Author: Mirrordance
Title: Love, War
Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.
TIMELINE: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.
ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE:
The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.
The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.
King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.
Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.
King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.
Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.
Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.
Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.
Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.
Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.
Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.
Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.
Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior
Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.
Danesh: a Dolores captain
Hector: a Sang-age Captain
PART FOUR: Endings
Chapter Twenty-four: The Sun Will Shine
Eryn Lasgalen
Thranduil stood at his receiving hall in his darkest, most formal robes. He looked cold and mighty, quite invincible. But those who knew him best could tell by his eyes that a part of him had died when Legolas died.
And then his eyes shattered again when his son was brought before him. Legolas was placed upon an elaborate bier. It looked exotic with rich, embroidered silks laden with jewels, gifts from the Eastern folk he died defending. The cloths and stones came in all shades of green, for the people heard that the prince came from a wooden place, and had a spectacular love of trees. It matched the colors of his House, which he wore also in his burial clothes- a combination of the House formals and gleaming armor. His face was serene, his elegant hands folded over his chest, where his beloved bow rested.
Thranduil blinked at the tears in his eyes, and reached out to touch his son's face. It was soft, and warm. So much so that the King of Eryn Lasgalen was compelled to whisper, "Why look. He only sleeps."
Because practically everyone who wanted to be in the funeral had been in the East, they all arrived in the Woodland Realm at approximately the same time. Thranduil's Household was long used to chaos- both in war and in the grandeur of entertaining. But they held so much less gusto this time around, as a steady stream of Eastern strangers and Western allies walked into their halls with condolences for the death of their warrior-prince.
Nathaniel met the elven King in Thranduil's Hall. Aragorn watched them watch each other- measuring, wondering at the cruel fates that allowed their shared abomination of fathers burying their own sons. It was unnatural, it was not meant to be…
Nathaniel bowed before Thranduil, and Thranduil solemnly returned the gesture of respect.
Nadina walked with the morose elf, who had spent the most of their jurney west to Eryn Lasgalen in a quiet gloom. He'd smile once in awhile, as if in memory, but even that was tainted by his sadness with his lonely, expressive eyes.
She missed his clever, irreverent barbs. He had seemed recovered in the middle of the long journey. She thought maybe that fighting spirit of his had known too much loss and thereafter too much strength to be weighed down for too long. Or maybe his evil mind could not keep his tongue from speaking. She wasn't sure, but she considered his temporary recovery a blessing, especially after his sadness returned the nearer they got to Eryn Lasgalen.
"I keep thinking about his father's face," Elrohir said softly, as a majordomo ushered them into Thranduil's Hall.
She reached to his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, before the doors opened to them. Side by the side, the two nobles gave Thranduil a bow.
The King was watching the young woman's face carefully, with some wonder, as if he was thinking of what-might-have-been's, had he met the stunning young woman in his son's wedding instead of in his funeral. Her face was giving him a window to the impossible future- what Legolas' son with her could have looked like, how his son could have dealt with being a father, being a husband… Thranduil took her hands in his, as if to access more of those fleeting thoughts.
She read his eyes, and smiled wistfully at him, compelled to apologetically say, "I did not know him at all, my lord. But I am sorry for your loss, and grateful for his and your generosity."
Torn from the last of his illusions, Thranduil blinked at her and nodded curtly, releasing her hands. He gave his majordomo a subtle nod, and the aging elf obediently opened the doors and announced the entrance of Nathaniel, Elessar, Gimli the Dwarf and Elladan.
Elrohir turned toward his friends, and exchanged an embrace with his brothers. Nadina bowed at her father, before he engulfed her with the same welcome.
"I want to see him," Elrohir said to Aragorn softly.
Days later.
None else had the voice and courage to speak of him after his death, none but her, Eowyn of Rohan. Those who knew him best had been robbed of words, nothing could seem to encase him, not even the glorious song that the elves sung, though it sure made the earth shake and the trees weep and the clouds turn gray.
East and West had gathered for the very first time, not for a wedding, but for a funeral. And it bound them in blood, probably bound them more than any wedding ever could have. It was un-spokenly enough to seal all the treaties they made.
Nadina of the Sang-age was sitting near to the front of the ceremonies, having once been the ex-betrothed, and studied the elf prince's face as he lay in state. It was quite the face, she thought, strikingly beautiful. His eyes were closed, but she was told they were frosted blue.
I never got to know you, she thought, I've never even you're your eyes. I only know you for the love of your friends.
Her son Dorjan held her hand tightly, and beside the boy sat King Nathaniel, whose face was set as his gaze roved over the still form of the elven prince who in the end, had lost his life for the Sang-age people.
"How do you know if you've loved," Eowyn of Rohan said to the crowd, cutting into her thoughts. Nadina focused on her instead. She thought that Eowyn looked radiant in mourning white, with her red hair aflame, framing her face. She held no parchment upon which she had written down what she wanted to say, and tears streaked shamelessly down her cheeks although her voice was strong, and filled with conviction.
"Is it if you find he does no wrong," she continued, "When there seems no flaw to his character? There are many such great men, and all they earn at times is respect and loyalty. And then there are those folk who are like Legolas, who's erred sometimes, whose shown his tears and his anger and his hurts and his scars, and yet he is loved. It cannot be simply that… invincibility, that perfection. Is it when you enjoy his company? But one often enjoys the company of many. Is it supposed to be all of these things, all at once? Does that mean it is only a matter of time? You've known him long enough, you must love him by now. If I've only known him days, I cannot match your affection? How does one know?
"Loving truly is easy," she continued, her gaze adrift, as if caught in some memory, "It is so deceptively gentle, I do not even find it can be considered a fall, rather than the brush of a hand, or the first rays of the sun that warm your face. It is so easy, it is there without your knowing precisely how. And then it hits you when it is gone, and then you find that the future is no longer imaginable without someone, for you've set your eyes and the rest of your life around the idea that he will perpetually be there.
"You know you've loved," she went on, "When you realize you've made him an integral part of your future. And then when you reach that future and look back, you've also given him your most memorable pasts. Those you love own your unforgettable past and your foreseeable future. You know you've loved when you effectively see that somehow, you've decided you were incomplete after all."
She paused, smiling sadly. "I am made incomplete by the loss of a friend. And by the drawn faces that I see, I know somehow that when he died, he took a part of each of us with him. But it is not by his taking from us and thereafter leaving that I would wish for him to be remembered. I want to remember him for what he's left. He left me with the words I just said to you. I'm sure he left you with something else altogether, mine is just… one story amongst a litany."
Eowyn looked at the stern-looking King of Eryn Lasgalen. "I'm sure he gave his father a lot of consternation." She turned to the Easterling Adriano, whom she heard would have been killed by the arrow that Legolas had taken in his stead. "He left some of us our lives." To Nathaniel, she said, "Our lands." To Gimli, she said, "I don't know, perhaps… perhaps he's gifted you with a greater love of trees." She glanced at Aragorn, seated beside his crying wife, unsure of how to phrase what it was the elf could have given him.
"The sun will shine," she finished instead, "And with his once having crossed this Earth, our short time within it was made richer somehow. And in this, within each of us, he most certainly lives forever."
They laid him to rest next to his lovely mother, and then one by one they walked to his father and made their condolences and said their goodbyes. It was Elessar who lingered, until it was only him and Thranduil who stood by Legolas' grave.
The adan King fell to a knee, and touched the soil that rested over his lost beloved's body, before rising to his feet and walking toward the elf.
Thranduil was staring at him hotly, a bit fiercely, and more than a little bit knowingly. Aragorn remembered that it was Thranduil who had fervently insisted that the prince not be laid to rest next to Lilian of Lorien, who once owned his heart.
Does he know, Aragorn wondered, even as he already knew the answer by the King's eyes.
"There are," Aragorn hesitated, breaking the silence. "He left some things. In Minas Tirith, in the room he often sleeps in. In Ithilien as well. You may want them…?"
"I find," the elf said wearily, his look softening, "I find myself thinking that perhaps you have more of a right to them, now. Just as you may have a right to stand here longer than I. That I must make my condolences to you, that I must excuse myself and leave you to your grief, rather than the other way around."
Aragorn bit his lip, stared at Legolas' father for a long while. "Did he tell you?"
"He did not need to," said Thranduil.
"Do you…" Aragorn hesitated, "Do you hate me?"
"I thought I could," replied the elf, "I find I cannot hate one whom my child loved so much. Or one who loves him equally so. You know, your eyes have dimmed. The lady was right, when she said my delinquent brigand of a son had stolen something from the lot of us."
Aragorn looked away from the father, stared at the grave that marked where the son rested.
"You have no heir," he said to Thranduil softly.
"After awhile you realize it's immaterial," said the elf, randomly motioning for earth and clouds, "All this is a pile of rocks, and we are all dust."
"You will leave soon," Aragorn guessed.
"I seek the ease of my heart," said Thranduil, "As you said. I cannot find it here, where his eyes share the color of the skies and the scent of the trees remind me of how his hair smells. I cannot find it here where I see you, you with your broken dimness by his absence. The earth's darker. I can only hope for relief while I wait his awakening."
Aragorn lowered his head, nodded wistfully.
"And your plans?" Thranduil inquired.
"Nothing changes in my affairs," replied Aragorn, "It is strange. He once told me something akin to this. That we've both made our choices to be apart. Hurtful though it may seem to say, his death is almost incidental to the rest of my life. I am to be with Arwen, and he with someone else. Mandos, in this case, I suppose."
"What did you have to say about that?' asked Thranduil.
"That no matter where life brought him I wanted him to be happy," replied the adan, "With me or not."
"Did he achieve this, you think?"
"Aragorn," breathed the elf, smiling, "At last…I can say that I have you to myself, for the rest of my life."
"I have reason to believe so," said Aragorn softly.
How do you know if you've loved… the Lady Eowyn's voice ran in his mind, making him think of camels in Imladris and women who looked like the dessert. He wondered how she would look like, walking about the rocks and trees and waterfalls of his home. He did not imagine she could seem misplaced.
He missed the Sang-agen party by a breath, for they've already left for home. By the time Elrohir walked into the King Thranduil's receiving hall, only a few people were left awaiting their horses and camels.
During the meal before the funeral, he noted that the Easterners were daunting to look at en-masse, especially all nine beautiful daughters of Nathaniel, whom he'd seen together for the first time today. It was like getting struck by lightning, and for a long moment, he deliberated the irreverence of giving them another appreciative glance, here in Legolas' day of rest. But recent memory of his friend pointed toward him finding more amusement over the occurrence than offense.
'Who runs thy kingdom?' Legolas asked, looking from Elladan to Elrohir. They were old friends, and the Mirkwood prince knew full-well that in asking practical questions, one looked to Elladan primarily for answers.
'Worry not, mellon-nin,' said Elrohir with a bark of laughter, 'You may find the land is actually in better form when we are not in it.'
'Speak for yourself, brother,' Elladan said wryly, 'The cause of the chaos is most often you, and it is therefore our lordly duty to take you away from Rivendell once in awhile.'
Arwen smiled at Legolas beatifically. She's long endured the banter with class and patience. "How are you, Legolas?"
"I am well," he replied, "I came from the front at Eryn Lasgalen, traveled south to that of Rohan and then Gondor, and Ithilien thereafter. I ran into your husband at the front, and he bid me come here to see if your brothers have burnt the place down."
"Only the tower, so far," Arwen jested, her face bland and serious though her eyes shone.
"Elessar will be pleased," said Legolas gravely, "The lack of destructivity is an unexpected surprise. They've exceeded expectations, but then again, their visit is still not finished, is it?"
And then another…
Legolas smiled at him wryly. "Did you not grow any mature with age?"
"Fair to say," Elrohir conceded with a frown, after a moment of thought.
"Ah!" said Legolas triumphantly, "I see some signs of maturity after all. An almost graceful acceptance of defeat."
"Not defeat," laughed Elrohir, "Never a defeat. I'm merely regrouping."
I'm merely regrouping, he thought, smiling up to his friend's memory in salute. Legolas would want them to be happy. But the Rivendell did not give the nine daughters another glance, in fear of a cultural faux pas that could get him shot. Or trampled on by a camel. Or sat on by a mumakil, whatever kind of particularly Eastern punishment they could think of.
"Ah, brother," said Elladan to his twin, "There you are, there you are. I've been looking all over for you." There was a twinkle to Elladan's eye, one that Elrohir hadn't seen since they found out Legolas had died.
"Come with me," Elladan grabbed him by the arm, dragged him toward the stables.
"I was looking for someone, you know," Elrohir told his brother.
"Oh she had to leave already," said Elladan lightly, hoping to catch his twin off-guard…
"But why so soon…" murmured Elrohir.
"Ah there!" Elladan said triumphantly, "I thought something was amiss with you." The Rivendell twins made for the stables, where a mad camel was making a bit of ruckus, driving the horses and their watchers insane.
Elrohir froze by the gates at the sight, and the camel stopped and stared right back at him.
"I ran into Princess Nadina," said Elladan with a gleam in his eye, "She said, I must be the saner, more handsome twin. And then she left this with me, to give to you. She said the beast is ruined. It doesn't want any other master."
"She did not say you were saner or more handsome," argued Elrohir half-heartedly as he stared at the camel, arrested.
"A camel in Imladris," Elrohir breathed, lips curving to a grin as he stepped forward and patted the suddenly attentive camel's nose. Many things from the East could find a home in Imladris, with him. Today, a camel. Tomorrow… we'll see, who else he can convince.
Life goes on.
As Lady Eowyn said also, The sun will shine.
THE END
May 24, 2005