Disclaimer: Don't own it, never will.
A/N: This is the final chapter. Yeah, I mean it. There's no more.
And so, we shall see what will happen when two emotionally worn-out Elves finally meet the person who has been keeping her own company for a month! Yes, you guessed it- Lothmiren is here and waiting for her husband. There's a bit of a surprise in the last A/N, and I wish you all the best of enjoyments when reading this chapter. Let us proceed!
Reunion.
Cluf-whuramph, clup-thwump, cluf-whuramph.
The chestnut mare galloped steadily over the rolling country of Calenardhon. The weight of the two Elves on her back was only about as much as the weight of one human rider, as the Elves were lighter, and so she had no problems as she bore them swiftly to the Golden Wood.
Legolas watched the world as it swept beneath him. The day was bright, and they had naught to fear. And yet he still was not quite content...he was anticipating something, something that he had missed...
Not long now, Naneth. Maybe another day, and we shall be with you. I have missed you, Nana; I have missed you so much! Your voice, your face, everything about you.
It has been so long, Naneth. I did not know if I could endure it- by the Valar, I sometimes doubted even Ada! I did not think that even he could have survived some of the things that he somehow lived through. But I should have known- if anyone could have, then Ada could have. He is unlike any other Elf; he can do things that they never could.
The strong arms were warm about him, holding him secure as he perched upon the horse's withers. He looked ahead, scanning the distance. What could he see? What was that...?
Silver and gold flashed briefly, far away. His heart seemed to jump suddenly, hurtling up into his throat. He strained his eyes, hoping to glimpse it again. Just beyond the horizon...he knew that it was there...yes!
"Ada," he breathed, "I can see it. I can see where we are going."
There was no answer but for the arms that tightened about his waist, holding him closer. He glanced over his shoulder, slightly concerned. Why wasn't his father answering him? He decided that he didn't truly mind. Thranduil had more than earned the right to keep his silence, if he so wished. The young Prince pressed back gently, relaxed, and continued to observe his surroundings as the world whipped past.
Sapphire and snow whirled above him, punctuated by the occasional chunk of iron grey. Emerald swirled below him, and he was pressed tight against a warm, large, cedar-shaded body, with another heat against his back. Golden strands caressed his face and his neck. He felt himself beginning to doze as reality became more and more confused around him...and yet it didn't feel confused...nothing seemed to be wrong...
He fell into a kind of half-sleep, in which nothing made much sense, unless it was in the blind, foggy way that everything illogical makes sense in dreams. All seemed hazy, and it was difficult for him to focus in on any one particular sound. It all appeared to be so unreal...and he was warm, and safe, so very, very safe...
Star-scattered darkness took the place of the swinging vaults of blue. Cool breaths pattered pleasantly over his face, leaving him feeling refreshed and well. The heat of the bodies pressed against him became a gentle warmth, a balm to his suddenly tired muscles. He relaxed into the soothing sensations, hovering on the edge of dreams.
Pearly grey mist curled softly over his face, shimmering pale golden and silver in the light of the stars and the moon. Blurred images floated tantalizingly through his mind...pictures of a great mountain with a crest of fire, and of a small, Man-like creature with curly hair and bare feet and a beautiful gold Ring. An Elf-Lady was standing before the Man-creature, speaking to it...him. The Man-creature held out the Ring, and Legolas saw a white star flash between the Lady's fingers, as she stood straight, her loveliness adding to the fear that she inspired inside him.
Gold and silver again, only this time above him...He awoke. They were slowing now, as the sun's first gleam tinted the sky with a pale tangerine flush. The leaping, rolling motion of the previous carefree gallop had become the steady, rocking stride of a canter. He straightened up from his slumped position against Thranduil's chest.
Ahead of him was a true sight of glory.
The delicate orange and poppy tint of dawn was lighting up a forest of grey-barked trees, which stood reaching towards him with graceful, slender arms. Lovely flowers of gold laced over them, like embroidery on a sleeve. They were tall, beautiful, and served to make the Prince feel as though he were approaching the Blessed Realm. The sunrise had set fiery colours alight in the leaves, and a soft myriad of warm shades flowing over the smooth white-silver trunks.
He was somehow both content and full of a joyous anticipation. There, in that brightly glowing wood, were the Elves whom he had known almost all of his life. Those friends that he had; the familiar people who took counsel with his father...and...
His mother.
He could picture her now, standing in the glorious daylight, her sandy hair glimmering and her blue-green eyes shining with happiness. He imagined her lithe form and her warm, loving smile. He recalled her usual carefree, ruffled appearance; the way that she had used to embrace both the Elvenking and him at the same time (Legolas was still not quite sure how she had accomplished this). Someone who would always think of him, who would never forget him. Someone who would wait for him anxiously, and who would gladly welcome him at the end of each travel that he undertook. Someone who might not accompany him, but who would be there at the end of the ordeal, every time.
They were trotting now, bad-bmph, bad-bmph, and he gave a slight yelp as he was jounced on the horse's back. Coarse, tangled hair flapped on the animal's neck, and he wove his hands into it in order to steady himself.
"Not far now," he heard Thranduil mutter behind him. "Not far now, ion-nin."
And then, suddenly, he noticed a rushing, roaring sound. Their path was by no means clear.
They had to cross the Anduin.
Any other Elf would have given up. But Legolas did not give up. He had his father with him, and he was confident in the other's ability to find a way through just about anything that the world could throw at them.
They had to stop at the top of the bank. The way down was rocky and steep. The Elvenking tugged at the Prince's tunic gently, carefully removing him from the back of their mount. The corn-haired child slid to the ground with a light dumph.
"Ada?" he asked timidly. "Ada, how are we going to cross the river?"
His father seemed rather more preoccupied with examining the current, depth, and width of their obstacle than with answering his son's question. With a quiet sigh, the boy turned to the racing flood of water himself.
There was no denying it: it scared him. It was big, and it behaved so violently, bashing itself off the rocks that stood beside it- and so loud! He wanted to block up his ears, and so he did just that. Spray from the breaking waves settled in his hair; dampened his clothing.
It was all even more foreign to him than the open plains had been. Water, shattering against stone. Strange, he hadn't thought that water could shatter. At any rate, he regarded the battling waters with a mixture of fearful apprehension and curious fascination.
Eventually, his father seemed to make a decision. Taking the young boy's hand, he caught the mare's forelock and began to lead them both, horse and Elfling, down the steep and stony bank.
They halted by the very side of the furious, snatching current. Staring over the Anduin to the opposing ridge, Legolas felt cold, wet, tired, and- in a nutshell- utterly terrified. He didn't know what this new phenomenon was, but it sounded rather like an angry Warg snarling through a mouthful of liquid. It acted violently, powerfully...a huge branch went sweeping past him, battered down the channel...
And then he was suddenly clinging to his Ada, not wanting to let go, and Thranduil held him there, steadying him, before catching his arms and swinging him up, up, onto the chestnut horse's firm back, and with one hand he let go of his father's arm and tangled his fingers in the wiry and knotted mane, holding on for dear life. Finding himself a lot higher up, and very much not in control, he whimpered fearfully.
"Ada?"
The Sinda Lord finally seemed to take proper notice of his son's turbulent emotions.
"Yes, Legolas? What frightens you so?"
"Ada, I-I don't...what are we going to do? What is that? And why- why do we have to cross it? Why here? Couldn't we cross somewhere else?"
His father looked thoughtful. Then he turned to the boy and said, quietly, "Would you prefer that we arrived now or later? For if we ford her here, then the end shall come swifter. Yet if we search for another way, our path shall be safer...what say you?"
The golden child considered his options. It's been so long...I want to see her; I need to see her! What trouble could water be? Ada will not allow me to be harmed. I shall be safe enough.
"Very-very well, then." His voice trembled slightly.
The Elvenking had a firm hold on the mare's forelock. Scanning the river as if to look for something, he nodded and stepped forwards. Soft splashes were barely heard over the bellowing roar of the mighty river as the three of them entered the water.
The incredibly powerful current swept the horse off her feet; she kicked out below him in an attempt to stay upright, swimming for the other side. He buried his hands in her unruly coat; clung to her with all of the strength that he could muster as he stared, terrified, at the slow-moving figure of his father, slightly ahead of him and to his right, guiding the creature.
I am going to fall! I cannot withstand this! I shall be swept away!Nay, calm yourself. I shall not fall. Ada is here. I am safe.
They were carried downstream swiftly, moving a foot forward for every five that they were pushed, but then, suddenly, there was a jarring motion beneath him, and the next thing he knew, his mount was scrabbling up the bank and into the forest.
"" """""""""""" """"""""""
The wind teased her hair lightly. She could see far from her precarious position, balancing on one of the highest (and thinnest) branches in the tree. The edge of Lothlorien was just visible from where she stood, and she halfway imagined that she saw a brown speck moving at the borders.
Do not be so unintelligent, she scolded herself. They do not have a horse. Unless, of course, they somehow obtained one while on their way here.
Nodding decisively, she slipped carefully down the tree, and set off in the direction of the speck that she had seen.
The ground was smooth and dry beneath her feet. Dust danced about her ankles as she walked. Lothmiren's typical gait was a very long, loping stride, but now she adopted a swinging, stiffer motion that allowed her to cover ground quickly without too much loss of energy. It was a trick that she'd learned from her Nanda mother, and she was grateful for it.
The sun cast its beautiful light through the golden elanor and the long, slim, silver leaves. It turned to delicate mottled patterns of snowy yellow and icy marble, tinged with warm sun-coloured orange and gold. Lothlorien was lovely at any time of the day, but she liked it best when the sun first climbed the horizon, or when the shadows fell in a blaze of red and violet at dusk. Then the tints of the sky flung all other things into varied shades of themselves, and the forest became a true paradise of wondrous hues, all mingling over the faces of those Elves that were awake at such times, and bathing the talans in fire-stricken streaks.
Now that the sun had cleared the site of it's rising, the wood was softer on her eyes, and admittedly less distracting. She was finding it easier to concentrate on her path. And all the while, her mind was praying frantically to whatever Vala might happen to be listening- Please let them be there, let me see them again, don't make them be lost or injured or unable to think straight, let it not just be a figment of my imagination...
Her eyes were stinging slightly as tears threatened. With every step, the possibility that it might not have been real hammered itself further into her mind. It was getting harder to convince herself that what she had seen had, in fact, been what she had thought she had seen.
Ah, but even if it was not true, or I saw something else, then I have nothing left to lose. I have already lost it. Acting as I am only serves to bring me closer to them. Therefore, I shall continue to do so.
Her eyes scanned the trees ahead. She could see nothing to break the gentle rhythm of plant life; could hear nothing that might signify a large creature or a pair of Elves. Her senses were straining, but she could detect nothing.
She stopped, caught hold of a rough-barked bough, and swung herself up. Her feet pushed against the branch, and she reached for the next, seized it, pulled. Her lithe, slender body bounded upwards, in a series of grabs, kicks, and jumps. Up and up, continuing without pause...
She stopped at the top, stood straight, and surveyed the land before her. The borders were nearer now, over two miles nearer. This encouraged her, and she descended once more, to run in the direction of the plains.
It felt pleasant to her feet, to be loping without shoes over the slightly damp, loamy earth. It gave way a little under her steps, like young grass beside a river. Her mind began to wander and drift, playing over events in her life, thinking of her husband and son.
Flashback.
She was a young girl when she first saw Mirkwood. They had lived by a river before that, and she had played in the willow trees, watching the otters and the fish, or staying awake at night to see the rabbits and the russet-red foxes that came down the bank to drink.
But then all of that changed somehow, when she had been even younger than her son. At only one and a half centuries old, she had left their home, following her father, a Sinda. He had lived in Doriath, then Mirkwood, before they had found him injured beside the river.
"We will have to go there," he had said, when the first leader, her grandfather, was killed. He was the new leader now, and he chose to take them into the forest of shadows. But it had been Greenwood the Great then.
She hadn't liked the tall trees, which cast long shadows, even at noontide. But she'd had to go. And she'd gone, clutching her most precious possession to her chest...a little gold model of a flower, a tiny amethyst set in its centre. A flower-jewel for the Flower-Jewel, as her family said.
She had known that she loved Thranduil from the moment that she saw him.
Or not love, exactly, but she had felt something strange when she first glimpsed him, at least fifty years older than herself, standing tall beside his own father. They had been there to welcome the new additions to their home- there was plenty of room, and the Nandar had fed themselves on nuts, berries, and roots when they entered.
They had been similar in status- she the daughter of the colony leader, he the son of the King. She had used to follow him about, fascinated by him for some reason that she could not explain. And he had shown her all the animals that she did not know about, explained how they behaved. She told him about otters, but they did not play in those streams.
She realised that she was in love with him at four hundred years of age. He was so gentle, and yet strong, and he made her feel...strange, all curled up and warm inside her chest.
He asked her about two decades later, and she had accepted.
End flashback.
And now she was searching for the one that she had pledged herself to. Looking for the Elf that was so close to her heart as to be another part of her soul. Hunting for...for life. For the rightness and the wrongness and the sorrows and the joys that had bound them so tightly.
How can one explain what is beyond words? To be without him for longer than I have would be as to live without breathing for that time. It is not natural, to do that- the Valar alone know how Celebrian and Elrond manage. But then, I suppose that life in Imladris is less frantic than our lives are normally. While we must balance on a knife-edge, developing our friendships and family bonds tightly in order to simply survive, they have a somewhat easier time of it- although their love is not a thing to be scoffed at. They can feel their spouses wherever they are; they are always so certain that they will reunite with their friends.
I envy them a little. But I would not give up the lifestyle that I have were I to be offered the Three Rings of Power.
She avoided the trees carefully, weaving around them
And then Lothmiren's sensitive ears picked up the delicate chirchk-scretch of a horse's heavier footfall, not too far away.
"" """""""""""" """"""""""
Thranduil sat tall on the beast's back. The rocking trot had become a steadier, more controllable walk. This made it much easier to pick their way delicately around the trees. It also seemed to be appreciated by their mount, although the Elvenking had the distinct feeling that it would have been more grateful if they had stopped.
It was almost getting boring. Or rather, it would have been. Under normal circumstances, he would have been impatient to reunite with his wife, but the peace of the beautiful forest was relaxing, and very much appreciated after the hectic carnage of the last month.
He could feel her coming closer and closer as they went onwards, manoeuvring about the proud, mist-grey columns of firm, smooth wood. He swayed gently with the slow, flowing pace, too tired to bother to try keeping still on the chestnut creature's back. He was saving his energy.
I can feel you.
I know that you are there. What is a mile between us? A mile is nothing when we wish to be together. Soon, so soon...my mind is hungry to see you and hear you.
But he could see nothing; hear nothing. That was one problem with woods, he decided- they were altogether too easy for something or someone that you were looking for to hide in.
He thought that he glimpsed something that was not part of the forest, just in the corner of his eye. He turned the horse, his son's weight heavy against his chest. Then Legolas sat up straighter...
He saw her.
Clad in a loose, simple, pale green dress, his wife was standing between two slender trunks, her sandy hair trailing over her shoulders. Her eyes shone warmly, and a smile touched her face, as she stepped toward him, and he advanced regally upon her, sitting tall, with their child perched happily before him.
They stopped, as if by some silent agreement, several feet apart. He gently nudged the Elfling, who slipped off carefully. Thranduil dismounted in his turn.
They waited for a moment that seemed to last forever, his lips curving in a smile of his own as he surveyed her.
And then they were both running, their arms outstretched, and they collided, falling to the soft floor, clinging to each other in a desperate, warm embrace, she burying her face in his chest, and he hiding his face in her hair.
"You're alive," she sobbed, the joyful tears soaking into his chest. "You're alive."
"I know," he whispered soothingly. "Hush, calm, all is well. We are together again, despite all that has been done to prevent that."
There was a soft, uncertain cry of 'Naneth!', and the pair reached out to their son, clasping him tightly between them. He smiled into his mother's chest, murmuring quiet, undistinguishable words.
Legolas soon drifted once more into slumber, his head nestled against his mother, who breathed reassuring words to him occasionally, while Thranduil told her of the incidents that they had experienced since they had been separated over a month ago.
By the time that he had finished, Lothmiren's fingers had coiled into his hair, and she was cradling their child in one arm. Her eyes looked into his, filled with love and sorrow for what they had endured. She pressed against him gently.
"I-I suppose that we should get up now," she said at last. He did not want to move, but it was true that, as he was King of his own realm, it was about time that he properly acknowledged the leaders of this one. He was, after all, responsible for any of his people now living here.
"Aye, that we should. And Lothen...what has been going on in my absence?"
His wife smiled.
Half an hour later, the Elvenking of Mirkwood was forcing a broad grin off his features. The idea of the impassive and noble Lord Celeborn- whom he had met before- with bright red hair and a bucket of dye to hand was extremely amusing to him.
The horse was trailing along behind them. It was by no means an Elvish mount, but Thranduil couldn't quite bring himself to leave it behind after all the help that it had given them. So it trailed along after them, kicking up the earthy floor and digging its nose into his back.
They travelled a good distance that day. The welcoming trees stood high, the fair light passing between the leaves to colour their faces in cool, dancing shades. The air was fresh, and warm, but not sticky. They moved freely, unhindered, striding out swiftly. Delicate breezes caressed their faces softly.
They had to stop when the sun began to fade. They could have kept on through the night, but none exactly relished the idea of bumping into trees at every turn (the horse would, at any rate, and they did not want the distraction), falling asleep on their feet, and arriving at the Elven city completely worn out, not to mention dishevelled. So they halted, forming a sleepy little huddle at the base of a tree.
But before they slept, Thranduil forced himself to look at the sky, so that he could see precisely what his wife had been talking about when she had mentioned dusk.
He was glad that he had done so.
Violet and mauve shot the indigo fringe of the darkness. Bright scarlet and rich, pale, foaming orange laced the beautiful pink flower that surrounded the sinking sun. Soft aquamarine tendrils still clung to the molten copper that defined the protective, wispy clouds. It was as though one of the Valar had taken the pure joy of an uncorrupted, undamaged child, and had cast it into a brilliant, and yet sadly fleeting moment, which was quickly consumed by the gentle embrace of the warm night's darkness.
His dreams were content. There were no nightmares, no unnerving thoughts. In fact, he hardly dreamt at all.
But what he did dream of soothed him, although it also puzzled him somewhat. They were even more illogical than most dreams are, almost as though he had no real sense of how things worked together and fitted with each other any more. His mind wandered through images of fields of stripy, marble-like grass and big, red-and-turquoise flowers made- it seemed- entirely of coloured water, without any kind of support. He mused on large, fluffy, purple ponies, which appeared to be trotting happily over small mountain ranges comprised entirely of stacks of mithril and amethyst trees.
He woke when the sun reappeared in the sky, flickering brilliantly out over the trees that surrounded them. The rays lashed at his open eyes, shocking him awake. He yawned, and sat up.
Legolas had coiled up at his side, his fair hair trailing over the Elvenking's lap. His eyes were vacant in sleep, and Thranduil absentmindedly wondered if the child's dreams were as inane as his own had been. The slender body was cradled in his wife's lap. Curled up, small, and, unfortunately, no longer innocent.
His gaze drifted to Lothmiren. Her sandy hair trailed loosely over one shoulder. Her face bore a serene, even joyous, expression. She was slumped sideways, rather awkwardly, and he smiled to see it- the elleth always had been in the habit of picking the most unusual positions to recline in. (He recalled a rather amusing incident in which she had folded herself into the knee-space beneath his desk and had been unable to climb out again.)
He was reluctant to disturb the enjoyable calm that he was currently experiencing, but they shouldn't lie there all morning. Not if they wished to arrive in the Elven city at a reasonable hour.
So he moved, gently shifting Legolas' head off his lap and onto the ground, while reaching out to shake his wife's shoulder gently. She stirred, moaning softly, while the Elfling muttered something incoherent, and looked up, his eyes slowly focusing.
"Come," he said, quietly and warmly, looking down at his child. "We should go. The hour is late. If we linger here any longer, then we shall be most delayed."
Two murmurs of assent. He tried to move his stiff muscles– sleeping propped up against a tree did not make for the best of comfort in the morning –and clambered awkwardly to his feet, holding out a hand to interlock his fingers with hers and haul her up. She smiled and leaned into him.
Something huffed somewhere behind them. Thranduil sighed before turning around.
"I swear, I doubt that I have ever met a horse, be it Elven or mortal, that is as persistent in nature as you are," he informed the creature. "And I am not quite sure whether this fact amuses me or annoys me."
It was his child who picked up the string that had held his tunic and attempted to hobble the beast to the tree, with some success. The chestnut glared at him, then lowered her head and began to crop the short grass.
They ambled on alone, carefully choosing their path, although there was no real need to. The day was slightly cloudier than the one that had preceded it, but the weather was fair enough.
Ahead of them, walkways and houses were spotted at last. Children could be heard laughing, bards were singing, and friends were shouting cheerfully to each other. Faint glimpses of the lovely city were finally given to the two weary travellers. After so much stress and toil, they would be afforded a well-earned rest. Both were eagerly looking forward to it.
Closer and closer they walked, hidden in the shadows and the trees, until they were standing only twenty feet away from the outmost talen. Then they stopped, looking at each other in light-hearted, anticipating gazes.
Then Thranduil put his right arm about Lothmiren, and his left arm around Legolas, and they walked –King and Queen and Prince –into the bright, beautiful Elven city in that quiet forest.
The end.
Y'know, I only just realised that it had taken me about two months to get this chapter out. Bad of me, I know, but the muses have had a lot to work on in other fics, and with schoolwork.../shudders/.
At any rate, you can see that this one's over. Anybody wishing to see more of my work should check out Where the Present Meets the Past, my Elves-in-history story. It is not as Legolas-and-Thranduil centric as this story was –in fact, it focuses a good deal on the Peredhil, their family, and any other characters that I can recall, as long as they are recognisable. It also has quite a few OCs. I also hope to have a Silmarillion fanfic up sometime in the next few months.
Also, if you care about the random musings of a teenage wannabe-author, go check out my livejournal, linked to my profile as my homepage. Actually, just go check it out anyway.
To all of the people who liked it: thanks.
And now for my treat –reviewer responses. For all of you.
Big Wompum: Thanks for the praise! I think I must be good at suspense...
BM originally: I probably told you this before, but...hooked? Really? I'm flattered! And knowing that there are other Christians out there is really encouraging, because it feels so lonely sometimes...
Deana: About ten, I think, maybe eleven. Way too young for most kids to cope.
Dez: You're one of the coolest reviewers that I know. You always make your comments entertaining to read, and you make some great points. You don't seem afraid to make me glad, because just reading what you've written makes me glad, and I like that.
Frodofreak88: Reader comments, MST style! Seriously though, that's a new one. And I liked his reactions.
Gemini969: Okay, I did -/pokes warily/.
Gozilla: I did...are they alright?
Hanna M.: No, it does not always rain in England, that myth is incorrect. /Passes tissue. /
Irish Anor: Yeah, exams suck. I have captured your attention? /Basks in praise. /
Joshua Nenya: I'm going to take that 'interesting style' thing as a compliment...hey! I'm learning German!
Kaye Thorn: /Snuggles muchly. / Love you, love your moral-raising comments.
Lady Laswen: /Bowes. / I aim to please. You're good at humour, by the way.
Ladypirate3: Wow! Not two hours had gone by and somebody had reviewed! Thanks!
Lyn: Uh, thank you?
Lysan: Compelling? Thanks very much. And I'm glad that you took the time to read my bio...
Martina: I am incredibly glad that you don't think that there's anything to bitch about in my story. And don't worry; I don't intend to drop the fiction. :')
Mistopurr: You took time out of your vacation to review? Whoa, now that is cool.
Muddie21: An hour? Quick reading!
Naever Lalaith: I appreciate the help with the Elvish, and I'm glad to know that someone else has read Celebrian.
Parmalokwen: Thanks for the constructive criticism. I haven't read the appendixes much, so that stuff you gave me was really helpful, and I hope that I amended my faults satisfactorily. And no, I do not just ditch my WIPs, I suspend them. Although, if you reviewed, I might just –scratch that, probably would –continue faster. Feedback counts.
Pisces 101: Whoo, long review! Okay, as you see, I've emailed the chapter to you, and I'm glad to sort out those queries of yours! They made me think a bit...
Reiji Neko Mitsukai: O-kaaay...is this sweet enough?
Stuntz: Dude? I'm a girl, thanks.
The-burglar: Uh, well, I'd never written a cliffhanger before...don't-kill-me-please? And I'm honoured to be on your favourites list.
THECheeseTurkey: I remind you of Cassia? Wow, I really aspire to get that high!
Tonianne: /Is grateful for the love. /
Trista: Awesome is cool.
Zammy: You know what, Zam? I'm beginning to think you a stalker!
With love to all, from the author...
Starwind Rohana, the imaginative teenage pervy-minded weirdo girl.