Here is the last part of this fic. Thanks for sticking with me! I hope you enjoy.

This chapter is now illustrated! Thanks to the wonderful lycheesodas on tumblr for creating such beautiful art. Unfortunately I can't link on ff .net, but you can access it from my AO3 - the deconstructed URL is: lycheesodas .tumblr (. com)/ post /639151628264587264 /final-scene-from-the-days-of-the-king-by

Translations and additional notes are at the end. My thanks for reading!

The Days of the King

Part VI – The Ones we Love

The Fountain Guards were felling the old White Tree.

Legolas perched upon the narrow wall of the seventh level outcrop, his back to the Pelennor and a warm breeze lifting his hair. The Hall of Kings towered in front of him, layered with columns and lit pale-bright by the late spring sun, its double doors tall and blackened with age. Reflected sunlight flashed from the polished spears and winged helms of the Citadel Guard, so they gleamed bright white-silver at their posts.

It was, Legolas conceded, an impressive sight, a noble city befitting of noble kings.

Thuds of axes and grunts of exertion mingled with birdsong as three of the Guard took alternate swings at the tree in the centre of the courtyard. Dead branches lay brittle and twisted on the flagstones, hollowed and greyed with age. It did not take long for the tree to fall.

A brief silence fell with it, the men stepping back and wiping their brows with the backs of their hands. Legolas could not tell if they were admiring a morning's work well done or honouring a symbol of hope they had looked up to their entire lives. Two of them looked barely out of boyhood.

Someone coughed and the moment passed, the guards heaving the tree onto a cart and removing it from the courtyard with little more ceremony. By the time Elessar descended from Mount Mindolluin, the sun hung high over the citadel, and there was only empty space where the White Tree had stood.

The King, Legolas thought, looked surprisingly groomed for a man just returned from a mountain hike. His tunic was a royal blue, cuffed and collared with fine white embroidery, and his hair was brushed and tied off his face. He even looked freshly shaved. Had it not been for Faramir's intel and the sapling in Elessar's arms, Legolas would have guessed he had just attended a Council meeting, or something of that ilk.

Aragorn stopped at the edge of the courtyard a moment to appraise the change to his landscaping, then shifted his sapling to one arm and accepted a shovel from a guard with the other, hitching up his tunic to kneel on the grass. Legolas heard his right knee crack as he bent, as it always did.

Legolas jumped lightly from his perch and crossed the courtyard to join him.

"Hello," he said, crouching a short distance away.

Aragorn looked up at him and smiled crookedly. The fine lines around his eyes crinkled as he did. "Hello," he said. "I have not seen you for days, mellon nin. Gimli is of the opinion you have been avoiding us."

Legolas tilted his head to consider the man. "I have been engaged with matters of State," he said, idly plucking a blade of grass to weave between his fingers. "Spice taxation, and the like. It is all very thrilling."

Aragorn grimaced good naturedly. Legolas was unsure how much of the expression was put on. "I eagerly anticipate reading that when it ends up on my desk."

Legolas offered a half-smile at this new side of their friendship; passing tax agreements between desks was not either of their ideas of a good time. He absently wondered if longing for the mortal peril of back-to-back combat during times of peace should be cause for concern.

"Estel will always be both ranger and King," the Lord Elrond had said. Legolas looked upon Aragorn in his fine blue tunic and wondered if within a decade anything would be left of a man who foraged for food and mended his own clothes.

When it became clear Legolas did not mean to reply, Aragorn nudged him and winked. "So, his highness has finally managed to escape his princely duties?"

Legolas twisted the blade of grass once more, then dropped it and met Aragorn's gaze. "I am seeing to other duties," he replied.

Aragorn's eyes were sea-grey and steady, focused with an elf-like intensity Legolas had almost forgotten he commanded; his expression was thoughtful, but Legolas could not tell what he was thinking. A gull cried above them, cresting Legolas' fae with an icy wave, and he breathed deeply, concentrating on the texture of his tunic under his fingers, the warmth of the sun on his face, and the familiar smells of altheas and pipe-weed.

Aragorn smiled then, and his laugh lines creased even as his eyes lingered with unusual weight. "Times of change are always busy," he said, softly. He shifted his weight to his other knee, wincing slightly. "How is the Sea?"

"It is bearable," said Legolas. Aragorn looked unconvinced. His gaze was still focused, clear and grey, and the outer edges of his eyebrows pulled up slightly in concern. He had always been perceptive, even as a child. Legolas swallowed. "It is improving."

"Have you spoken with anyone?"

"Your foster father, for one," Legolas told him. "Do not worry overmuch. It is not so bad, anymore."

Aragorn chewed his lip, looking very much like he was worrying himself overmuch, but did not press the matter.

"I would do it again," said Legolas. The words fell off his tongue. It seemed suddenly important for Aragorn to understand. "Visit Pelargir. If you asked."

"I would never ask that of you," said Aragorn, eyes softening. He looked, in that moment, tired. "I would never have asked that before, if I had known the cost, if I had thought…" He trailed off, looking through Legolas in silence.

Legolas touched his arm. "It is done," he said. "None of your infamous self-flagellation, please. I am the one afflicted, and I say it is not so bad. Trust me?"

Aragorn smiled, and his eyes shone faintly with salt-water. "You are a terrible patient, Legolas," he said. "But you know you will always have my trust. Come to me if it becomes too bad, please. We will work something out, I promise."

Legolas hummed in response and patted his arm again. Aragorn held his gaze for another moment, then shook his head and nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to his sapling. He examined it a moment before standing ─with a crack─ and unfastening his tunic with deft fingers to place it neatly out of the way. He looked back to Legolas, smiled, then picked up the shovel, weighed it briefly it in his hand, and started to dig. Stars were spun royal-blue into the cuffs of his shirt, and crumbs of dirt flecked up the linen sky as he worked.

Legolas stayed crouched nearby and watched with a half-lidded gaze as Aragorn dug, savouring the smell of freshly turned earth and the sun's warmth on his back. Time ran with liquid fluidity, and the gull cries gradually became fainter till they were distant on the breeze, and Legolas felt somewhat detached from himself, though he found he did not mind. He stayed like that, watching, for quite some while.

When the sun had long passed its zenith and Aragorn's hole was finished, the man linked his hands over his head and stretched deeply, before releasing his arms with a huff and raking a hand through his hair. Clumps of dirt caught there, and despite his rich clothes, he seemed as much a man of the wild as Legolas could remember. Legolas smiled back.

It did not take long for Aragorn to lower the sapling into the ground and cover it carefully with the displaced earth. They crouched there a moment, together, and observed his work, small and white and living amid the cold stone and polished steel of the courtyard. Eventually Aragorn stretched again and stood.

"Thank you," he said. His voice held unusual sincerity.

Legolas looked him over and quirked the corner of his lips. "You smell awful."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and reached out to clasp his forearm. His eyes were bright, his voice steady, and his tone serious. "I do not jest, Legolas," he said, and Legolas dropped his smile. "All these crowns, these feasts, these duties, I would not suffer without those I love."

The cry of a gull carried on the wind. Legolas clasped Aragorn's arm and met his gaze and realised that everything and nothing had changed, these past few weeks. Emotion fluttered against his ribs, and this time it was not uncomfortable. "I know," he said. "I know."

Aragorn released his arm, and a smear of dirt lingered on Legolas' sleeve. "My study, after dinner," he said. "And tell Gimli. If he thinks you are avoiding him any longer, he will become quite insufferable."

o-O-o

Legolas found Glorfindel in the training fields, leant against the wall with his arms crossed as he followed the afternoon drills with a practiced eye.

The elf-lord was easy enough to identify; the pale tunic he wore in place of his usual finery did little to diminish the light that hung about his figure, and his tightly bound rope plait did nothing to mask his hair's distinctive colour or length. It swung about his hips as he turned his head towards Legolas, and the silver bells at the end tinkled brightly.

Legolas vaulted the wall and perched on the bench next to him, bringing one knee up to rest his chin on as he eyed the drills with interest. Spear-work was relatively uncommon amongst Silvan elves, and the synchronised sweep of fifty blades in flashing sunlight was quite hypnotic.

"If they were mine and I caught one of them with a grip like that, they would all be running laps until they dropped," said Glorfindel conversationally.

Legolas blinked, and tried to work out if he had just been offered a threat or a promise. It was, he thought, a somewhat alarming start to their conversation.

Glorfindel chucked. "No need to look so worried," he said. "I am barely competent with the bow. You would be instructing me in that, I think." He tapped his chin, then winked. "Now, if you ever decided to take up the sword, I would happily beat you into shape."

Legolas smiled blandly at the elf-lord and carefully did not mention his impromptu spar with Éomer two nights ago.

Glorfindel chuckled again and turned back to the field. His hair chimed brightly as he moved. "What brings you here, penneth?"

Fifty spears flashed upwards in synchronisation, gleaming as they caught the sun. Legolas linked his fingers around his leg and twisted them slightly as he considered his reply. "I spoke with the Lord Elrond, this morning," he said, after a length.

"Ah," said Glorfindel. He closed his eyes briefly.

Legolas licked the taste of salt from his lips. "You have also spoken with him."

Glorfindel turned back to him. His gaze was soft, but bright; Legolas met his eyes, and they shone as if pale sunlight had spilled within him. "I have," confessed Glorfindel. "During the feast, and after." He paused, and his smile was faint but kind. "You should know, penneth; I would have come over, even if he had not asked it of me. I daresay concern for your wellbeing has occupied a fair few minds, these past few days."

Legolas twisted his fingers around his knee. "I am sorry," he said, and his voice did not break. He swallowed thickly. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," said Glorfindel, "but my concerns and time are freely given. You need not apologise."

Legolas looked back to the fields, where fifty feet spun in the dirt and fifty voices lifted in a great shout. "Two nights ago, I crossed the courtyard, and I heard bells." he said, voice shrinking at the end with slight embarrassment. Fifty spears thumped as they struck the ground.

Glorfindel smiled. "You mean to ask if I have been following you," he said. He made it sound a perfectly reasonable accusation. Maybe for elf-lords of his renown, it was. "I did see you on your night-time wanderings, that is true, but it was not my intention to seek you out. I am sure you are well acquainted with the occasional elusiveness of the dream-paths."

A gull circled overhead, and Legolas shuddered. Glorfindel reached down to place a hand upon his shoulder, warm and firm and calloused. The pressure was grounding, and Legolas leaned slightly into the touch.

"I have heard the Sea," he confessed, softly, as they watched the spearmen train.

Glorfindel hummed. "It is in your eyes," he said. "Those of us who have seen it before…" he trailed off. "I do not know how it feels to drown, myself, but I know what it is to burn, and to fall."

Spears flashed steel-bright as they spun in the afternoon sun, their wielders grunting together as they turned.

"You and I, penneth, we are warriors," said Glorfindel. "We know what it is like to lose those we love, and you are cursed with the knowledge you will lose more, come the end." His words were weighted with an almost prophetic rhythm, and Legolas shivered under his molten gaze. Overhead, a gull cried faintly.

"I know what it is to be lost to myself, penneth," Glorfindel continued, and his voice was traced with something ethereal. "That is something I would not wish on anyone."

He dropped to the bench next to Legolas with a tinkle of bells. His hand remained steady on Legolas' shoulder. "Sometimes I blink, and the sun catches the stone, and the citadel gleams pale in the mountainside," he said, voice hushed as if he were sharing a secret, "and in those moments, I dream I am in Gondolin." His grip on Legolas' shoulder tightened slightly, and there was a short pause before he continued.

"It is a hard thing, when one's fëa longs for the ghosts of memory," Glorfindel said at last. "But I will tell you a secret, penneth. Sometimes, embracing the future is the best way to honour the past. It is best not to say farewell before your time."

Legolas smiled faintly into his knees and swiped a hand across his eyes. It came away damp with salt-spray. "Lord Elrond said much the same thing."

Glorfindel laughed softly, and the bells at the end of his braid chimed brightly as they swung with the movement. "Then he is a wise elf, indeed."

The spearmen swung again, fifty curving arcs of steel slicing a glass-blue sky. "Thank you," said Legolas.

Glorfindel's smile was tinged with understanding. "It is my pleasure," he replied. "Thank you, penneth."

They stayed a little longer, until the sun began to fall and the sky began to dim. When the sign by the gate was flipped from 'spears' to 'blades', Legolas bid the Lord Glorfindel farewell. His strategic retreat was followed by chiming laughter.

o-O-o

A velvet evening layered upon the sky that night, a wide, deep purple beyond the window. Eärendil tilted high above the citadel, a lone point of blue-bright light in a sea of white-bright stars, and Legolas lifted his face to the heavens and watched the world track across the open sky in tails of trailing light.

I do not know what comes, Eärendil, he offered silently. But I offer my thanks for your guidance, all the same.

With this admission, everything changed, and nothing changed, and Eärendil looked down upon him and Legolas smiled faintly. He gazed through the stars another moment before turning from his balcony and making his way to Aragorn's study.

Gimli and Arwen had apparently beaten him to it, for they were both waiting outside. Legolas twisted his palm over his heart in greeting to Arwen, then turned to acknowledge Gimli, who was standing at an unusually formal distance, twisting the end of his beard between his fingers. Gimli grunted in acknowledgement, then nodded rather pointedly at Arwen.

Legolas turned back to her, slightly confused. "You are meeting with Aragorn tonight?" he asked.

Arwen laughed and shook her head. "Do not worry," she said. "You have him to yourselves. I was just about to leave when Master Gimli was kind enough to inform me of your imminent arrival. I thought I might say a brief hello."

Gimli cleared his throat and fiddled with his beard, looking decidedly awkward. Legolas felt as if he had been left out of a loop somewhere along the way.

He blinked uncertainly. "Hello?"

Arwen smiled. "You are strange," she said fondly. "Well, hello, I suppose." She stepped closer and took one of his hands. Her touch was soft, but her gaze was critical. "Hmm, you do look better," she decided. "If you need anything, you will let me know, won't you?"

Legolas murmured his acquiescence, and Arwen stepped away with a nod, turning to smile again at Gimli. "Goodbye Master Gimli," she said. "My thanks for your concerns." She left in a swirl of grey velvet and twilit hair.

Legolas squinted at Gimli, who shifted his weight and scowled in response. The expression looked rather put-on to Legolas, and fondness curled in his chest at the realisation. What was it about his friends going behind his back, the past few days?

"What are you grinning at, lad?" asked Gimli gruffly, tucking his beard into his belt. "Your head's in the clouds again. It took you long enough to get here." He opened the door and waved a hand for Legolas to enter. Legolas flashed him an even brighter smile and accepted.

Aragorn's study was dark panelled and well lit, with a large desk in the centre and several plush armchairs by a fireplace to one side. The grate was lit, the fire low, and a warm glow brushed the room.

The King was at his desk, chin propped on hand, leafing through a sheaf of papers half-heartedly. Two arching windows backlit him with a mantle of stars, and the fire painted his face with golden shadows. He looked up with a grin as they entered, and immediately dropped his papers, standing to round the desk.

"At last!" he said, clasping their shoulders in greeting. "One more building report would finish me. Did you want a drink?"

Gimli grunted in acknowledgement for them both, and Aragorn fetched a decanter and three cups from a cabinet whilst they sat. Legolas tucked his legs up onto the seat and watched with a smile as Gimli pulled out his pipe and shuffled about to get comfortable. Aragorn appropriated the nicest remaining armchair with startling efficiency, placing the drinks next to him and crossing his legs over the arm. When he leaned back and stretched his hands above his head, his spine popped in three places.

Gimli rolled his eyes at the antics, and Legolas laughed and accepted his cup with a nod of thanks and an absent flex of his elbow.

Aragorn sat up straighter, gaze immediately sharpening. "How fares your arm?" he asked, in a tone Legolas was unfortunately familiar with; that of a healer who expected to be obeyed.

"You and Gimli both," said Legolas, taking a drink. "Keep your interventions, please. It is healed. Your brother cleared me for full duties two days ago."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, managing somehow to look simultaneously faintly amused and entirely unimpressed. "You sound like Gimli when you grumble, mellon nin," he said, then frowned slightly. "What is this about interventions?"

Gimli spluttered slightly into his cup.

"Gimli has been lying to my Guard," decided Legolas. "Eluchon would not let him in, so he said he was visiting on an intervention at your behest."

Gimli raised an eyebrow and put down his cup. "Aye, but he got his boots back," he said, turning his pipe over and lighting it with a quick strike. "That's a fair enough trade."

Aragorn raised his other eyebrow, now looking faintly impressed. "It worked?" he asked, apparently opting to ignore the revelation that two of his visiting delegations were thieving from each other.

"Aye, of course it worked─"

"You are missing the point─"

Legolas turned to glare at Gimli and found the dwarf doing the same to him.

Aragorn laughed. "You are both grumbling again," he said, then raised his cup to Gimli. "You have my permission, Master Dwarf, to invoke Elessar's name during any future interventions. Wood-elves, I have found, can be incredibly stubborn."

Gimli returned the salute with his pipe and settled back into his chair with a smug smile.

Aragorn turned back to Legolas. "If all present interventions are dealt with and your arm is healed, I find myself lacking a decent sparring partner," he said over his cup. "The soldiers are going easy on me. They fear to damage my reputation, I think."

"It is a poor reputation that is broken so easily," jested Legolas. The warmth from the fire was soft on his face, and the Sea only faintly brushed his mind. He felt more centred than he had in weeks. "Besides, you have been beaten off the mark. Éomer-King is my new sparring partner, now." He tilted his head as if in thought. "Though the Lord Glorfindel is generous, I have heard. I am sure he would be willing to oblige a lowly human King the odd spar."

Aragorn shuddered. "I will give you benefit of the doubt and assume that comment was ignorant rather than malicious in intent. Had Glorfindel made you lap the Rivendell valley twelve times for poor technique, you would not find such jests humorous. The soldiers would not have to fear for my reputation; I would be deceased before I completed my first week upon the throne." He paused for breath. "Éomer?"

"He keeps strange hours," said Legolas, and took another sip of wine.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

Gimli took his pipe out of his mouth and shook it at them both. "And I suppose I am just a slab of meat?" he asked indignantly. "You want a dwarf as a sparring partner, lad, not some daydreaming elf." He blew a long puff of smoke, and Legolas waved it away with a scowl. "Remind me, Master Elf, how many orcs you slayed at Helm's Deep? I must have forgotten."

"You forget because your brains are addled," mumbled Legolas in Sindarin.

Aragorn put up a hand. "Now, now," he drawled. "Children."

Gimli and Legolas levelled him with equally fierce glares, and he hastily retracted his limb. The scene was so strange and familiar that Legolas could not help laughing.

Gimli raised his eyebrows at Legolas, then turned back to Aragorn. The man's eyes were bright, and his lips were quirked. "Head in the clouds," Gimli grumbled as he chewed on his pipe, his own eyes crinkling slightly. "Remind me how he survived that blasted run across Rohan?"

Aragorn swung his legs back over the chair arm so he was sitting properly, and lifted his cup in salute. "A toast," he said, and smiled crookedly. "To the three hunters."

Gimli grunted and lifted his own cup. "May they never run again."

Legolas looked upon his friends as they basked in the firelight and smiled. "To the days of the King," he said, "may they be many and blessed."

They all drunk to that.

Translations:

Mellon nin = Sindarin for 'my friend' (It really took until the last chapter to appear?!)

Fëa = Quenya for 'soul/spirit' (previously referred to by Legolas as fae in Sindarin, but Glorfindel's native tongue is Quenya, so that's the term he uses here)

Notes:

Aragorn's hike up Mount Mindolluin is quite a flex; only kings of Gondor are allowed on the trail. That's canon, I promise.

Gondolin was the city Glorfindel used to live in. I figure there's probably some unresolved trauma there, given him and his best mate died defending it. #FirstAgeFriendshipBonding

Thank you all for reading this far, and for the kind reviews! I hope you enjoyed. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and I try to reply to all reviews by PM, if I can. :)