DIE UNBEKANNTE BLUME - - THE UNKNOWN FLOWER

Author's Note

THIRD CHAPTER! Yeah, go me! Anyway, I hope you are all enjoying this. I write this for the sake of myself, and all the other LOTR fans out there. I dedicate this to … hmm.. let's dedicate this to my friend Elil Galia (fellow writer on Random note: I got a chocolate stain on the pink shirt I'm wearing, and I have no idea how the hell it got there… although, I was eating chocolate ice cream… still have no idea how it got there :s

Legal Disclaimer

The original story of the Lord of the Rings are the wonderworks of Tolkien and his brain

Phrases that are movie related are works of Peter Jackson and his team of writers

The song is from the Lord of the Rings, Return of the King Special Extended DVD version, scene 56, which I think is sung by Liv Tyler (but don't hold me to it, cause I might be wrong!) – the extra verse and slight adaptation is MINE!

Warning

Movie verse

+ - + - + - + -

Chapter 3: The stars are fading

The night was growing old and the real darkness of the world covered the skies as well as one of the elven cloaks made by Galadriel.

"Seldom do we clothe strangers in the garb of our own people, but may these cloaks shield you from unfriendly eyes…"

The list of patients on Aragorn's list was constant, neither diminishing nor increasing, even though there were some deaths from those too injured to be cured. But those touched by the hands of Aragorn were slowly revived. There was still a glimmer of light for the world of Men.

The atmosphere in the hospital was solemn. This was no place for laughter or mirth, especially after the slaughter both in the city and on the Pelennor fields. What Aragorn would have given, just to hear someone laugh merrily, or to see someone smile…

He allowed Éomer to watch his sister, giving himself a small break to look around at the other patients. He should not have done so, that was favouritism, but he had decided to check on Elanor, Elrond's youngest daughter, the unknown flower, who was broken by the Orc.

Elanor.

She had been so named, after the golden sunflowers that grew on the carpets of Lórien. Her birth had been a source of joy to both her parents, her birth had brought a brightness to their lives as the flowers of the Golden Wood bring beautiful brightness into the eyes of the weary traveller.

Her hair was the of the same darkness as her siblings and father, her silver eyes as keen as an eagle. Her soft skin was a healthy colour, not as pale as Éowyn, showing that Elanor loved being under the sun.

Elanor. Elrond had often called her his 'sun-daughter'.

Mellon nîn, thought Aragorn, why did you battle today in Minas Tirith? Why did you not stay in your father's safe house? Why did you come here?

He kissed her brow, hoping that she would awaken from her deep slumber, hoping that she was not going to join the rest of the fading human lives.

+ - + - + - + -

Legolas sat in the darkness waiting.

They were all waiting. Healers, the wounded, his comrades, his friends. Waiting for recovery, for peace, for some joy in the long darkness that awaited them if Frodo's quest failed.

"And what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

The words of Boromir should never have haunted him, but they did. Legolas had never felt any sympathy or closeness with the Man of Gondor, who had tried to steal the One Ring. From their first meeting, Legolas had sensed that there was something amiss in Boromir's aura. It was a strange inkling of distrust that Legolas had felt sitting in the Council of Elrond, although he had never before in his life met Boromir.

What would happen if Frodo discarded the Ring into Mount Doom? What would his life become? Would he be able to settle back into the otherworldly life he had once led, as the Prince of the Mirkwood Realm? Would he be able to cope with the ethereal living standards of the Eldar? It was strange to think of his life like this, Legolas knew, but his life had become so tied up with the Quest of the Ring, that the Fellowship had become his brethren, his family. Well, a family without women. The Elves were – 'the Elves'? Was he referring to his own kin as a separate race now?

No. The Elves were not a separate race to him. Never in a lifetime. But they were so different, now that he had become part of the Fellowship, that he found himself wondering what it was that he actually had in common with his kindred, apart from physical similarity. His role in the Fellowship had set him apart, his place there felt so correct. He had even become accustomed to the Halflings and their eating habits, that he could even recite all their meal times. Never again would he be able to stroll in the great halls of his father without remembering the toasts that they had made in the Hall of Meduseld, to those who had sacrificed their lives in the Battle of Helm's Deep.

Legolas' life had changed.

It was so quiet here, in the small gardens of the Houses of Healing, so quiet, that it brought back to Legolas a sense of the Eldar etherealness amidst the city of Men. It was so quiet, save for the swishing of the leaves in the breeze that he could hear a voice, someone singing. Someone who seemed both by his side, and somewhere distant.

It could have been a trick of his mind. For all he knew, the Abhorred One could be manipulating him, but the song was too real, its lyrics too beautifully Elvish that never in a million years could they be considered a making of Sauron.

With a sigh, you turn away

With a deepening heart, no more words to say

You will find, that the world has changed

Forever

The voice was familiar. He had heard this voice only once before, but it was enough for him to remember it through the remaining Ages left on Middle Earth.

The trees are now turning, from green to gold

And the sun is now fading upon our world

The First Ones, they leave us for distant shores

And beauty will come back

Together with a fall.

A small smile played on Legolas' lips.

It was the sweet voice of Arwen Undómiel, neither here nor there, but it was in the atmosphere, surrounding him and the Houses of Healing. Although the song carried a great sadness about it, the lulling melody set his mind at ease.

+ - + - + - + -

Éomer looked suspiciously at Aragorn when he heard what the Ranger had said.

"What?"

Aragorn inhaled slowly, and said, "Take a rest. Walk around the grounds for a bit, get some food."

The look on Éomer's face suggested plainly that Aragorn must be out of his mind. His facial expression changed to surprise as he found Aragorn laughing at him.

"You are like the Gondorian who brought in the soldier who lies over there," he pointed at Elanor's bed. "He would not even go home to rest although it was obvious that he was weary."

Éomer laughed along, but he did not want to be swept so easily from his sister's side whilst she was still sick.

A sturdy hand clasped his right shoulder, and he watched as Aragorn's eyelids flickered up, his keen blue eyes looking at him.

"There is nothing to worry about, Éomer. You must rest assured that she will recover quickly. Go. Have some food, some drink, and rest. Walk around. Breathe in the fresh air of the Houses of Healing."

"You cannot send me so easily away. I will not leave my sister's side."

"And I tell you that it is not healthy to sit here in anxiety, taking nothing to eat, taking no rest."

Éomer leaned in, his face unyielding, "And what if my sister should wake? I would rather be at her side, to be there for her. She and I are the only ones left of our kin. I will not abandon her so easily. You do not understand what it is like to be the last member of your kin."

"I tell you, I will not leave her abandoned. She is quite safe here, Éomer! Your sister has a strong will. She will be safe. I swear."

Éomer sat back, still feeling as unrelenting as ever. He hated to admit it, but Aragorn was right. His stomach was grumbling loudly, it was almost embarrassing.

"Alright," he said at last, "I shall get some food… but I bring it to eat here, by her side."

He stood up to leave, but was stopped by Aragorn's hand on his shoulder.

"Gandalf was right… the stubbornness of the Horse Lords cannot be matched."

+ - + - + - + -