Chapter Eight: Mirkwood

A/N: Took me…so…long to get this done. Months. Half a year, I think. Well, I kept forgetting and putting it off, and pretty soon I had decided to leave it undone. But I could never do that to this story! Even though I've done enough… lol. I hope this is the ending you were waiting for. Er, I hope you were waiting for an ending, that is. I wouldn't blame you if you stopped waiting. :) So sorry. Well, here.

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Legolas hummed softly as he walked. The light in the west was waning quickly now; the red of the dying sun tinted the trees of his home eerily and reflected in his eyes. Gimli trudged along behind him, staring around at the tall, ominous trees around them. The elf could tell that his companion was suppressing the urge to finger his ax. And Gimli would have, but for their well-remembered excursion through Fangorn, and the memory of the angry trees that had stood on the border of Isengard.

"Your woods are dark, Legolas," Gimli finally managed to mutter, for fear that if he spoke too loudly the trees would bend down to glare at him.

"But they are not as dark as Fangorn, nor as old. Yet ancient creatures lurk here often--" He interrupted himself mid-sentence, for something had alerted his senses.

Gimli saw Legolas' sudden shift to wariness and brandished his ax with eager. "Spiders, are they? Seems like my ax will soon be getting some action!"

Gimli looked about frantically, but Legolas was still, and he looked only in one direction. Towards the heart of the forest, where, though he could not see it above the canopy of trees, he knew a thread of smoke was rising. A thread that had once been a pillar, and not too long ago, for the faint smell lingered in the mesh of trees, from which scents did not often escape.

"What is it, friend?" Gimli asked, puzzled. He had again lowered his ax after a cautious glance at the nearest tree.

"The orcs of the North have made war against my people," Legolas whispered quietly. Now he knew the reason for the dank atmosphere in Mirkwood—or, as the Elf in Lorién had told them it was called now, Eryn Lasgalen. Wood of the Greenleaves, he thought. My father's woods. My woods. But what good is it, to be a prince, to be back among my people? Nothing seemed worthy of joy to him anymore.

Mirkwood was always dark and brooding, but never as it was now. There was something in the air, and something echoing in his ears like the remnants of a mourning song of the Elves, still threading through the leaves.

"Orcs?!" Gimli's ax was raised again. "By Thorin, let us hurry! There may yet still be some left for--"

"No, my friend," Legolas smiled, but he could not hide the traces of sadness on his face, "they have been gone long, as they have been gone from Caras Galadhon. Our woods have been much tainted by darkness, but they still linger. I wish I could say the same for our people."

"All the Elves have passed into the west, then?" Gimli looked reverently to the direction he thought was west. After all, he couldn't tell very well; they had been walking in the dark forest with no sense of direction (or so it seemed to him. To an Elf, it must not be so, he thought, since Legolas had known exactly where the mountains were when they were yet miles away) for the better part of a day.

"No, Gimli, some still remain."

Gimli thought he heard something hopeful in Legolas' voice. "You hope that your maiden still lingers in this land?" he asked.

Legolas walked ahead without replying. He finally looked back and said, "This is the age of men now, and the Elves have gone away. I would not have it so, but there is nothing I can do. There is nothing left to hope."

Gimli was moved by the heavy resignation in Legolas' voice. He had not known the Elf had been so hopelessly in love with whomever it was they had sought in Lothlorién. In fact, he had rarely known the Elf to be affected by anything so much. Legolas always possessed a lofty air about him that gave him the aura of a spectator, and nothing more. But now, he was no longer the aloof Elf, in tune with nature, skilled as a relentless assassin. He was human, or as human as Elves could get, Gimli thought. He had a weakness, and he felt unbearable sadness that was much closer than the deep sadness felt by all Elves for the ruining of the lands.

"Perhaps there is. Your father must linger here, no?" Gimli asked cautiously.

"Yes…"

"Well, if those left in Lothlorién don't know where to find her, perhaps your father will know."

"I doubt it."

Legolas suddenly felt tears about to well up, and his chest tightened with the effort to keep from crying. The happiness, the unbelievable joy he had felt last time he was in Lothlorién, with Erlyannil, before they had left and the Dark Tower had been destroyed, seemed so far away now. He had known it would have been hard to find her again, but he had never thought seriously about the fact that she might not be found. If she had, indeed, passed away…he would pass to the West in time, but that time was not now, nor would it be for long. And it would be long, if he had to wait without her.

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The small band of Silvan Elves knelt at his and Gimli's feet, as Gimli looked at Legolas in confusion. Then, it dawned on him. He had nearly forgotten that Legolas was a prince of these Elves.

"Prince, your father has long awaited your return," one said with an air much too lofty for one kneeling with his forehead to the ground.

Legolas nodded and said something curtly in Elvish that must have been something similar to "get up," as the band quickly stood in unison. The one who had spoken before lapsed into conversation with Legolas as they began leading the prince and his companion into the city. Gimli walked behind, painfully aware of the cautious and slightly hostile glances in his direction from the other members of the Elf guard.

Soon enough, they had reached the edge of the city. It was lighter than the forest had been, but still darker than Lothlorién, Gimli thought. Or at least the trees were not alight with the mysterious silver hues of Caras Galadhon. The leaves were green and golden, and the city was the same.

"Gimli," Legolas finally spoke to him as he fell back in stride with the dwarf, "welcome to my home. My people will be welcoming, but no more than they are willing to be to a dwarf, you must understand." He smiled heartily at his stout companion. "However, we will have a pleasant stay."

A stern, blonde Elf, taller than Legolas, was making his way towards the small band arriving from the woods. Atop his head was a golden crown, and he was clad in green and brown, though his clothing was rich, draped over him like robes. Legolas' tunic and leggings were of a much poorer quality, which was very much justified, Gimli thought, as he had worn his clothing throughout journey and battle.

"Son," Thranduil said in his low tones. "I wondered when you would return."

Father and son smiled at each other, and Gimli saw the relation clearly.

"It was a very long journey, father."

Thranduil suddenly saw the double meaning in his son's words. Yes, it had been long and tiresome, but not enough to an Elf to make him speak of it so. There was something else that made his son look so tired.

"You have lost something?" Thranduil said finally, after a long pause in which he scrutinized the features of his son's face.

Legolas hesitated. He knew his father would remember the time, so many hundreds of years before, when he had told his son to follow the paths of love. Legolas had not listened to him then. He had thought his duty came before, as it did, for their people and the Elves of Lorién had long since healed the breach between them. He had made the right decision, and he did not regret it. But his heart regretted it painfully.

Thranduil saw the thoughts flit across his son's face, and he turned to the Elves escorting his son and the Dwarf. "See to it that this friend of my son is taken to a warm meal and lodgings."

The Elves nodded and departed, Gimli trailing behind, still looking back anxiously at his friend.

"There was…do you remember…" Legolas was trying to start, but his voice had lost its force. He sounded too much like an insecure adolescent now, unable to express his thoughts.

"Yes?" Thranduil waited patiently.

"Very long ago, when we went to parley with Celeborn…"

Something clicked in Thranduil's mind. He smiled down at his son in surprise. "You still grieve? It has been so long. I thought you had forgotten."

"No, father. I never forgot." The truth was rising in his voice now, and his father could see the pain his son bore clearly. "She was in Rivendell, at the time of the Council. And I did not see her for very long hence, but then… we were forced to take refuge in Lothlorién."

Thranduil nodded. "You met again."

"Yes…"

"The Elves have left Lothlorien now. Galadriel is gone."

"I know. We journeyed there on our way."

"I see."

Legolas sighed, and it was the sigh of one who has bowed to the forces of time and fate. It made his father's heart swell with pity, for he had never known his son to bear such pain.

"Legolas, you should rest. It has been long since you have been home, and it will do you good. Perhaps tomorrow we shall have a feast, and then, perhaps, you will be able to rid yourself of these grievances."

Legolas nodded quietly. He knew his father meant to say, "And perhaps at this feast you will set your eyes upon some young and beautiful maiden, and you will bring yourself to forget about the one you met so long ago." He watched his father ascend the stairs and turn a corner towards the king's hall, but he had no desire to follow him, nor had he any wish to rest in a room where his thoughts would pace across the floor relentlessly.

So, he trudged slowly through the city, recalling the sights and sounds of his familiar home.

He had been around the square twice, when he decided the bright city was no match for his mood. It was then that he remembered the spring where he used to play and bathe as a child. He knew the way by memory, and he quickly set off, away from the city, upon a path that would not have been a path but for the small details he knew.

Legolas arrived at the clearing after a few minutes. The sapling he remembered that grew next to the spring had become a large mallorn tree, its branches and leaves shading the pool of clear water. The spring had shrunk slightly since he was here last, but it was otherwise the same as he had left it.

He slipped off his boots and slung off his bow and arrows, then took off the first layer of his tunic that had become soiled, and dipped it into the water. Then, rolling up his leggings, he let his feet dangle in the water and sat upon a rock at the edge. He closed his eyes and let his ears wander over the bird sounds of the forest.

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It had been an hour since he had first arrived, and Legolas finally sat up. Sitting here had finally allowed his mind to stop aching with memory. He had been over it so many times before, already: why, since she seemed to have such a direct effect on his immediate happiness, didn't he just leave the Fellowship behind and stay with her in Lothlorién? True, it would have been against the vows he took. Yet…a part of his mind couldn't help but regret leaving her. The water was growing colder, though, and it made his mind stir again after a lethargic lapse.

But it wasn't the fact that the water was becoming colder with nightfall that he quickly withdrew his feet and stood. Something was coming through the trees, slowly, into his clearing.

"Namaarië!" he called out in greeting, half expecting a beastly snarl or the pincers of a giant spider to answer his greeting. His bow and quiver lay within arm's reach; he remained calm and searched the darkened woods beyond the perimeter of the clearing with curious eyes.

There were a few moments of startled silence, and then he heard a reply.

"Namaarië," came a voice, "who is it?"

"Greenleaf," Legolas replied in Elvish, his eyes scanning the trees from which the voice descended. The name would be enough to warn anyone from the city that the prince resided there, and soon enough he would hear the sounds of them making their way back. But there was silence, and he could not hear a trace of movement. The trees rustled with the shallow breeze that graced the falling day.

He was about to turn back to the spring when, finally, someone emerged into the clearing.

He stopped breathing. He expected his body had stopped functioning, save for his heart, which had begun thumping somewhere near his throat.

"You're still here," he heard himself whisper. I fell asleep in the spring, he thought, her spirit has come back to visit me from the west.

But Erlyannil's reaction was all too real. Her face wore an expression of genuine shock. She was as he remembered, just months ago in Lothlorién.

"I am still here," she replied. Legolas wondered how she could keep her voice so steady; his heart was singing all the songs of joy the Elves knew. "I wondered if you were coming back."

"How…why…" he stuttered.

"I left Lorién to come here, after the Orcs came to our woods. Galadriel left, and I came here with some others, for Lorién has become a mournful place. I thought you would not return."

Legolas felt the tears slide down his cheeks, this time, unstopped. He nearly ran to her, though there were only a few steps between them, and he embraced her in a hug that was so tight they could scarcely breathe. "I thought you were…"

"Legolas," Erlyannil was saying, "I wouldn't sail to the west…"

Legolas shook his head fiercely, like an angry, stubborn child would, his face against her shoulder, in her hair. "No…" He wondered why his father did not tell him that Erlyannil had come to Mirkwood to stay. Then he realized that, if she had come with several of the Lothlorién Elves, his father would not have recognized her. After all, Thranduil was not in love with her like he was, and love causes recognition in a crowd of thousands.

"By the stars," he whispered breathlessly. He drew away just long enough to look into her eyes, and the he kissed her gently but not without passion, for fear that she would wilt away like mist. "I believed you were gone."

She smiled, and there were tears in her eyes, both of grief and mirth. "I would have waited to sail to the west, even if all our people had gone, and I was the last of the Elves. I would never have left until I found you, or I knew that you had not survived the battles…" she trailed off. Then, "I feared you…had met death. I would never have found you then."

Legolas took her in his arms, for the relief in her eyes was too much like his own, and he did not want to see the worry that had caused it. He sighed happily.

"You remember what you said about sighing?" Erlyannil asked, smiling playfully.

"Of course," he answered, "but now it is not threads of my soul escaping in my breath, but all the grief I have felt without you. My soul could never leave, now."

He took her hand in his and saw a white scar on her palm that had nearly disappeared with time. He ran his fingers over it as a memory was brought to mind.

"You ran away from me," he said. "I think you rather hated me." His mind replayed the image of her emerging from a corner, colliding with him, and falling upon the ground. She had scuffed her hands, and a corner of his mouth curved up as he recalled that she had been cursing under her breath without notice of him. Back then, he thought, he had been mesmerized by her, though she was no different from any other maiden. Perhaps it was only that he had seen her in the trees, and that was all that the winds called fate needed to begin their steady course.

"Perhaps I did," Erlyannil said, and Legolas saw a hint of the youthful haughtiness she carried long ago. But it soon disappeared, for her eyes sought his, and he saw the ravages of the years in them. "You saw me in that tree, when you first arrived, didn't you? You looked straight at me, though I was concealed."

"Of course I saw you. There was nothing that could keep me from you."

"Nothing," she repeated. She slipped her hand from his and kissed him. "The day was beautiful, and the night is even more so." Erlyannil whispered in his ear. There was a hint of exaggerated drama in her voice, and Legolas laughed to hear it. Soon Erlyannil, too, began to laugh, and they were laughing as they could only when they were small. For only children are free to such blissful innocence.

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-the end-

A/N: Boy. I never liked happy endings… sorry if I'm not so great at writing them. I couldn't make it long and drawn out—that would be so boring. No weddings, since it isn't exactly accurate… Legolas and Gimli sailed together down the Anduin at the end, implying Legolas never really had a romantic interest. Otherwise she would have come, too. Maybe she died before then. Er…of what? Isn't she immortal? Elves can die of heartbreak... But she can't have her heart broken because Legolas is still alive, unless he's become a nasty jerk. And, we know what's wrong with that. ^_^ Well, that's the problem. So, you decide what happens. :)