Author's Note: All spoken dialect in this chapter is in Elvish, unless noted otherwise. I didn't want the entire chapter to be italicized!

Chapter VI – Estel

Elvenking of Mirkwood Forest:

"No, no—that isn't right." He scratched out the offending phrase with a few quick strokes of his quill and tried again.

King Thranduil:

"That won't do, either!" Once again he blotted out the salutation. He paused for a moment with the quill inches above the parchment. The tone of this letter had to be appropriate for the situation. Beginning was the hardest thing anyone faced when sitting down to write a letter. Although, if one never began at all, the letter would never be written. Inspired by that thought, he began scrawling the Elvish tengwar across the sheet as fast as he could.

Father:

My letters to you have been few over the years, but my need now is great. As I'm sure you are by now aware, tragedy has stricken Gondor. The Steward Faramir's beloved wife, the Lady Éowyn, passed away during childbirth no more than a week ago. Father, it does not begin to describe the desolation of this poor man to say that he is inconsolable. I fear that grief has left him weak, and his very life seems to be at stake in this most desperate battle.

I knew the Lady Éowyn well; all of our people in Ithilien knew her by sight and called her by the name Nim-hiril Rochiel—a name to which she responded with delight. Her death has left our people somber with mourning, and I myself am deeply grieved. I have tried to help Faramir struggle through this trial, but it seems that I am too close to the entire situation, for I know not what to do. He neither speaks nor moves nor eats, and though his cousin is by his side day and night, he appears to be only dead to the world.

Many long years ago, Father, you were by Lord Elrond's side when he lost his own dear wife Celebrian and watched her sail across the sea to the Undying Lands. What in a man's soul can help him to carry on after such a loss? Are there any blessings you uttered, any gentle words that you whispered into Lord Elrond's ear to guide him away from the darkness and back towards the light?

Again, Legolas paused, uncertain of how to continue. Finally he added:

I ask you this, Father, not only for Faramir's sake but also for Estel's. He is wretched with guilt concerning Lady Éowyn's death. I am certain he would have done anything to prevent it, had he been able. Perhaps the only way to heal him now is to find a way to heal Faramir.

Though I hesitate to mention it to Estel, I fear for Faramir's life. Such a wound to the soul may be fatal if he loses his will to live, and by the shadows in his eyes and the pallor of his cheeks, I dread each day, suffering with the knowledge that it may be his last. The time when Faramir will surrender to his pain is not far off. It would be well if you replied with all due haste.

Your loyal son,

Legolas

The letter had been sent with the fastest Elf messenger in Ithilien. Now there was nothing to do for Legolas except to wait.

For three days and three nights he wandered the halls of Minas Tirith restlessly. When he was not meditating or trying to calm his mind with long walks along the mountain paths of Mindolluin, he visited Faramir. The Steward was no better; if anything, he grew worse as time went on. Though it was clear to everyone who saw him that he was dreadfully ill and ought to receive medical attention of some sort, he refused to speak and refused to allow the healers to touch him.

Aragorn had not come to visit Faramir. Why, Legolas could not say. Elphir was there constantly, Eldarion and Arwen visited on occasion, and even Elboron had come by once to see his father. Granted, Elboron's only words had been bitter and full of hatred, vowing to Faramir that he would never again take the name of the Steward's family and that he was no longer Faramir's son. Nevertheless, he had visited.

Legolas sensed that Aragorn was afraid, but afraid of what he could not say. The King was rarely intimidated, so the thought of him made nervous or frightened by his meek Steward seemed unlikely. No, it was not Faramir himself who scared Aragorn so. Legolas deemed that it was rather the knowledge that Faramir was dying, like Éowyn had died, and once again there was nothing that Aragorn could do about it.

"But there are things you can do for him," Legolas insisted when he spoke to Aragorn. "If he could see your face, mellon nin, surely it would brighten his day by even a tiny increment to see that your friendship is still strong!"

Aragorn looked away.

"You and he are closer friends than any two men I have ever met," Legolas continued encouragingly. "If anyone has the ability to pull him out of this decay, it is you, Estel! You healed him once from the brink of death! Can you not do so again? Save him!"

"Has it ever crossed your mind that perhaps he does not want to be saved?"

Legolas gaped in shock at Aragorn, completely caught off guard by the suddenness of such a question. "Aragorn, you must realize that he is not in his right mind. If you believe that such a decision should be left to him—"

"I do not believe for an instant that Faramir is mad," Aragorn interrupted firmly. "He feigns madness because he is overwhelmed by pain and cannot deal with those around him who do not understand. He knows that he is killing himself, and I believe that he is content to do so. Whose place is it to decide for him whether he should live or die? Yours? Mine? Gandalf decided for him once, when there was no one else to keep Gondor safe. I am the King now, and in a few short years Elboron will be old enough to take his father's place on my Council."

"You would have Faramir allow himself to deteriorate until he fades away from Middle-earth in pain and misery?"

"I would the choice be his, and no one else's. His pain is his own to cope with as he will. I love the man dearly, as one loves his brother, yet I cannot justify taking away his only chance at happiness."

"Happiness?"

Aragorn sighed wearily. "Yes, Legolas. Death is Faramir's only chance at happiness now. You do not understand him. His pain has been greater than yours or mine will ever be. To die is nothing but to begin again." He seemed to falter and recovered with difficulty. "It…it is not the choice that I would make for him. If I could, I would prevent Éowyn from dying and have him live in happiness with her to the end of his days. Alas, I cannot do so. Neither can a man help another who does not wish to be helped. You ask too much of him, Legolas, and you know not what you ask."

"So then you are going to allow him to die."

"If that is what he wishes, yes."

"How do you call yourself that man's friend?" Legolas expected Aragorn to be angry with him, but instead Aragorn seemed to weaken.

"I know things about Faramir's past that you will never understand, Legolas," he said quietly. "I understand his pain. I understand his suffering. I understand his desire to have it end, if there is any way to end such pain. A friend on your level selfishly guards his friends for himself, afraid to let go because of personal loss. A true friend understands that sometimes a man must make decisions that will hurt his friends, but they are decisions he must be allowed to make. A true friend realizes that his love for his friend must reach beyond mere selfish possession. A true friend has respect for a man's wishes…both good and bad."

Legolas listened in contemplative silence. So that was what Aragorn was afraid of. He feared that if he tried to stop Faramir from surrendering his will to live, he would lose Faramir's friendship and respect, and Faramir would still lose his life. Out of terror of making a wrong move, Aragorn refused to try at all. He believed that doing nothing would be safer for Faramir than trying to help.

When he left Aragorn's office, Legolas breathed a deep sigh of distress. "Oh, Father," he whispered to himself, "please hurry…"

It was another week before Thranduil's reply reached him, and by then he had left Minas Tirith to return to Ithilien. Legolas was meditating in his chambers at the Elven city Ithilduin that took its name from the river that flooded its wide streets. It was late, and the pale winter moon was reflected like a glowing orb upon the glassy surface of the river. In the summer, Elves maneuvered small wooden boats along all the narrow streets of the city, propelling and steering them with long, wooden poles. Now, though, the water was icy, and few denizens could be seen out in the streets. Dead, grasping trees stretched overhead and arched through Legolas' window, bringing with it a tail of fresh snow that was falling upon Ithilduin in soft silence. Warming his hands at the fire, Legolas wondered how Faramir was doing in Minas Tirith. He wished he could have stayed at the city for longer, but his duties in Ithilien could only be ignored for so long…

"Ernil!" cried an Elf from the street below. "Dúlo! Dúlo! Thîw fornesse dúli! Aran Thranduilo thîw dúli!"

Legolas ran to the window and clutched the sill with cold, white fingers as he leaned out. His father's letter had finally come… "Fornesse! Onale nin man estel! Nai ú-dolen si!" The Elf far below eagerly waved up to Legolas. The Elvenprince smiled and turned away from the window. The winding staircase from his rooms own to the street level had never seemed so long! In his haste, Legolas ran out into the water up to his waist to meet the Elf who stood waiting patiently in the boat.

"Mae govannen, Legolas!" teased the Elf. "If I had known you were so anxious I would not have called to you so!"

"Elheled," Legolas scolded his friend. "Tease me not! Your laughter is no comfort to me! Where is the letter?"

Elheled laughed again. "I came through wind and rain and snow to deliver this letter to you! I have passed from Greenwood the Great down through Rhovanion, across the Emyn Muil, past the city Eltarma to the west of here, and finally to your front doorstep! Can you think of no proper, grateful greeting for you worn and ragged friend?"

"The letter, Elheled!"

Finally, still laughing, Elheled handed him the scroll of hide. Legolas tore the seal open and read through the entirety of the letter twice. The third time, he stopped half-way through and pulled himself out of the water and into Elheled's boat.

"Take me to the outskirts of Ithilduin," Legolas ordered, though not unkindly. "I must reach Minas Tirith tonight, mellon nin."

A small company of horses thundered across the Pelennor Fields, kicking up a trail of dust that followed them all the way to Minas Tirith. Their robes and cloaks were green; their hair, fair. Under the bone-white moon they rode unflaggingly towards the city. The foremost among them was Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood and of Ithilien.

Even at this hour of the night, the gates of Minas Tirith were open to the Elves. They charged through and did not curb their pace even as they bolted up the seven levels to the Citadel. Candles flickered alive in the houses they left behind as children were awakened by the pounding hooves.

At the seventh level, Legolas finally reined in his horse and dismounted, hurrying towards the steps. Two of the Elves accompanying him followed while the rest remained behind. At the steps of the Tower of Ecthelion, they were finally challenged by the Citadel Guard.

"The King and Queen are asleep," the guard told them, speaking in Westron. "The King asked not to be disturbed in the night." He paused then and waited, as if he expected Legolas to understand and comply instantly. Instead, Legolas spoke up.

"I am Legolas Greenleaf of Ithilduin in Ithilien," he said. He, too, spoke in the tongue of men for the guard's benefit. "This is Elheled of Mirkwood Forest and Glorbrethil of the city Eltarma, also in Ithilien. The King has made it known to all that I am a close friend of his. I would see him tonight."

"His Majesty said only that he did not wish to be disturbed. He spoke of no exceptions."

The door behind the guard opened, and Arwen slipped silently out. Legolas stared at her for a moment, then bowed low. The sight of her was as breathtaking as ever.

"Legolas!" she said to him in Elvish. Her voice was soft with surprise. "It is late for you to be paying a visit to Minas Tirith! Have you come all the way from Eltarma?" she asked, noticing Glorbrethil.

"Farther, your Majesty," Legolas murmured. "I came from Ithilduin tonight. I only tarried in Eltarma for a brief while, and Glorbrethil insisted that he must come."

"Come then, you must have something to eat and drink to refresh yourselves!" she exclaimed. When she turned to the guard it was clear that he was uncertain whether was welcoming Legolas or scolding him. Graciously, she repeated her invitation in Westron, and the guard moved reluctantly away from the door. Smiling, Arwen led Legolas, Elheled, and Glorbrethil into the feast hall of Merethrond.

"I am surprised to see you here so late," Arwen said once she had found some meat and wine for the three guests. "I hope that nothing is wrong in Ithilien." She glanced at Elheled. "Or in Greenwood. Is your father well?"

"Yes, he is well," Legolas answered. "Before I tell you why I have come…how is Faramir?"

Arwen's smile fell into a frown. "He is weakening," she whispered. "I can sense the battle within him…the conflict. His desire to let go is struggling with what remains of his instinct to survive. Which side with triumph, I cannot say. I pray for him."

"As do I," Legolas mumbled in reply.

"As do we all," Glorbrethil added.

"Not all." Arwen's tone was bitter suddenly. "Aragorn refuses to hope and so he refuses to pray."

"He refuses to interfere with Faramir's decision," Legolas interjected gently.

"What? Who told you such a thing?"

Legolas looked towards Elheled and Glorbrethil. "Excuse us for a moment." They nodded, and Legolas pulled Arwen aside. "I spoke to Aragorn a week ago about Faramir, for I did not understand why he of all people refused to sit by Faramir's side. He told me that Faramir's choice to die should be governed by no other man. From the look in his eyes, though, I believe it is a slightly different matter. He wishes to keep Faramir's friendship to the end, believing that doing nothing to anger Faramir will benefit him better than trying to help him."

"Then it is as I feared." Arwen looked down. "He has given up the hope that Faramir can recover because he believes it is Faramir's true wish to die…" She covered her face in her hands. "Such despair…"

Legolas took Arwen's hands away from her face and cupped them in his own. "Undomiel." The name made her look up. He had not called her that in many, many long years, and it was a memory of things between them that were now long past. "I have come to rekindle his hope. You must trust that Estel will do the right thing. He will not abandon his dearest friend."

Arwen pulled her hands from his and folded them neatly in her lap. "Hasn't he already?"

"Not completely," Legolas insisted. "Not yet. I wrote a letter to my father asking for advice. Elheled has brought the reply, and I believe that it will do Estel good to read it."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, Arwen. Tonight. He must read it. If I must wake him myself and force it into his hands, I shall."

"He is not sleeping. He has not slept in days."

"Good. Then all the better that he read this letter now."

Arwen sent guards to find the King, but it appeared that he did not wish to be found. He was neither in his chambers nor in his office nor in the Citadel nor in any part of the city! Through the night, Legolas did not sleep, although Elheled, Glorbrethil, and the other Elves took up residence in the Tower for the time being. It was not until the first rays of the sun split the clouds and the overnight snow began to melt that Legolas finally found Aragorn smoking his pipe by the fire in the Council chambers.

"Good morn," Legolas said softly in Elvish. Aragorn did not turn.

"So," Aragorn began, likewise in Sindarin. "You and Arwen were engaged?"

Legolas was stunned by the unexpected accusation, and he took a step backwards. "She told you?" Legolas couldn't help but feel a sting of hurt. They had vowed never to tell Aragorn, for everyone's sake.

"No, but your friend Glorbrethil did."

Legolas cursed Glorbrethil silently.

"Why did you never tell me? Were you afraid of what I would say? What I would do?"

"I was afraid that it would ruin the friendships among all three of us."

"Why? Because you were once engaged to my wife?" Aragorn sounded angry, and Legolas closed his eyes.

"Aragorn, do not let jealousy blind you. It was an arranged marriage, a contract between my father and Lord Elrond. If it was anything more, I would have challenged you for her hand."

Aragorn paused warily. "Why were you chosen?"

"I am an Elvenprince of a high bloodline, and she is an Elvenlady of equally high blood. Thranduil and Elrond have always been friends, and I suppose it seemed fitting to them that Elrond's only daughter should marry Thranduil's eldest son. I may have loved her for a time, but only as her brothers may love her."

"Elrond must have favored you over me as a match for Arwen. Why did he never mention this? You were the more qualified suitor."

"Indeed I was. However, when Arwen told me that she had fallen in love with you, that she could never look on me with the semblance of affection again and would never be able to call me her husband in her heart, I told Elrond and my father that I refused to marry her."

"Why?"

"I would not see such a pretty face miserable for eternity, and I could not part you from true love, mellon nin."

This seemed to content Aragorn, and he clasped Legolas' hand firmly. "Brother," he said, "I owe you much."

Legolas smiled. "More than you know." Aragorn seemed to be puzzled, but Legolas shook his head and killed the question before it could be asked. "I have been awake all night seeking you, after having ridden from Ithilduin in haste."

"So far!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Why, Legolas? Tell me naught is wrong."

"Much is wrong, but the trouble is here and not in Ithilduin." Legolas drew the tightly wound scroll from his cloak and handed it to Aragorn. "Ask no questions, only read." Aragorn's eyes flickered to the top of the scroll, and Legolas watched him intently as he read:

My son,

Your letter has grieved me deeply, as I had not heard of the tragedy of Lady Éowyn's death. I wish to offer my sincerest condolences to the Steward and his family. What you have said of Faramir's condition distresses me just as Estel's guilt alarms me. If you can persuade either of them to read this letter, I pray it may ease their pain.

Death is not an end to all things, but neither is it the beginning as some would have you believe. It is an agonizing separation of souls, the differentiation between the past and the present, as well as the promise of the future. It represents the decay of time and the epitome of all things tragically beautiful in this world and the next. It distinguishes between those who live on in pain and those who have surpassed the material circles of Middle-earth and now transcend all things painful and sad.

The mourn is to violate all righteous purposes in the tragedy and beauty of death. It is a lonely and selfish act which narrows the gap between the living and the dead, dimming the glory of those who have crossed into eternal bliss and making black and ugly the days of those who remain. Eternal spirits flee from such desolation, so it is only by mourning that loved ones truly chase away the memories of the dead and corrupt their undying happiness in the Halls of Mandos.

Estel, your name has long been the declaration of what you are; hope is what you have brought to mankind, and it is what you will always bring to mankind. You cannot escape it, for hope is in your every movement, your every breath and touch and word. Hope cannot alter the past, but it can alter the future and the present. What you choose to do with your gift is your choice alone, yet I tell you now that when Celebrian passed across the oceans into the depths of time, it was hope that you rekindled in Elrond's heart, even as the infant child that your dear mother, Eru rest her soul, brought to his sanctuary. Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim. Let your mother's words ring true, Estel, or her despair will have been in vain.

Aragorn looked up in shock. "How does he know my mother?"

Legolas smiled. "Just continue."

It is not Faramir's body that has been broken by this agony; it is his heart. Hope is the only medicine for the heart, and so it is hope that you must somehow return to him. Chase away his fear and his pain with nothing but light and love. Show him that although he has lost many of those he loves, he has not lost all, and to forsake those who remain with him will only make bitter and cold the hearts of all. Light a fire in your heart, and hold it out to him. If you offer it with enough patience, he will take hold of it, and the fire will be rekindled in his own breast. With the fire of kinship alive again, Faramir will live.

I know that he will live, because even the few times I have been graced by the kindness of his presence have been enough to assure me that he understands that he must live. He may now be a scholar, but he was once a soldier. Soldiers cannot allow themselves to die, for it transgresses all that they once relied upon in battle. More importantly, those who have lost those dear to them cannot allow themselves to die while loved ones still remain with them, for they cannot bear to cause the same pain in another that they feel.

Legolas, my son, Faramir is broken, and he must put himself back together, but you and Estel must help him. Be his eyes, his guide, his mentor. You have not lost him yet, and you will not lose him unless you allow him to slip through your arms unaided.

May the grace of Ilúvatar be upon you all.

Thranduil

Nim-hiril Rochiel

(White Lady Horse-Daughter)

mellon nin

(my friend)

"Ernil! Dúlo! Dúlo! Thîw fornesse dúli! Aran Thranduilo thîw dúli!"

("Prince! Come! Come! The letter from the north has come! King Thranduil's letter has come!")

"Fornesse! Onale nin man estel! Nai ú-dolen si!"

("From the north! You give to me good hope! May it be unhidden now!")

mae govannen

(a greeting)

Author's Note: For this very last bit of Elvish dialogue, I have to admit I cheated a little. The Elvish verb "to come" is actually "túl" in Quenya, not in Sindarin. However, it is a generally accepted rule that the Quenya "t" becomes a "d" in Sindarin when it is the first letter, so that is what I did to translate it into Sindarin. Also I assumed that the possessive ("Thranduilo") and prepositional ("fornesse") elements of Quenya are mirrored in Sindarin. Finally, the Sindarin word "thîw" actually means "letter" as in ABCs. I assumed that, like in English, it is also the word for a letter as in a message. I'm sure Tolkien will find a way to forgive me for butchering his beautiful languages.