Part 21

When one is caught between the doom she cannot control and the destination fate pushes her towards, how does she breathe and take back her life?

These were the questions that plagued Arwen Undomiel as her beloved father propelled her to the one direction that Aragorn, for all his travel and instinct on tracking, cannot follow. When such a mighty lord as her father began to believe in the imminent defeat of good, was it the time to lay down arms and surrender?

She rode upon a mare that moved so slowly she could hear it mourning her departure. Was her role forever to be a good daughter who would bow to her father's wishes be they against her own desires? Was she forever to be the Evenstar, believed a wondrous beauty by so many yet just like the stars untouchable to anyone?

She would perhaps never know if she could be anything else--not now when she was about to return to Valinor. Soon, the memory of the Elves and the old world would fade from the minds and heart of men. How she, she wondered, before Aragorn closes his eyes and calls her image to mind then ends up with a vague picture so easily blown away by time? How soon would his great love start to waver and his heart sway towards a woman of his race, one who could fight beside him, bleed with him, and most importantly, die the way he would die?

How Arwen longed to dissolve into ashes if it meant that her remains would forever be together with his!

Yet now it is too late. She closed her eyes and allowed the lament of the Elves to surround her, soothe her into a sense of peace and contentment.

She was going home.

And leaving it as well.

She flinched at the images that flooded her. The Elven song could not keep away the thought of her beloved Ranger, the man who would be King, wielding his sword against malign creatures. Behind him, a large Uruk-hai approached with an axe about to be swung down her love's head. Legolas screamed madly, and Aragorn turned around in time to see the Elven prince take his long white knife and cut off the enemy's head. Arwen shook her head, for the thought of Aragorn enduring such battles, be they for Middle-earth, was unacceptable to her. She saw her wedding bed, much as she had always imagined. It was a canopy bed of the finest wood offered by Treebeard. The white sheets were pure silk that flowed and brushed the floor.

Suddenly there was a red stain on the silken sheet, so dark it was almost brown. And then a body lay at the center, small, pale, and when Arwen stepped closer, familiar. The slack lips had before moved in a strange language. The golden hair crushed against the bed had also framed a lovely face. Those open sightless eyes had looked into her own before.

Arwen knelt by the bed and grasped one cold, stiffly curled hand. A pitiful wail pierced the stillness of death. She turned around a saw a bloodied squirming mass caught inside bathing cloth.

"One of Legolas' blood kin will be your death," she had told Chloe once.

Was this the future that awaited her in Middle-earth?

Then Arwen wept softly until the next sight bared to her became so hazy. Was that a little boy with the golden hair that ran around the golden trees? Legolas chased the rascal, laughing. Arwen turned away.

And beheld a glorious sight. Aragorn tossed a curly-haired child into the air. The cherubic face was full of smile. His gaze admiringly rested on his father.

With a sharp gasp, Arwen reared her horse up then around in a mad dash back to Rivendell.

"Tell me, father. What did you see?" The sad eyes of Elrond answered her question. "Did you see my son?"

"I saw death."

"It is a mortal world!"

Elrond took her hand and replied, "In which you were not meant to be part of. You are one of the Eldar, Arwen."

"I chose a Mortal life," Arwen repeated.

"The Dark Lord's armies are too strong. There is no hope."

Arwen shook her head. "There is still hope."

The Three Walkers entered through the Paths of the Dead, armed with the sword reforged from the Shards of Narsil.

The cave terrified Legolas, yet forward he pressed on. The war against Sauron would not be won without the help of the restless souls. Despite his own rebellion against this idea, he knew he needed to swallow his own refusal. The sooner they quashed Sauron and destriyed the Ring, the sooner he could begin his own quest.

A family.

Almost three thousand years he had lived, and only now did life itself become miraculous.

He remembered Galadriel's words, through Gandalf. "Beware of the Sea," she had said. She prophesied that Legolas would adore the sea upon sight and would no longer be content with the land.

He would stay on land. This he knew for a fact. While Chloe desired the land, he would stay.

Legolas smiled at the sight of his dear friend holding up the sword of his ancestors. It was time that Aragorn reclaimed what was rightfully his.

Together with the Army of the Dead, the remaining members of the Fellowship decimated the dark army. The losses on both sides were great. Legolas loathed how light he felt. With every foe that fell under his bow, he was another step closer to her. Every kill was one Orc who could not cross him towards far Rivendell.

There was one more task, this one even more grueling than the last. They had to create a distraction so that the Eye would not see Frodo and Sam climbing Mount Doom.

The Host of the West set out from the White City to the Black Gate. For the first time, they were on the offensive, in the enemy territory.

Aragorn was tireless. He wielded his sword against Sauron's creatures. Legolas turned and saw a large Uruk-hai approach Aragorn with an axe about to be swung down his head. Legolas screamed madly and fought his way through the melee. Even as Aragorn was turning, the Elven prince took his long white knife and cut off the enemy's head.

It was a battle neverending, it seemed. In some respects it was. Elrond had before joined men against this common foe, a full age since. Before Sauron, the powerful Morgoth did all he could to darken all including Valinor.

The forces of Sauron was defeated and the Ring was destroyed. Joy blossomed in Legolas' heart as the realm of Mordor was eaten up by its own flames and flood.

"Come, Legolas."

The Fellowship passed through the fields of Ithilien on the way back to Gondor. A sudden peace took the place of excitement in his heart as he studied the part of Ithilien beside Gondor.

"I shall settle here," he decided.

"You, Elf?" Gimli snorted. "You are a wanderer. You left one forest. How can you want another bunch of trees?"

Legolas shook his head and met Aragorn's smile. "It's yours, mellon."

It was with shock and surprise that Legolas turned to his friend. "Aragorn?"

"Ithilien is yours. You may settle with some of your people, should Thranduil permit it." And then he turned to Gandalf. "It is mine to give, is it not?"

Gandalf nodded, chuckling. "As soon as you are crowned."

Legolas walked towards his friend and extended his heart. "I regret that I shall not be here for your coronation."

"You have rescued Middle-earth. It is time for you to attend to your own needs. I understand," Aragorn answered. "Hanon le, Legolas."

The Elf embraced his good friend and brother. "I shall see you soon. With my bride. Hopefully with yours as well."

They turned at the sound of footsteps. Aragorn frowned in displeasure at the sight of Eowyn, with her bandaged arm, running towards them.

"My lords!" cried Eowyn, waving her uninjured arm. "My lords!"

"Should you not be in the Halls of Healing, Eowyn?" Aragorn asked. He grasped the lady's arm and steadied her, as she stood weaving before them.

Eowyn nodded, gasping for breath.

"Is it Faramir?" Gandalf inquired. "Has he taken a turn for the worse?"

As the rest tried to get the words out of the Horsemaiden, Legolas started gathering the bare necessities he would take along with him. Aragorn was right. Despite his dedication to the Free Peoples, he must now take his own time. He packed his horse and smoothly jumped onto it.

"Legolas!" Aragorn said sharply. The Ranger had not used that tone with him since he had commanded that they muster their strength and leave the Khazzad-dum.

Legolas turned around and saw Gimli waving him back. "I'm for Rivendell, Gimli," he informed he Dwarf," with nary time to lose."

Seeing the sober regard of the people around him, he jumped off the horse and landed on both feet. He made his way straight towards Eowyn, who had since recovered.

"What is it?"

Eowyn turned pleading eyes towards Aragorn.

"Legolas," Aragorn began.

"I must go to Rivendell," Legolas told Aragorn. "I have lost enough time as it is."

"She is not in Rivendell, Legolas."

"Eomer last saw her on her way. We have stemmed all Orc attacks from Rohan to Gondor. There is no possibility that she was unable to make her way there," Legolas argued.

Gimli placed a comforting hand on Legolas back. "Lord Elrond has sent word that he is on his way here. There was no word of your lady."

Legolas forced himself to relax. "And is it not possible that Lord Elrond merely neglected to tell us of her in the message?"

Reluctantly, his companions gave him the answer he wanted. "Well, aye--"

"Has anyone thought of sending him a missive?"

Gandalf raised a hand in a signal for calmness. "We shall send him a missive, Legolas. Hold off your journey until after we hear from Master Elrond."

Relectantly, Legolas agreed.

AN: Next is the final chapter. Thanks for reading again.  And I remember you Flame Dancer. Welcome back. What happened to your login ID? And to the new reader, hello! You arrived just in time.