A/N: Ideally, this whole chapter would have been italicized but it made my eyes cross to have it that way and I won't inflict it on all of you.
'This had to be the most beautiful forest that anyone had ever seen,' thought the blonde elf as he stared in awe at the trees that seemed to be older than time itself. He walked under the branches, enjoying the feel of the lush carpet of grass beneath his feet, and lifted his face to take it all in. The smell of nature in its purest essence – floral scents, rain, soil, and theenchanting aroma of healthy bark – rushed to him in a perfect wind that was neither too harsh nor too soft. Bright sunlight seeped in from above, though he could not see the source of it through the leafy branches. It illuminated everything so that he could see where he was going, what was around him, and so that the shadows were cool and inviting rather than ominous and dank; but no so much to make the forest seem open and exposed. Yes, the forest was perfect in every way that the elf could think of and he felt safe and content there. In this kind of place it didn't matter that he couldn't remember anything about his life, even his own name.
No; that wasn't right. The prospect of wandering aimlessly through that marvelous forest forever didn't elicit any joy in him; in fact, the elf felt a strange knot form in his stomach at the thought. There was a reason why he was here and any bliss that he found in being there would be short-lived if he chose not to address that. His hands grew cold suddenly as the phrase 'short-lived' came into his mind, as if that applied to much more than his current circumstances. This was odd, for even if he didn't remember the details of his life he knew that he was an elf and members of that race were anything but short-lived. The idea of having an eternity to explore those woods hadn't always been an impossibility for him, he realized, but now it was.
'I have forfeited my immortality,' he thought with a high level of detachment that usually wouldn't be combined with what many of the eldar race would consider to be a dark realization. Perhaps it had something to do with the life that he couldn't remember – maybe he had already reconciled himself to that concept.
But that just led him to more questions, and the frustration of it all was breaking the contentment that being in the forest brought. He couldn't continue on like this – there had to be some way to figure out who he was, why he'd ended up there, and where he was supposed to be. 'Supposed to be?' he asked himself. He was an elf and all elves loved nature above all other things – where else did he belong besides in within an image of its perfection?
The wind blew again; this time it was chilly and foreboding. An image of its perfection – the pit in the elf's stomach grew as he became aware of the unsettling reality that somehow the forest he was in wasn't real. The trees had been remarkably silent until that moment, something unheard of in an old forest that should have been so full of memory, but now everything – trees, the air, the grass, everything – were speaking to him. Not words of comfort either; the world around him was shrinking fast. The elf shivered as he understood what it meant: this forest would only provide him a temporary shelter while he decided whether or not to try to remember. It would not tolerate his presence for long, especially if he chose to remain in ignorance. Sooner rather than later he would have to leave even though he wasn't sure where he would end up going.
'Maybe I was sent here to wait until my destination was decided,' mused the elf. 'Maybe I was sent here to remember.' Why was it so difficult to hold on to a coherent thought? He struggled to focus on what the forest wanted him to do. 'Or maybe,' he thought with more conviction, 'some power is waiting to see if I decide to remember before it decides where I'm going.'
Well, he didn't like the idea of having absolutely no say in what place he was going to end up in; and if remembering was the key to having some control over that he was just going to have to remember. Sliding his back down the trunk of a tree and sitting on the soft grass beneath it the blonde elf tried to sort out his predicament. Was it really true that he didn't remember anything except possibly that he wasn't immortal? He searched through his unsettlingly hazy memory, grasping desperately at the tendrils of thoughts that were slipping away in the hopes that he could hold on to enough of them to piece together a proper recollection. Try as he might, the memory of his life remained just out of reach: the faces that he couldn't quite see, voices that were familiar but not recognizable, thoughts of the past, feelings…
Wait – a powerful feeling came to the forefront of his mind, something involving…a child? Yes, yes, he could remember feeling concerned that a child was being hurt, or dying, and that it was somehow his fault. But he wasn't capable of doing that, was he? 'Eru wouldn't give me the chance to remember and choose if I was,' he scolded himself. Ai Elbereth, it was going to be hard enough to remember without being afraid of what was lurking in the dark corners of his mind! 'And this forest; this forest wouldn't have welcomed me back if I were that evil!'
Welcomed him back? The forest came alive for a moment as that thought just slipped out, as if it had heard him and approved. The elf was disquieted – he suddenly knew without a doubt that this wasn't his first time in those woods. Of course, he couldn't explain why he was so sure of this; one didn't just visit forests that didn't really exist on a whim, so whatever had happened to bring him there must have happened before – though perhaps not on such a serious level. Shaking his head, the elf tried to clear out those thoughts. 'This is ridiculous,' he decided. 'I'm only confusing myself with all of this nonsense! How can I recall my comings and goings in this beautiful, disconcerting, and probably imaginary forest when I can't even remember my own name?'
Apparently either annoyed with his ineptitude or else growing more sympathetic to his plight – he suspected that it was a little bit of both – the wind blew a little bit harder than before and the tree that he was leaning up against gladly yielded a few of its leaves to the gust. The blonde elf stretched out his hand and one such leaf glided gracefully into it. He examined it closely, grateful for the gift, and smiled for it was lovely in shape and color – it was the perfect shade of green. 'What a wonderful green leaf,' he decided.
He realized in the next instance that something about that phrase sounded very familiar. It was significant – he knew it because he was having the exact same feeling then that he'd had when he'd thought of being short-lived and about the child. "Green leaf," he said aloud, but that didn't sound quite right. He was momentarily discouraged but knew that he couldn't give up now.
"Green-leaf," he tried again, speeding up his pacing in his excitement and slurring the two words together. "Green-leaf, green-leaf, greenleaf –"
There! Greenleaf meant something to him, but he still couldn't quite recall what. Maybe if he tried saying it in a different language, a language that felt comfortable and familiar in the way it flowed off his tongue but he felt that he hadn't been using a lot as of late. "Greenleaf – legolas. Legolas – greenleaf," he chanted. "Legolas – Greenleaf. Legolas Greenleaf!"
His eyes brightened and he let out a triumphant laugh. "My name is Legolas Greenleaf!" he announced to no one in particular. All right, that was a start; his name was Legolas and he was deeply concerned about the well being of a child. Still, that wasn't a lot to go on and after a minute or two of trying to figure out what he could do with that information he was feeling downcast again. There just wasn't enough information yet – he needed another clue.
At a loss for anything else to do Legolas turned his attention back to the helpful leaf in his palm that had given him back his name. It was a picturesque piece of foliage to be sure, even though it seemed to be shrinking the more he examined it closely; its diminished size did not take away from its beauty. "This is a pretty little green leaf," he declared.
For the second time in a few minutes his choice of words triggered more memories. "Little Greenleaf!" cried Legolas. "I am someone's Little Greenleaf!" But whose? A wise, handsome, loving, and ageless face of an elf floated to the surface in his mind and he grabbed hold before it had the chance to vanish. "I am my ada's Little Greenleaf. He's been calling me that since – since I was a…child."
The forest gave way all of the sudden and Legolas was only strangely only somewhat startled that he was no longer sitting under the tree anymore. However odd it was that instead he was now sitting on a bed in a darkened chamber was nothing compared to the fact that he was also a child when a second ago he most definitely was not. His consciousness was divided in two – one part of him remained that adult, observing what he was going through as if he were watching someone else from an extremely intimate vantage point while the other was the child, processing his circumstances and the emotions that came along with it as if it was all happening for the first time. Both halves knew where he was: in his bedchamber in his father's cavern palace in Mirkwood.
Legolas shivered a looked around. He'd been tucked in a couple of hours ago and should have been asleep already, but he found he couldn't drift off. He hated being inside for too long where he couldn't feel the light of the sun, moon, and stars on his face. Why did his father always insist that he sleep indoors at night! He never understood ('Because he protected you from knowing the darkness that always surrounded the realm for a long time,' the detached observer noted) but he was a good boy for the most part and he obeyed. That didn't mean that he liked it – how could the cold stone be safer than the trees that nurtured and comforted him? He couldn't imagine that the terrible things that would supposedly get him if he remained outside wouldn't be able to get in his chamber as well ('Foolish child; you know nothing of danger and fear).
Still, he was a princeling as well as a big boy and mature princelings like him had to be brave at all times. He couldn't quake with fear just because he was certain that an orc was lurking in his closet and a spider was hiding under his bed. "I'm not afraid of you," he told them defiantly but that wasn't true. They knew it too because he could hear the orc laughing at him, repeating the same stories that he'd overheard some of the warriors talking about – that orcs used to be elves like him – and the spider hissed nastily, threatening to sting him if he dared to sleep.
Legolas had been enduring the constant terror since his ada left and he couldn't stand it any longer! Thankfully, his ada's bedchamber wasn't too far away and he knew that once he reached it he would be safe. After all, Ada was the bravest, noblest, and strongest elf that had ever lived – no orc or spider would dare try to mess with him. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Legolas rose to his feet, backing up and running from one end of his bed to the other and leaping.
He exhaled in relief when he landed next to the door just like he'd hoped he would. "Ha ha," he laughed at the orc and spider he'd managed to outwit, braver now that there was some distance between them. "No elfling for you tonight." Then he ran out of the room as quickly as he could and didn't slow down until he'd reached his father's bedchamber.
His father was also in bed but still awake when Legolas pushed the door open, but that was all right because he was an adult and a king and was allowed to do things like stay up late. The elfling meant to creep in quietly but he was too shocked to see the state that his brave ada was in to remain silent. "Ada," he said. The older elf looked up, startled, and hastily wiped his cheeks. "Why are you crying?"
"Come here, Legolas," beckoned Ada. Not wanting to cause his father any more pain he obeyed immediately, climbing into his lap and looking at what had wrung tears from him. Spread out before them on the bed was a sword, a blanket that had a wonderful smell that Legolas found to be soothing, and a sparkling green gem that was made to look like a leaf. It was with the last item that the elfling was most dazzled by – while he never could figure out why his father was so interested in sparkly stones, Legolas had to admit that this one was indeed beautiful.
"What brings you here tonight?" the older elf asked once Legolas had properly snuggled against him.
"There's an orc in my closet and a spider under my bed," reported Legolas, burying his face against his father's chest but keeping his head turned just enough so that he could still look at the mysterious items. "You won't let them get me, right?"
"Of course not," Ada assured him. "Do you think that they'll be in your bedchamber much longer?"
"Until the morning," said Legolas. "I'm going to have to stay with you tonight." He quickly changed the subject before his father could tell him otherwise. "What are these things?"
Ada picked up the sword first. "This belonged to your grandsire," he explained, letting the child examine the ornate hilt but pulling it out of range of his grasp before he could finger the shiny blade. "There was never a finer elf than him! He was the wisest, most truthful, most courageous, and best ruler that our realm could ask for."
"No, Ada," Legolas corrected him solemnly. "That's you."
The older elf chuckled and kissed the top of his head. "Thank you, my Little Greenleaf," he murmured. "I suppose that I feel the same way about my ada that you do about yours."
It was very confusing to think of his ada having an ada of his own, especially since he never had the chance to meet his grandsire – the great Oropher seemed more like a concept, a character of fables, than an actual person at times. Instead of dwelling on that, however, Legolas turned his attention to the worn blanket. All of Ada's bedding was crisp and new; something that looked so shabby was out-of-place, though – he ran his fingers across it – it was splendidly soft. "I like this blanket," he declared. "It cuddly and it smells nice."
"I'm not surprised that you think so," replied his father. He laid down the sword reverently and took up the blanket, wrapping it around them both. Legolas rubbed his nose against the fabric. "This is your mother's scent, ion nin. How I wish you had gotten the chance to know her before the sea called her!"
Ada bit his lower lip as if to hold back a cry. Pausing only to stroke Legolas' face, he then picked up the green gem. "She gave this to me one night not too long after we got married," he smiled at the memory. "She loved leaves more than anything – she even insisted that her crown be made of leaves instead of mithril – and wanted to give me something that was a combination of what she found most precious and what I believed to be most precious. Of course," he added, looking fondly down at the elfling in his arms as fresh tears fell, "that was the night that we created something that was much more precious than gems and leaves combined."
It frightened Legolas to see his father cry, but he was a brave princeling; instead of giving into his fears he decided to do something to make it stop. Stretching his body and neck, he kissed Ada's cheeks. "Go away bad thoughts," he recited what his father said to him when the situation was reversed. "Flee from me, scary nightmares. If you don't leave my ada alone right now I will love and kiss you into hope and pleasant dreams."
"Oh, Legolas; you are truly your mother's child," said Ada, sounding like he was choking. He hugged him closer and pressed the pretty green leaf gem into the elfling's hand. "I want you to have this."
"But this is made of everything that you and Nana love the most!" protested Legolas, not wanting to rob his father of something that he'd said himself was so precious.
"You are what is made of everything your nana and I love the most," Ada corrected him gently. "Like you this is the essence of the best of both of us. Oh, how I miss her, and your grandsire too!"
Legolas wrapped his arms around his father's neck. "Thank you for my essence," he said, though he didn't understand what that word meant. "I'm sorry that you have to be so unhappy! Please don't cry anymore, Ada; I'll do anything to make you happy again."
"You are enough to make me happy for all of the life ages of Middle-earth," said Ada emotionally. "Promise me that you will not leave me too."
"I promise," swore Legolas without a thought.
That promise turned out to be rather easy to keep in the ensuing years. When he got a little older some messengers came from Rivendell – where his friends, the twins, lived – and though they must have seen Legolas at some earlier time, they'd made a fuss about how beautiful he was. All too soon Legolas found himself saddled with the unwanted title of "The Sun Star" ('As if I was just as importantas the sun!') and made to sit on a stool while he was forced to listen to an endless stream of troubadours singing songs and reciting poems that were supposedly inspired by him. It was ludicrous, of course; all of those people had only heard about his physical attributes and made assumptions about what he was like – none of them really knew him. As the years wore on and the lyrics never changed from 'eyes as blue as the sea and hair woven of the rays of the sun' Legolas was certain that he would never be able to love one of them enough to leave his father.
But that wasn't so; Legolas shook his head once more, trying to clear the haze so that he could think. What had changed? Something had made him break his promise to his father; someone had managed to take enough of his heart that staying with Ada had become a less desirable future. Was that related to what was nagging at him? He knew that the answer was somehow 'yes.' He closed his eyes and forced himself forward through the years. There had been someone…a child…
Suddenly Legolas was no longer a child in his father's palace but an elf who was almost of age, staring into the face of a Mannish child in Rivendell. The little boy – Estel, his name was Estel – stared back, unabashed by his naked admiration for his family's guest. It should have bothered Legolas but it didn't; after countless years of enduring sly, coy glances, and people reverently averting their eyes so as not to appear too forward it was nice to come across someone who didn't want to play those games. For all of the times that his father asserted that he was his mother's child Legolas was his father's too; and when Estel said, "You're pretty," it was with an honest bluntness that any son of Thranduil could appreciate.
Estel became very dear to him during that visit. He was a constant shadow who was actually interested in seeing Legolas for the person that he was, watching him closely as he practiced archery, read, swum, and the like. It was nice to encounter someone who could see him as more than an untouchable beauty who sat quietly on a stool. Elrohir, Elladan, and even Elrond to some extent marveled at their guest's patience for the situation but in truth it never really required any of him. When Legolas left that place Estel even graced him with the only poem that had ever felt that was truly inspired by him and that he ever liked. As he rode away he remembered the marriage proposal that the child had made a few days prior and thought that if he ever did marry someone he hoped that it would be someone like Estel.
But Estel couldn't be the child that he was so worried about because Estel had grown up to become Aragorn. The scenery shifted once more and Legolas found himself back in Mirkwood. He was outside this time, though, and instead of being alone or in his father's company he was talking with Mithrandir. The old wizard was telling him tales concerning his recent adventures with the Dunedan rangers. "Do you remember Estel of Rivendell?" asked Mithrandir.
"Yes," replied Legolas, smiling warmly at the memory of the boy reciting the poem that he still read after each troubadour session to remind himself that he was really more than a pair of blue eyes and a pile of blonde hair.
"He's called Aragorn now," Mithrandir told him, "and though he's only just joined the rangers he's already one of their bravest."
"I have no doubt about that," laughed Legolas as he tried to imagine the child he hadn't seen in over ten years as a young man. "There was never a finer Man than Estel."
Mithrandir's eyes twinkled as if he were pleased to hear this and went on to tell more stories about Estel doing grand tasks that Legolas could only dream of but still lingered in his memory. He remembered how he thought that he would be happy to marry someone like Estel; if he had become half the person that the grey wanderer was describing the elf prince could easily imagine falling in love with him.
Several months later Aragorn came to Mirkwood with some rangers at Mithrandir's behest – or contrivance, as Legolas later came to understand – and the elf was able to see through the years, wariness and grime of travel, and hair covering his face to see both the child that he was fond of and a young Man that he found very attractive. This, fueled by Mithrandir's stories, Aragorn's corroborating but deliberately humble tales, and learning of the ranger's unwavering loyal devotion, drove Legolas to impulsively declare to love him back (Fool; you know nothing of love yet'). Defying his father, he gave him the greenleaf gem that was his essence, accepted a silver ring that hung on a chain thatonly left his neck when he slept, and waited through 66 years of separation and turmoil to become his husband…
The memory was so close to the surface! Legolas looked around and realized that he was back in that beautiful and disquieting imaginary forest. 'This is what I always imagined what Mirkwood would look like if the Shadow had left it alone,' he realized. But Mirkwood, no matter how idealized he made it, wasn't his home anymore and the answers he was looking for wouldn't be there. He found a path; luckily for him it took him out of the woods and into a city of stone that made him feel so content that he knew it was where he belonged.
'This is Minas Tirith,' he thought as the looked up toward the White Tower. 'This is my home, the one that Aragorn and I made together.' Maybe the child he was worried about was lost in there, somewhere in the shadows that certainly didn't belong there. He should search there –
Suddenly a new awareness came to Legolas and he knew without a doubt that he'd been in this situation before, even if he hadn't been standing in that exact place. The shadows loomed ahead but now he wasn't so sure that he would find the child there and he was afraid that if he went there he would never be able to leave them again. Oh, who was this child and where was he?
The answer finally came on the wind, for it blew then and Legolas heard his own voice shouting: "There he is!" from behind him.
Sure enough, when he turned around he saw the back of a child running away from him and the shadows and into a light. Legolas observed his long brown hair and pointy ears – in the home that he and his husband had made together – because the child was also something that he and Aragorn had made together! The elf's soul lifted and he knew he was right: Aragornion, Elessarion, Legolasion, edainion, eldarion – this boy was all of these things as well as his father's miracle.
Legolas ran forward after him, unafraid of where the light was going to take him. No matter what happened he was sure that he would be all right as long as he could be with his son. With each passing step, however, he felt more and more pain; as if his body had just going through a trying ordeal and now had to deal with the soreness, biting sting, and fatigue that came in its aftermath.
He might have collapsed right there before reaching his destination but now he was close enough to the light that he could hear three voices that were coming from it: his father's, Aragorn's and the crying of his child. There were three generations of the people that he loved most and if he could endure this for anyone it would be for the three of them. Legolas forced his body to more forward just one…two…three…four…five more steps and the light surrounded him.
To be concluded...
A/N: For those of you who haven't read them yet, the story of Legolas' visit to Rivendell when Aragorn and Aragorn's visit to Mirkwood as a ranger are in chapters 2-7 ofthe prequel to this story, called "What is Meant to Be" - except for the story of Estel's marriage proposal. That is recounted in a companion piece called "What Dreams Can Tell Us".