AN: Thank you for being amazingly patient and supportive. Btw, Chiara is
pronounced with a hard c or /k/ sound because in Tolkien's Middle Earth, no
CH whether Elven or Men, is pronounced as /ch/, always /k/.
Part 4
As it had been then, long generations before, that night the Elven prince Legolas wandered away from the people who were in awe of his presence. It was in this retreat from the eyes of those who did not fully understand him that he came upon a faint and distant light away from the town. With light fleet feet he walked towards the beacon.
He had always sought goals that seemed impossible to most. Now at a time when nothing was beyond comprehension-when horses were relegated for sports or cattle, when Men flew in the air rather than brave the rigors of a journey across the land, when Evil lay within the hearts rather than dwelt in the Shadows-Legolas sought something so common it would have been preposterous to his race.
Too many times he had denied a place at the foot of Iluvatar; too many times he had angered the Valar. Legolas traded all the ships that led to his paradise for each fleeting moment with Chiara. The thousand breaths in her company made completely insignificant the countless ceaseless ages that he waited.
Legolas stopped before a farmhouse, again surrounded by fields, thrown away from the town yet close enough that he could easily turn his head and see the faces of all that moved inside. It was the most viable location, for he would not be too exposed.
"Who's there?" he heard a woman call out. "Clark, son, is that you?"
Legolas slid from the direction of the voice, gliding in the shadows until he discovered another door. Swift as he was, Legolas was able to get in with no sound nor trouble.
The place was poor and shoddy, yet by far more passable than any he lived in during his travels. The inside was wooden and cold. Haystacks took up most of the space at the first level. When he looked up he saw the perfect shelter to hide him well.
The discovery of what appeared like a bunk at the high room was gratifying. Legolas pulled the sheets down and away and settled on the cushion, air rushing out of his half-open lips as he relished the feel of a comfortable for the first time in eons. With each night that he came closer to the light of his soul, the deeper and the longer his sleeping came. The deeper into the lands of dreams he was, the more Legolas relived. He lost himself in a grand world that was far better than the Woodlands his place of awakening.
~~
Middle-earth lay before him, spread out as gifts should be, a thing of beauty. Legolas stood at the ramparts of the City of Kings and wondered at the deep abiding love the Valar placed into the hearts of Elves for a creation such as this. He, like all his People, would be thankful forever to Eru for his awakening, yet he could in no real way comprehend that he would want for them to leave the rivers and stars that have sustained them long and been loved by them.
The wills and politics of the gods were an enigma that was not for that very hour.
He looked around and read the lands that he could see. All beacons of Gondor once more at rest, and the band of mercenaries drawing ever closer.
He heard the movement behind him, and from the sound of footsteps Legolas knew who it was who stood behind him before she spoke a word. He stood still and fixed his gaze on the uncertain horizon.
"Arwen has told me wealth of your race. I see your eyes so intent and still," Chiara said. "Do you see the distant lands?"
"I see," he answered. "But I will not tell you what. Were you meant to know you would have been given the same gifts."
He felt the sudden stiffness of her back, the coldness of the set of her shoulders. "I used to think of you fondly, Legolas. You were my beautiful savior. Now you are merely an Elf who cannot keep silent of the affairs of others."
Legolas turned slowly around to regard her, and his throat was pained by beauty that he never acknowledged in his kin. That this daughter of Numenor could so enthrall his eyes that have seen Arda over the sea was confounding. He knew that her anger stemmed from what he had revealed to her guardians. Legolas could not keep his response silent. "An Elf's features do not change through time, Chiara," he reminded her.
His gaze was almost tangible as it ran over her face for what she did not know.
"If to you I was then fair, I do not doubt how I am now," he told her with a tease of laughter.
"Pompous Sindarin," she muttered with burning cheeks.
"Last time I was here you were an imp who caused trouble for your guardians."
"I still do."
"So I have witnessed," he agreed. "But you are a lovely young woman now."
Chiara's brows furrowed, for to hear an Elf speak of beauty of one other than Middle-Earth was incomprehensible. "You find me fair?"
The archer walked towards her and stopped with mere inches between them. "You shine like the light."
Chiara closed her eyes and sighed. The most precious thing for his People was light. After the loss of the jewels that contained the Lights of Valinor, the Elves were possessed by their esteem for light.
"For an age I bode my time. I saw it when you were a child. I see the light in you still, only much fiercer. It calls to a part of my being I cannot name," he told her in a soft whisper of breath that teased her ear.
The breath that she had been holding she swallowed. Chiara closed her hand over his and warned him, "Then be afraid of such strong will!"
Chiara pulled him with her and led him back into the castle, ducking into a hidden portal and running down a darkened flight of stairs. When the descent seemed endless, Chiara pushed open a door and they burst outside the city walls. She whirled around to face him, gasping for breath.
"You cannot tell the King!"
At once Legolas' arms shot back to take his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Slowly he rotated with his weapon at the ready, his stance straight and his keen eyes actively reading his surroundings for a sign of danger. Long moments later he lowered his bow but did not set it aside. He gave her all outward signs of disapproval at her rashness.
"Chiara, you must inform Aragorn of this passage! And never do this again. Your guardian has many enemies who will not hesitate to hurt you."
"I keep myself safe," she answered.
The Elf's smooth face seemed mottled now, frustration a loud brandish on his features. "And what of skilled fighters?" he demanded. "My People are Immortal yet we can be killed by the likes of these mercenaries."
Chiara gasped when Legolas took her by her arm. At the sound, Legolas let go of her and apologized. He took a step back from her, stunned at his action. He had prided himself for a cool and logical approach to all that he faced. One day with her and he had lost control.
She saw his quick regret and repeated, "Legolas, I am afraid of no one. I fear one thing, and that is that these mercenaries will raze another of my homes."
"If I swear to you that I will make it my affair that these mercenaries not be cause of trouble and unrest in Gondor, will you keep safe?" Chiara nodded. "So be it."
They made their way back to the castle by ascending the darkened steps. When they emerged from the hidden doorway and arrived at the hallway for their dinner, Legolas' keen perception registered all eyes, of Men and Elves, on them. He glanced at Chiara and saw her flushed. Only then did he notice his hand on the small of her back. They were treated to still silence.
Legolas looked straight at Aragorn's shuttered face and calmly ushered the king's ward into the dining hall, sitting beside her and handing her a goblet of wine.
The silence was broken when the King asked the new arrival, "Tell me, Legolas, when do you plan to journey to Mirkwood?"
Chiara regarded him from beneath her eyelashes. Legolas saw the movement and took it as that of one who did not want to appear curious. "There are too many places to visit yet, Lord Aragorn," came Legolas' easy answer.
"And what of settling down?" the King inquired next. "Surely Thranduil has a bride in mind for his son, an Elven prince."
Legolas glanced at Arwen, who shook her head. The former Elven princess watched her husband. "I have too long a life for that, King. You know this."
"Surely you must also think of having children of your own, Legolas," he continued.
"I think of your children as my own, Aragorn. For now it is enough."
Legolas saw Chiara's hand fist before closing over a fork. He quickly touched it to soothe her nervousness.
"Perhaps," Aragorn said. Legolas looked up surprised that the king was not done. "But I remember how well you handled Chiara as a child, and knew then that you would be a fine father."
The Elf pulled his hand back as though burned. "Thank you, Aragorn. You are a true friend."
The tension was palpable. The food was untouched. Arwen spoke, "Chiara, you must drink the water. I have placed powders that will help you."
Chiara looked up at Arwen, grateful that one had spoken of something other than an Elven marriage or departure.
"Soon, we will see more children in this castle," Aragorn announced.
"Aragorn," Arwen said gently. "We have not spoken to Chiara."
"Are you bearing one, Arwen?" Legolas asked. "The blessings of life surely come to you."
Aragorn shook his head. "The prince of Rohan, son of Eowyn and Faramir, has asked for Chiara's hand in marriage, needlessly."
"Has he been informed that I am not amenable?" Chiara asked.
"Needlessly, I say, Chiara, because as the last of the line of Numenor outside my family you have been promised to Rohan by his father. It is more than a suitable match."
Chiara stood up slowly. "I have no wish to wed him or any man, King."
"Chiara," Aragorn said calmly, "you need a husband to temper your ways. Do you wish to spend the rest of your life running outside aimlessly?"
"I need no temperance," she told him. Out of courtesy she bowed her head to Arwen before leaving the room.
Part 4
As it had been then, long generations before, that night the Elven prince Legolas wandered away from the people who were in awe of his presence. It was in this retreat from the eyes of those who did not fully understand him that he came upon a faint and distant light away from the town. With light fleet feet he walked towards the beacon.
He had always sought goals that seemed impossible to most. Now at a time when nothing was beyond comprehension-when horses were relegated for sports or cattle, when Men flew in the air rather than brave the rigors of a journey across the land, when Evil lay within the hearts rather than dwelt in the Shadows-Legolas sought something so common it would have been preposterous to his race.
Too many times he had denied a place at the foot of Iluvatar; too many times he had angered the Valar. Legolas traded all the ships that led to his paradise for each fleeting moment with Chiara. The thousand breaths in her company made completely insignificant the countless ceaseless ages that he waited.
Legolas stopped before a farmhouse, again surrounded by fields, thrown away from the town yet close enough that he could easily turn his head and see the faces of all that moved inside. It was the most viable location, for he would not be too exposed.
"Who's there?" he heard a woman call out. "Clark, son, is that you?"
Legolas slid from the direction of the voice, gliding in the shadows until he discovered another door. Swift as he was, Legolas was able to get in with no sound nor trouble.
The place was poor and shoddy, yet by far more passable than any he lived in during his travels. The inside was wooden and cold. Haystacks took up most of the space at the first level. When he looked up he saw the perfect shelter to hide him well.
The discovery of what appeared like a bunk at the high room was gratifying. Legolas pulled the sheets down and away and settled on the cushion, air rushing out of his half-open lips as he relished the feel of a comfortable for the first time in eons. With each night that he came closer to the light of his soul, the deeper and the longer his sleeping came. The deeper into the lands of dreams he was, the more Legolas relived. He lost himself in a grand world that was far better than the Woodlands his place of awakening.
~~
Middle-earth lay before him, spread out as gifts should be, a thing of beauty. Legolas stood at the ramparts of the City of Kings and wondered at the deep abiding love the Valar placed into the hearts of Elves for a creation such as this. He, like all his People, would be thankful forever to Eru for his awakening, yet he could in no real way comprehend that he would want for them to leave the rivers and stars that have sustained them long and been loved by them.
The wills and politics of the gods were an enigma that was not for that very hour.
He looked around and read the lands that he could see. All beacons of Gondor once more at rest, and the band of mercenaries drawing ever closer.
He heard the movement behind him, and from the sound of footsteps Legolas knew who it was who stood behind him before she spoke a word. He stood still and fixed his gaze on the uncertain horizon.
"Arwen has told me wealth of your race. I see your eyes so intent and still," Chiara said. "Do you see the distant lands?"
"I see," he answered. "But I will not tell you what. Were you meant to know you would have been given the same gifts."
He felt the sudden stiffness of her back, the coldness of the set of her shoulders. "I used to think of you fondly, Legolas. You were my beautiful savior. Now you are merely an Elf who cannot keep silent of the affairs of others."
Legolas turned slowly around to regard her, and his throat was pained by beauty that he never acknowledged in his kin. That this daughter of Numenor could so enthrall his eyes that have seen Arda over the sea was confounding. He knew that her anger stemmed from what he had revealed to her guardians. Legolas could not keep his response silent. "An Elf's features do not change through time, Chiara," he reminded her.
His gaze was almost tangible as it ran over her face for what she did not know.
"If to you I was then fair, I do not doubt how I am now," he told her with a tease of laughter.
"Pompous Sindarin," she muttered with burning cheeks.
"Last time I was here you were an imp who caused trouble for your guardians."
"I still do."
"So I have witnessed," he agreed. "But you are a lovely young woman now."
Chiara's brows furrowed, for to hear an Elf speak of beauty of one other than Middle-Earth was incomprehensible. "You find me fair?"
The archer walked towards her and stopped with mere inches between them. "You shine like the light."
Chiara closed her eyes and sighed. The most precious thing for his People was light. After the loss of the jewels that contained the Lights of Valinor, the Elves were possessed by their esteem for light.
"For an age I bode my time. I saw it when you were a child. I see the light in you still, only much fiercer. It calls to a part of my being I cannot name," he told her in a soft whisper of breath that teased her ear.
The breath that she had been holding she swallowed. Chiara closed her hand over his and warned him, "Then be afraid of such strong will!"
Chiara pulled him with her and led him back into the castle, ducking into a hidden portal and running down a darkened flight of stairs. When the descent seemed endless, Chiara pushed open a door and they burst outside the city walls. She whirled around to face him, gasping for breath.
"You cannot tell the King!"
At once Legolas' arms shot back to take his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Slowly he rotated with his weapon at the ready, his stance straight and his keen eyes actively reading his surroundings for a sign of danger. Long moments later he lowered his bow but did not set it aside. He gave her all outward signs of disapproval at her rashness.
"Chiara, you must inform Aragorn of this passage! And never do this again. Your guardian has many enemies who will not hesitate to hurt you."
"I keep myself safe," she answered.
The Elf's smooth face seemed mottled now, frustration a loud brandish on his features. "And what of skilled fighters?" he demanded. "My People are Immortal yet we can be killed by the likes of these mercenaries."
Chiara gasped when Legolas took her by her arm. At the sound, Legolas let go of her and apologized. He took a step back from her, stunned at his action. He had prided himself for a cool and logical approach to all that he faced. One day with her and he had lost control.
She saw his quick regret and repeated, "Legolas, I am afraid of no one. I fear one thing, and that is that these mercenaries will raze another of my homes."
"If I swear to you that I will make it my affair that these mercenaries not be cause of trouble and unrest in Gondor, will you keep safe?" Chiara nodded. "So be it."
They made their way back to the castle by ascending the darkened steps. When they emerged from the hidden doorway and arrived at the hallway for their dinner, Legolas' keen perception registered all eyes, of Men and Elves, on them. He glanced at Chiara and saw her flushed. Only then did he notice his hand on the small of her back. They were treated to still silence.
Legolas looked straight at Aragorn's shuttered face and calmly ushered the king's ward into the dining hall, sitting beside her and handing her a goblet of wine.
The silence was broken when the King asked the new arrival, "Tell me, Legolas, when do you plan to journey to Mirkwood?"
Chiara regarded him from beneath her eyelashes. Legolas saw the movement and took it as that of one who did not want to appear curious. "There are too many places to visit yet, Lord Aragorn," came Legolas' easy answer.
"And what of settling down?" the King inquired next. "Surely Thranduil has a bride in mind for his son, an Elven prince."
Legolas glanced at Arwen, who shook her head. The former Elven princess watched her husband. "I have too long a life for that, King. You know this."
"Surely you must also think of having children of your own, Legolas," he continued.
"I think of your children as my own, Aragorn. For now it is enough."
Legolas saw Chiara's hand fist before closing over a fork. He quickly touched it to soothe her nervousness.
"Perhaps," Aragorn said. Legolas looked up surprised that the king was not done. "But I remember how well you handled Chiara as a child, and knew then that you would be a fine father."
The Elf pulled his hand back as though burned. "Thank you, Aragorn. You are a true friend."
The tension was palpable. The food was untouched. Arwen spoke, "Chiara, you must drink the water. I have placed powders that will help you."
Chiara looked up at Arwen, grateful that one had spoken of something other than an Elven marriage or departure.
"Soon, we will see more children in this castle," Aragorn announced.
"Aragorn," Arwen said gently. "We have not spoken to Chiara."
"Are you bearing one, Arwen?" Legolas asked. "The blessings of life surely come to you."
Aragorn shook his head. "The prince of Rohan, son of Eowyn and Faramir, has asked for Chiara's hand in marriage, needlessly."
"Has he been informed that I am not amenable?" Chiara asked.
"Needlessly, I say, Chiara, because as the last of the line of Numenor outside my family you have been promised to Rohan by his father. It is more than a suitable match."
Chiara stood up slowly. "I have no wish to wed him or any man, King."
"Chiara," Aragorn said calmly, "you need a husband to temper your ways. Do you wish to spend the rest of your life running outside aimlessly?"
"I need no temperance," she told him. Out of courtesy she bowed her head to Arwen before leaving the room.
