halls of Mandos would mean a cessatation from the harsh realities of the ever changing world. He would not have to go through the pain of losing all his mortals friends, but he would see them again when they became too old for life. And then there was his mother. Niphredil had been ripped away from his life at a young age and Legolas desired her company so much.

The Queen's eyes were aching. She knew what her son would choose, she had seen it in Naire's weaving. She also knew that with his descision, would come some consolation for her.

She could see her son's love for the man. It hurt her to, but she knew that it was the right thing. The son of Elessar was a noble man, worthier than many elves of the Greenleaf's love.

Legolas' heart was in turmoil, throbbing with all the different love he would have to choose between. He met his mother's wise eyes in silence and saw the answer there.

"I choose life," he said.

"So be it," Mandos declared. He knew that this transition back to the living world would be far harder than dying. Legolas may get lost in a plane of existance as he had on the way to the Halls.

The world was not made just of certain lands or pieces of earth. There were dimensions beneath it and above it. Maybe invisible, but to someone in it, they were painfully real.

Namo decided that he would give the elf all the help he could and nudge him in the right direction like a busker whose stay was over and who needed another place to sleep the night.

Niphredil closed her eyes briefly and watched as with a grim smile on his face, Legolas picked himself up and stood watching as Mandos summoned a gateway.

"This may lead you straight to Middle-earth, or it may take you to another world. There are many other gateways such as these. Beware of the firey gates."

With these final mysterious words, Legolas felt the lightness of spirit drop from him and (with some happiness it must be noticed) felt the heaviness of life returning to him.

"The gateway will remain open for thirty seconds. Legolas Greenleaf, may you live long and prosper," Namo said raising his hand in some form of farewell.

"Tenna' ento lye omenta" [Until next we meet] Niphredil cried with a sob and retreated into the shadowy contents of the Hall, Mandos following her.

Legolas was left hovering slightly pondering these words, before plunging himself through the gate.

~

It was a bleak landscape.

The sky was grey. The air was dry and made Legolas' lung irritated. He coughed dryly and breathed in the air deeply before wincing.

It was an oppressive feeling. The land was as dry as the air. Not even roots survived in the baked clay soil that was as hard as stone after. Somehow the sun managed to shine through the cloud-obscured firmament, and it shone through brightly.

The light it came up with seemed alien to Legolas who rejoiced under a bright sun nearly as much as under the twinkling stars. It seemed to be dead.

Glowing over a dead world.

Then he found the reason.

Legolas spun around his alert elf ears hearing the sound of heavy footsteps. In the horizon he saw a dot growing bigger and bigger.

The build of the person was heavy and as he drew closer, Legolas found that he exuded an aura of menace and danger.

With midnight blue eyes, Legolas stared.

His hands drew to the knives that the prince found was at his waist. The armour was also still on him. It would protect him if he had to fight, but it would also slow down. Legolas could feel the heavy dragon scale weighing down his shoulders and constricting his movement. He would wear it through.

"My pretty!" a snarl cried and the man came within Legolas' range.

He had skin that was a deep brown after roaming this sun-baked terrain. His hair was as black as night and was clumped into small plaits that were fastened with clay beads. His chin was large and squared, making his whole head seem even more like a box. The thick, black moustache was straight as steel and fell down his face after going horizontally, in right angles.

His thick shoulders were bearing straps that held up the mighty scabbard that the two-handed sword normally rested it. But now it was being deftly tossed from one giant hand to the other. His thick arms had brown leather gauntlets that seemed barely adequate to stop the powerful muscle from bursting out.

He wore nothing on his top half except the scabbard. His skin was as dark as his face and his abdomen was flat, his chest was slightly scarred with old battle wounds but looked powerful. As he moved the muscles rippled in time with the movement. They never seemed to relax.

Legolas stumbled backwards slightly.

He was a skilled fighter, but this man looked to be nearly seven foot. Legolas had the height of most elves, an impressive six foot two. He usually looked over the heads of men. This one was different and he would be a fearsome warrior.

"Don't you run now!" the man bellowed. An inane smile cracked across his face like mud left out during a heat wave.

"I just wants to talk to youse!" he shouted in a crude form of the common tongue.

Legolas winced slightly at this simplicity of the language that he already considered crass and vulgar. The prince drew his knives and suddenly wondered where the blades had come from.

The last he had seen of them was when they were falling through the air. He had never seen them touch the ice though, Gladrau had fallen first and cracked the ground.

"'Ey!" the man said with another lopsided smile. "'Ho are you?"

He stopped about five metres away from Legolas.

"I've ain't seen youse around 'ere. You new?"

The look on his face was so childish that led Legolas to doubt this man's mental health. If the sword hadn't been in his hands, Legolas would have been more at ease with this simple giant who seemed so far, friendly.

Without waiting for an answer, the giant stuck his hand forward and when Legolas didn't take it. A look of complete anger rushed across his face and immediately the simple expression turned into that of a madman.

"That weren't polite!" the man spat and hefted the sword up into his right hand.

Legolas realised swiftly that this one-sided conversation wasn't going to end happily in an invitation to share a cup of tea- or something slightly stronger. The elf found himself wistfully dreaming of a strong glass of whisky, a warm fire, rain pouring down outside and Eldarion curled up in his arms.

The daydreamer had to snap back to reality when the sword whistled past his ear. Turning on his heel, Legolas sprinted away, running anywhere.

He hoped that there was a gateway nearby, otherwise it looked like Legolas would be returning to the Halls of Mandos rather unsuccessfully.

~