Author: Mirrordance
Title: Estel
Summary: Legolas deals with the dire consequences of practicing forbidden magic to save the life of Aragorn
Warnings: death & drama
PART 1: Legolas
CHAPTER 2: The Survivor
___
Ghosts, they say…
Legolas slowed his faithful horse down to a trot, as he entered the forest's moonlit clearing. There were no marks on the gravesite, and what ground that was stirred to bury the Lunaris has long-since stilled and calmed. But there was a heaviness in the air. Not so much ghosts, really, but a general feeling of… of… a once-dark, potent anger weathered by time into a quiet, longing hollow.
Not even any ghosts, he thought, feeling almost as devoid of hope as this grave. Maybe Gandalf had been right…
Wait.
His sharp eye caught a strange blossom near the center of the clearing. The moonlight touched the forest with its liquid, glowing beauty, shining on the solitary purple flower that laid on the ground in its glory, its long stem tied with a slim, silver bow.
Legolas hopped off his horse and strode towards the flower, transfixed. He picked it up gently.
"I'm sorry," he said to the grave, "I will have to borrow this for awhile. I will replace it, I promise."
He murmured more quiet assurances to appease the ghosts or calm the memories of what darkness had transpired here. He needs the flower. He needs to know where it came from. If he knew where it came from, he would know from whom it was. And whoever this person may be, he or she knew the Lunaris enough to set flowers on their grave. That person should be able to help him, if anyone could at all.
* * *
Just after dawn, Legolas waylaid an aging farmer from the nearest town, who had looked at him in wonder, and said that he had not seen an elf this close before.
"As you can see," Legolas said with a smile, "we are a lot like humans."
The farmer looked at him suspiciously. "What can I do for you?"
Legolas showed him the flower. "I do not recognize this breed. I found it in the forest. Our own forests in Mirkwood are vast and I am well-traveled, yet I've never seen the likes of this before. Is this native to the area?"
The farmer took the flower and smelled it, his eyes leaving Legolas's face after a moment of hesitation. He turned the flower over in his palms, looking at its elegant lines, studying the stem.
"It is a special hybrid," affirmed the farmer, "created by very clever hands, I must say… I believe it grows in drier areas. Maybe rough soil, the impure kind with lots of rock. Possibly even in sand. It surely smells of the sea."
Legolas's brows
furrowed. "The sea?"
The farmer nodded. "The closest one is a day's ride away, at
least. You found this in the middle of
the forest? That is curious indeed."
The farmer handed Legolas the flower, and the elf looked at it with even greater wonder.
"I have an affinity for the sea," Legolas confessed.
"I have heard of that longing," said the farmer.
Legolas smiled at him. "Thank you for your time, sir. A day's ride away, you say?"
The farmer nodded. "I'm sure you would not have a hard time finding it. Follow the scent of the air. And the sound of the gulls."
* * *
Legolas would know a thing or two about that sound. The sea, and his eventual fate called upon him. It was an insatiable hunger, that would surely quiet only after he sails to the Undying Lands, as all elves eventually would.
Interesting, that this new quest of his would have that added dimension, make it this much harder than it already was to begin with.
He had been riding for three days, almost without rest save for the several hours he would allow for his horse for respite. If it were just him, he would have pressed on without pause. Rest, he could get later. Aragorn did not have the luxury of time.
He could hear the sound of the crashing waves, and the air was more humid here than from where he had come. Breezy, but not dry. The ground, however, was already gradually becoming less and less rich, and the vegetation was starting to become more diverse. He was nearing the sea.
He calculated how long it would take him to return to Gondor, to return to Aragorn. Three more days, assuming he dealt with his business here quickly, and didn't stop for much rest. His resilient body would hold out, yes, most certainly. And his loyal horse would have the spirit to fight the weariness beside him. It was for Aragorn that he worried. Three days more might be three days too late. For all he knew, the King might even have died already by now…
He shook the thought away. No. He couldn't doubt, not now. There was no time. There was no use to. He had gone too far already, beginning with children's games and ghosts and memories, to this flower steadily in his hand, real and tangible. And someone had grown it, someone had made it. He wasn't chasing just a fleeting hope anymore. He truly had a chance, now.
Aragorn had a chance.
He tugged gently on the reins of his horse, as his eyes settled on a cleared, narrow dirt road to his right. Dawn was just breaking, and it was the first sign of any domesticated life he had seen since he had ran across the farmer a day ago. Perhaps this leads to a town. Perhaps the person he is looking for lives there.
~Let's take this road,~ he told his horse, who willingly obliged.
A few meters down the path, he realizes that it did not lead to a town. But it was surely bringing him to where he needed to go.
He looked up at the large, wooden house. It stood mighty and beautiful, next to an empty barn and what looked to be a small cabin. The structures were surrounded by beds of wildflowers, and with them looked to be the exact breed that he was holding onto. A small dirt path continued from behind a house, and he could have sworn it would lead towards the sea shore, for the waves he heard were crashing nearby…
"Hello?" he called out, focusing on his task, "Anyone home?"
The door to the cabin was thrown open, and a woman stalked towards him, bearing an ominously sharp-looking dagger.
"State your business and leave," she snapped.
Cautiously, so as not to alarm her, Legolas jumped from his horse and landed lightly on his feet, about a meter away from her. He watched her face closely. Her skin was a luminous white, her elegant bones pronounced, and though most of her hair was tied up and hidden beneath a gray bandana, stray black, curling locks teased the sides of her sweaty forehead. Her eyes were the silver of the moon, and he knew at once that he had at last found the Lunaris.
"I am Legolas," he said, "Prince of Mirkwood. I need a service that only you can provide."
She frowned, lowered her guard somewhat. "I've heard the elves have the greatest of blacksmiths and craftsmen. I see no reason why you should come to me."
Legolas glanced at the dagger she was yielding. "You made that?" he asked, genuinely impressed.
Her brows furrowed. "I offer no other service but this. You must have the wrong person, if this is not what you seek. You may leave now. I have work to do."
She was turning to leave, until he showed her the flower he had taken from the grave of the Lunaris.
"This is yours?" Legolas asked.
She took it from him, glaring at him. "You stole this."
"I borrowed it," Legolas corrected, "I gave them my word that it would be replaced."
"You had no right," she told him softly, as she turned the flower over in her hands. Her eyes were no longer afire, and she was more cautiously hesitant than hostile, suddenly feeling that he knew more about her than he should, "What service is it that you need? Speak plainly."
"My friend is dying," said Legolas gravely, "And only the Lunaris can save him."
She looked at him levelly. Sighed. "Come inside."
* * *
The house smelled of an aromatic wood, remained cozy even though it was soon apparent that the beautiful, young woman was its only occupant.
"Sit," she told him as they entered a small kitchen. "I offer you some tea, Legolas of Mirkwood."
Legolas hesitated for a moment, about to point out that he didn't have the time. But he was the one who needed her help, so he would give her the leeway she desired. Besides, tea and a seat, after days of endless travel, seemed sound indeed.
"What is your name?" Legolas asked her, watching as she prepared the tea and the sun started to rise in the window.
"Jacinda," she replied, preoccupied. She turned to him, bearing two cups of steaming tea that smelled of roses. She sat beside him, watching him carefully.
The smell of the rosewater was irresistible. He took a tentative sip, and it seemed to warm and relax him.
"Few people know of the Lunaris," she said softly, "You've not told anyone about me, have you? They will come for me. And they will kill me, as they have killed everyone else."
Legolas shook his head. "I've not told anyone—"
Suddenly, she rose from her seat and had a dagger against his throat, sending the steaming tea flying. "Then this secret shall die with you," she whispered.
Legolas met her eyes coolly. "The only one I've told," he said, "guarantees discretion," he added a lie, "But if something should happen to me, I assure you he has the power to track you down."
She muttered a curse, and pushed away from him. "You disrupt my life," she said distastefully, "What do you need?"
"I need you to help my friend," said Legolas, "he is dying. And you are of the Lunaris, aren't you? I am prepared to pay any price."
She scoffed at him. "The cost will be high."
"I've been told that someone must be sacrificed for someone else to be brought back to life," said Legolas, "I readily volunteer to give my life to save my friend."
"I'm not talking about that cost," she snapped, "your life means nothing to me. I was wondering about what's in it for me, elf. What could you pay me? Do I look like I need land? Or riches? You have nothing that I could possibly want."
Legolas considered this. "Your safety? My silence?"
She laughed at him. "My safety relies upon your silence, and your silence, my dagger can easily acquire."
"Everyone must want something," Legolas pointed out.
She frowned at him. "Yes. Of course."
"What do you want?" Legolas asked, "I will find a way to get it."
Jacinda averted her eyes from him, which were suddenly clouded with some fear and embarrassment. "The Lunaris can raise the dead, but we always had trouble making the men love us."
He bit his lip, wondering where this was going.
"The line could not end with me," she said softly, "The Lunaris could not die with me, do you understand this?"
He shook his head. Honestly, no.
"I want you to give me a daughter," she said in a breath, "Sire me a daughter, and then you may leave. That is all that I want from you."
To be continued…
