7
Mirkwood Manor
Chapter 12
by
Lacadiva
The final chapter! Let's get right to it, and by the way, thank you thank you thank you for your kind patience and attention.
Dawn broke with brilliance and promise. Watching it from 35,000 feet above the face of the earth was an unparalleled, thrilling sight, Legolas decided. The window was small in the cabin of the plane, but he could see enough to wonder how Aragorn would have reacted to this view of the world with the clouds below them. It was truly humbling and awe-inspiring.
The events of the previous week replayed in his mind as the craft began its slow descent. Waking up in a hospital – a frightening place to be should the overworked doctors and nurses decide to examine too closely his strange physiology. Days upon days of interrogation and background checking by the police; hours upon hours of consultations with lawyers. All this finally brought them to a place where it was determined that the death of Valgur was not murder, but self-defense. All parties seemed to agree that Valgur, an escaped convict, posed a tremendous threat to his son, his ex-wife, her employer, and the public at large. They were all satisfied that the stories offered by Legolas, Charlita and Tristan corroborated. Valgur had broken into Mirkwood Manor and held the boy at knife-point. A fight ensued, which lead to the death of Valgur.
The city was unofficially, tacitly grateful that there was one less egregious, unrepentant felon for them to support through the penal system. The police, once frustrated, were happy that they no longer had to expend excessive man-hours to find the illusive Valgur (a thing Legolas could understand from his own experience). The lawyers were satisfied that there was no case to set before a judge, and that the lack of a prior criminal record – not even a parking citation – where Legolas was concerned gave them sufficient impetus to withdraw any changes against him. All were happy to simply let him go home.
He smiled when he recalled the way the police, whilst investigating the case, were equally suspicious and enamored of the various weapons found at Mirkwood Manor. One of the officers, a detective had offered the observation that Legolas was obviously one of those "renaissance festival types," and went on to describe how his own daughter would dress up in elaborate and expensive period costumes to traipse around the dusty woods in the middle of the summer. "Frankly," the officer had offered, "I don't see the appeal."
Legolas' smile faded when he recalled his last meeting with Charlita and Tristan. It was a good parting, but bittersweet, as with all things difficult but necessary.
When Legolas first broke the news that he would be leaving for a time, Tristan became sullen and uncommunicative with his mother. She brought Tristan to Mirkwood Manor for a final visit before his departure, and he noticed that Tristan had brought with him his Spiderman backpack, which was filled to bursting with all of Tristan's most prized possessions (his first edition X-men comics and a Gameboy), clothing, toothbrush and a folded map of the world.
"He has it in his mind to follow you," Charlita told him. "Please, talk to him."
Legolas led the boy to the garden, to their favorite spot, and sat him down.
"Where I go, you cannot follow."
"Why not? I want to go with you. I can't stay here."
"What about your mother? Do you realize how terribly she would miss you? Do you know how her heart would break? She needs you very much."
Legolas could see how deeply torn the boy was.
"I don't want you to leave."
"I must. They need me."
"I need you too."
"Then you must believe this, and believe it with all your heart. I will return. I will never forget you. I will teach you everything I know, and I will always be your friend."
Despite Legolas' promise, Tristan looked dejected, and for the first time since the ordeal he had survived, like the little boy that he was. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he allowed himself to pout.
"Before I go, Tristan, I must ask you to do me a great service. An honor. Will you?"
"What?"
"First, watch over my home. Live here, with your mother, of course. Protect it, as if it were on the very lands of Mirkwood. And protect your mother. See to her safety and happiness. Finally, take great care of Anduril for me."
"Anduril? You're giving it to me?"
"Not yet. It will pass to you someday. For now, I wish you to be the keeper of Anduril. Protect it and preserve its honor. Let it never fall into the hands of those who would use it for ill. You cannot do that if you follow me."
"Wow. Thanks. I mean, yeah, I'll take care of it."
"And my home as well?"
"Sure. If it's okay with mom."
"I'm sure it will be. Listen…"
"What?"
"The trees. They are delighted. They like you very much. They are pleased that you will be here to keep them company in my place."
"They said that?"
"Yes."
Tristan sat very still, listening hard.
"I can't hear them."
"You will come to hear them, in time. When you learn to listen with your whole heart. Come, let us return to the manor."
They walked side by side, taking in the last vestige of warmth before the arrival of winter.
"If you throw in the bow and arrows, you have a deal."
"Deal," Legolas said, "but you'll have to practice everyday."
"Deal," said Tristan. "Hey, how do you say friend in Elf…I mean, Elvish?"
"Mellon."
"Melon?"
"No…mellon. Mellon nin. My friend."
"Mellon nin. Cool."
When they returned to the house, Legolas sought out Charlita, and found her sitting quietly in the library. It had been cleaned up and restored since the final battle with Valgur, but it still brought an odd feeling to Legolas, a feeling of loss, whenever he entered the room.
He sat beside Charlita.
"Tristan is satisfied to remain."
"How did you manage that?" she asked.
"I gave him what we all crave. Responsibility. I should tell you, I've also involved you in our…deal."
"In what way?"
"I've asked Tristan to remain here at Mirkwood Manor, to live here until I return. I extend the same invitation to you. Not as a caretaker, but as a much honored guest. I have no desire to sell the place or rent it. You may live freely here, enjoy and eat freely from my garden, and continue your archival work. For your own enjoyment, of course. There are many more maps and books and scrolls that need your expert care and attention."
"Legolas, I can't. This is too much."
"Please."
"How long will you be gone?"
"It could be months. Perhaps even a few years. I cannot tell until I've begun the search."
"Twist my arm."
"Why would I want to do such a thing to you?"
"No," she laughed, "it's just an expression. It means yes, I'll do it. It would be my honor."
"Then, consider your arm twisted. You are faring well since the ordeal?"
"I still have nightmares."
"As do I. My heart has not been the same. For thousands of years I held to the thought of justice for Valgur's misdeeds, and now…I only feel an emptiness."
"That will change, once you find his…children. That hurt me deeper than I thought it would. I was in love, but to him, I was just a vessel, a carrier for his…ego. How did I get so easily sucked in?"
"You have good reason to feel anger at being misused," Legolas said, "but do not despair. Everything has a reason. I believe you have an even greater part yet to play. Out there are those who will need the kindness and understanding only you can provide. Every trouble you experienced at the hand of Valgur, though it brought you great pain, also brought us together as allies. It is no random act, but fate. And if you dismiss all you've been through as poor luck or a cursed life, you miss the opportunity to do something positive with it. You can change minds, change hearts, change lives. If your are willing."
"What are you asking me?"
"When I find them, the children of Valgur, I will do all I can to give them hope. A purpose and a future. Teach them all I know of what it means to be an elf. Would you consider helping them understand what it means to be human? Teach them kindness, mercy, compassion. Mostly, forgiveness."
"I don't know. I'm not qualified. I don't know if I have what it takes…and I'm still so angry…"
"You have a heart, do you not? And a desperate need to ease the pain and suffering of others. I see that in your eyes. You have a mind that chooses to love when others would choose hate. That, to me, makes you more than qualified. If you need a concrete example of your ability to teach others to love, look to your son. What better qualification could you possibly have?"
"If you find them, and you need me, I'm there for you."
"Thank you."
"No. I should be thanking you. You were willing to die for my son and me. You barely knew me, yet you were willing to give up your own life. Whether you like it or not, you have a friend in me."
Charlita smiled. Legolas reached out and barely touched the side of her face with a finger.
"You should smile more," he said. " It is quite beautiful."
"Easy. That kind of talk usually gets me in trouble."
Legolas withdrew his hand, but gave her a smile of his own.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I leave for Australia."
"Your first time in Sydney, Mr. Greenleaf?"
"Yes," he said with a smile.
"And the purpose of your visit?"
"Pleasure."
The Customs Officer looked carefully at his face and compared it to his passport photo. After a beat, and once the computer offered no negative information, the officer stamped Legolas' passport and handed it back to him with a curt smile.
"Welcome to Australia."
Legolas stood at Sydney harbor. He had not seen water so blue and perfect since before the Third Age.
They will be your kin and kind. They will need your guidance.
He walked the streets, searching the faces of the crowd as they walked by him. Friendly people, he noticed. But where would he begin to search? How would he find them?
They will need you to teach them everything you know.
It was then that he realized someone was following him. Smallish feet, by the sound of each footfall. Soft shoes, perhaps a running shoe. Warn down, he could tell. Legolas slowed and instantly realized that the one who followed him had stopped.
Legolas turned. A sea of people moved around him. One person remained still, eyes upon him. Eyes that were electric blue. Skin that was pale, almost glowing. Long dark hair, so black it was nearly blue. Clothes clean but worn. There was shyness in her gesture - hands wringing, held under her chin. But there was boldness and openness in her expression. By human standards, one might have guessed her to be no more than eighteen. But Legolas knew better. She was far older than she appeared. And she would look this way for a very long time.
A gust of wind blew her hair out of the way, revealing ears that ended in soft tapered points. She reached up to rearrange her hair around her ears, to hide them, but thought better of it as she saw the tall blond Elf allow the wind to blow his hair freely, exposing him for what he was.
Legolas moved closer. She took one step away, but only one. She remained, trembling. And then she smiled.
"I knew you'd come," she said with a strong Aussie accent.
"How could you know?"
"Saw you in my dreams. Are you my father?"
"I am not. But I have come to take care of you."
He held out a hand. She hesitated, then reached out and took Legolas' hand. Her hand was small and delicate, but her grip was warm and strong.
"Mae govannen," he said. "Man eneth lin? What is your name?"
"Name's Joy."
"Joy," Legolas repeated, a smile wide upon his face. "How appropriate, for that is what I feel this very moment meeting you, my kin. I eneth nin Legolas. Gil sila erin lu e-govaded vin. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting."
"Sounds nice," Joy said. "Sounds real nice."
"Are there others?"
She nodded.
"Take me to them."
"Right," she said with a smile. "This way. I'll show you."
THE END
Hope you enjoyed Mirkwood Manor. I've enjoyed writing it. Please feel free to respond and thanks for all your kind attention and encouragement - Lacadiva