Chapter Three

Arwen sat in her chamber by an open window that overlooked the Pelennor fields. The cyan sky and golden sun smiled down on Gondor, yet even on such a fine afternoon the queen sat there, staring straight ahead, with doleful, unmoving eyes.

Why hadn't she died that night? The silver tears that had spilled from her cheek were her fate. Once those tears fell she should have passed into shadow forever, to dwell in a distant place with her beloved once again. Yet it did not come to pass. Instead, she sat there in her chamber of Minas Tirith staring blankly at the walls. Her knife lay on the table beside her, beckoning her menacingly. One of her white hands lifted off her lap and moved towards the blade slowly then rested back on her thigh.

Short, halting breaths escaped her lips and her heart pounded faster and faster as she sat there motionless. Unmoving. She uttered swift, tiny gasps as her chest rose and fell sharply. She did not know how much longer she could last like this. Each breath was more painful than the last. Why couldn't you have let me die father, she thought desperately.

The knife still lay there. Her hand gripped the hilt tightly and she drew it up against her chest. The chilliness of the blade made her jump yet she held it there steadily. She forced it slowly into her skin. A drop of blood trickled down as the blade was embedded deeper into her. Her body swayed and she gripped the edge of her chair with her free hand before toppling off the side and hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud.

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That was how Legolas found her. The knife was still in her hand, but her hand was at her side. A little dot of blood was on her chest. He set the platter of food on the table and bent his tall body to gently pick her up off the ground. She was so frail, he noticed. Her skin was pale and tight around her eyes and cheekbones. He laid her on her large bed just as she stirred and her eyelids rose slowly. After blinking a few times, she whispered: 'Legolas, why cannot I die? Every time I am about to die, I fall unconscious and I see my father.'

'He does not want you to die,' Legolas said. In his head he said, I do not want you to die.

She cried tearless sobs and her chest heaved up and down sharply. 'Ada! Let me pass from this torment! There is nothing left for me here!'

Legolas put a hand on her face. 'Shhhh. do not despair. It is not time for you to pass and you will find hope soon.'

Arwen turned her face away from the blonde's. 'Leave me be, Legolas.'

With a sigh full of remorse, Legolas left the queen to stare at her chamber ceiling.

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Legolas left the last gate of the city of Minas Tirith and wandered out onto the Pelennor. The tall grass waved around his mid-calves, and a subtle breeze lifted the ends of his golden hair. Out here he could properly mourn for his lost friend. brother. Back in the great city he got caught up in the ways of men and had no time for his love of nature. There were no trees here, and he despaired; yet it was more refreshing then being in the noisy city.

His mind was unusually muddled. Normally, he was calm and cool, yet today he had many things to worry about. He despaired for Aragorn, and part of Legolas had died with the noble king. He missed those days they spent together; first as a young elf and man, when they had first met, and then with the war of the ring, hunting orcs, and then the quieter years, and how they wandered the very length of the field he was now standing on.

Then there was Arwen. He feared that the feelings he had for her when they had first met many years ago were rising up again. They had never really gone, he realized, and when she met Aragorn he knew he stood no chance, even if he was a mortal man. But now he was dead, and she was a queen with no partner. He wanted to go to her, and comfort her, and touch her like she let Aragorn, yet he would not go against his friend. O! How he yearned to be with her. Yet he could not. He sighed deeply as he gazed out across the plains and then looked back at the city. He had wandered far without realizing it, and now something was growing in his mind and he feared. He did not know what it was; yet he knew it was not good.

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Arwen sat on the railing of her balcony, her legs dangling in mid-air. It was a far drop to the ground from there, and it seemed to suit her. There was no going unconscious here. It was just a sheer drop and then death at the bottom. No one and nothing could stop her now.

With a deep breath in farewell she slid over the rail.

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Legolas dashed up to her chamber as swift as a stag and threw the door open. She sat on the railing of her balcony with her back to him. He stood in the doorway, unsure if he should invade her privacy. She sighed unhappily then slowly she began to slide forward. That was his cue. He dashed forward and grabbed her hand before she fell. He held on with all of his might as she dangled there, loose and limp.

'Let me go Legolas!' She screamed at him and tried to wriggle out of his iron grip. With one swift motion he had her up over the railing and she was standing before him trembling violently. 'Why didn't you let me die!?' she screamed over and over.

'Arwen!' Legolas yelled as he shook her shoulders. He could not understand why she was like this. She had always been strong and calm and now the memory of her deceased husband was eating at her soul. 'You must be strong for your son! He cannot see you like this!'

Arwen began sobbing but no tears fell. 'He does not need me. He will survive with out me!'

'Perhaps. but I will not,' Legolas muttered.

Arwen stared at him with wide eyes. His fair head was downcast and his sea-gray eyes were averted. 'What do you mean?' She whispered in a frightened tone.

He seemed to find a sudden interest with his shirtsleeves and he fidgeted with them nervously. 'Tis nothing,' he murmured softly before turning to the door.

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A few days passed since her suicide attempt, and Arwen took to busying herself with taking care of her son. He was passed the extent of happy; aye, he was overjoyed to find her well. They spent happy afternoons sitting in each other's company while she told him tales of her people in passed times, and he listened intently while playing with toys on the floor.

She decided that it was not her fate to die; every time she was close to death she had escaped, even against her will. She found it difficult to raise Oren without Aragorn, for she usually had him to help her make decisions and now she was forced to make them alone, save with the occasional help from her friend Legolas.

She chided herself violently every time her heart leaped when the blonde elf happened to come into her presence. He was very good to her of late, for she was still quite weak and terribly sad. But not uncontrollably so. She knew that Aragorn would not have wanted her to leave her son to be raised by the advisors.

What she still could not comprehend is how she had fooled death. She remembered the picture of her father's face, and the tingling breath from his lips. Was it the breath of life? Was he watching over her, no matter how distant from her he was? It seemed impossible, yet she knew that many a time had gone by when she could almost feel his presence. Perhaps more of him had been left behind than she knew.