Chapter 21 - An Elvish Existence
Vezely could not gather how much time had passed since she awoke in this silent, mirror-like landscape. Her feet were still firmly planted in wet sands just meters from a blurred shoreline. The quiet continued to unnerve her, for it left her to her own troubling thoughts. She assumed she was on the edge of life, in a state of limbo; in doubt whether she would recover from the poison Öldür's axe infected her with. It was only from her past experience that she suspected what state she was in; for she awoke in a similar landscape when she was healing from her wounds under the care of King Thranduil. Yet for all she knew she could have perished and now awaited some other peril. Though these thoughts over her condition were overrun with torment at the grief she might be causing Legolas. With the ongoing war, knowing that Sauron's armies were not yet defeated or the One Ring destroyed, and with his homeland under attack, the last burden he needed was her unstable condition or death. She had this fear and apprehension the first moment she considered opening her heart to him; a fear of bringing pain to the one who loved her. She hoped for his resolve; that he would keep fighting. She needed to believe he would go on without her. She needed to believe he would not despair if she were to die and find herself barred from entering the Undying Lands; barred from ever being his arms again.
As she turned her gaze towards the horizon, a blinding flash illuminated the sky and the water perfectly mirrored its reflection below. It traveled like a wave of air that brought back to life the sound the landscape had long been without. Suddenly Vezely could hear the waves crashing on the shoreline and the sound of wind rustling the foliage on the land beyond. Looking towards the shore again, she witnessed two tall figures emerge, though they remained muted against the backdrop.
"Who are you?" she asked firmly in Westron, pretending not to be alarmed by their appearance, though inside she was uneasy; engagement with others never occurred the last time she found herself in this landscape.
No answer came, however, and she again tried to walk closer to them, suddenly finding herself able to do so. But she feared going on land, wondering what it could mean for the life she still desired to go back to. "I will not go ashore," she called out defiantly, deciding to stay where she stopped.
"That is amongst the choices you must make," the man said to her in Elvish.
"Who are you?" she inquired back in the same tongue. Her eyes narrowed and focus came to the figures before her. She found a tall elf cloaked in champagne colored robes, with long hair the color of her own and a female elf of similar stature, cloaked in robes of a lighter shade; her hair the color of chestnut and freckles bridging her nose and cheeks.
Suddenly, as if the previous flash in the sky resounded through her mind, she realized she looked upon the faces of her blood parents. Memories crept back from the darkened voids, flooding her with thoughts of their home under the trees in Northern Mirkwood forest, of her mother's soft voice singing to her aside the Forest River, of sitting on her father's knee as he told her stories of their kin. All comforting memories she could suddenly walk through; reliving the warmth of six years of an Elvish childhood bathed in the love of one's true parents. But the joy also came with bitter recollection of witnessing their deaths at the hands of Orcs - the sound of her mother screaming after the fall of her father, only to be silenced shortly after when she was carried away in the unforgiving arms of their murderers.
With this memory, water welled in her eyes as she looked upon the two now blurred by her emotions. "I remember," she murmured quietly beside herself. As she attempted to refocus, she grew uncertain how to engage in conversation with them, for they were yet estranged figures in her past, and far removed from her life in Rhun and the person she became.
"Our child," her mother cried to her kindly, "Taken from our arms too soon. We are so sorry we could not protect you from your fate."
"My fate?" She replied wearily, in the midst of still trying to reorient her memories, "I do not blame you for my fate; or others for the path I took before returning me to these unwelcomed shores," then asking somewhat unsure, "I am assuming you know of what became of me."
"We know," her mother stated calmly with eyes full of care and concern.
"We also know you blame yourself," her father added astutely.
"Am I to blame Sauron?" she queried skeptically but with concern, "For your deaths, yes, but for me, he only provided a gateway to the violence I readily dealt. My hands are yet stained by deeds that should not be forgiven," she held up her hands towards them, still red from the battle she fought.
"You have started on a path of redemption, but one you have yet to finish. You know this," he told her steadily, adding solemnly, "That is why you are not permitted to wander these shores freely."
She took a deep breath, for this was the information she most feared, to be barred from the Undying Lands because her sins were too great. "It is as I assumed," she replied keeping her composure, though not able to look them in the eyes.
"Yet another choice remains, one only provided to the Half-Elven, as you are my blood, of the line Beren and Luthien. The gift of man provides you direct passage into the lands of those who raised you, where you would not be ashamed of your past..." this choice caused Vezely to remember her Balchoth parents, whose love was just as true as the blood parents who stood before her. She longed to see them again, for they understood her drive and emotions. Her culture was their culture. As a brutal warrior who had fought and killed many, she would honored amongst them, respected.
"Or," he continued, turning her attention back to him, for the time allotted to speak to her was limited, "You can be counted amongst the Eldar and return to the path set upon. Though whether these shores will welcome you in the future remains uncertain. You will not be given this choice again, so choose wisely."
Vezely searched her father's face; his true concern was deeply moving. She looked downward momentarily, noting the choice before her was not as difficult as she assumed it would be, though it would leave her future still doubtful. A deep breath later, she spoke with hope while searching the compassion in her parent's eyes, "I desire to continue on my path, for I must try to redeem myself so that one day I am not ashamed to stand amongst my kin."
They smiled endearingly at her, both internally grateful they would someday have the opportunity to be reunited with their lost daughter. Her father said to her encouragingly, "We will meet again then," for he acknowledged she held determination in this task.
She returned their smiles, "I hope so," she replied sincerely grateful for the memories she know held and the second chance soon to be given.
Before all went dark, her mother told her softly, "Hope can always be found in your heart, your heart will call you home and there you will stay and weep no more for Autumn's end," recalling the last verse she was missing from the Forest River song; the verse Legolas shared with her at Edoras.
Vezely's eyes slowly opened to a high white stone ceiling above, in a room lit with sunlight from an open window. The brightness caused her to blink a few times before her eyes adjusted. She breathed in slightly cool air, noticing the dampness that often lingers from mid-morning's transition to noon. Despite lying atop an overstuffed mattress and being covered in thick blankets, a comfort which she was not accustomed to, her body ached and her hands and feet felt numb. She closed her hands into a fist and then released and outstretched her fingers, repeating this over and over again in order to get her blood to flow back into them. She then brought her hand to her chest, finding linen wrapped around it, and that stitches had been given to the cut the axe inflicted. It was then that she realized on top of her was Legolas's grey Elven cloak, gifted to him and other members of the fellowship prior to leaving Lothlorien. She gathered the top of it in her hands and brought it towards her face, gently pressing it aside her cheek, feeling its softness before breathing in its scent, for though faint, his yet lingered. She closed her eyes, realizing that her second chance at life, to redeem the light she lost, had truly begun; but the one she most wanted to see was nowhere to be found.
Her ears then heard the sounds of footsteps pattering against tile and stone and an older woman in a grey headscarf entered her room, surprised to be met with her patient's open eyes.
"You are awake," she stated surprised.
"Water," was all Vezely could manage to reply from her dry throat, the request quickly met with a filled cup and a helping hand to get her to sit upright.
"We were not hopeful for your recovery," the woman spoke to her as she drank, "For you continued to grow cold and your breathing troubled until yesterday, when Mordor fell."
Vezely stopped mid-drink, her eyes widened, "Mordor has fallen?"
"We witnessed the destruction of Mount Doom, the clearing of the red skies over Mordor. We are assured Lord Aragorn was victorious, though they have yet to return."
"They marched on the Black Gates?" Vezely remarked concerned, her eyes wandering in thought on the insanity of such a strategy, considering their numbers.
"Vez?" a familiar voice called from the doorway; Eowyn rushed in and came to Vezely's bedside, sitting next to her and taking her one hand after the old healer took the cup from it, leaving the two to their reunion.
"You survived? I am so thankful," Vezely replied, incredibly relieved to see her female friend in arms appearing in good health and spirits. "You must tell me everything."
And so Eowyn told her of the battle and its aftermath, those who fell, her uncle amongst them, and those who went on to attack Mordor and their presumed victory; the details of such yet unknown to all in Minas Tirith, as they awaited the hopeful return of their new king.
"...He did not leave your side," Eowyn remarked endearingly, noting that Vezely had not unclenched his cloak from her other hand.
Vezely smiled slightly embarrassed at this information, before the guilt of causing him such ill-timed grief overtook her demeanor. "And now I fear he may not return to it."
"We can only hope all will return unscathed," Eowyn told her encouragingly, squeezing her hand to add reassurance.
"And of your battle scars?" Vezely asked, noting Eowyn's arm was wrapped in linen.
As Eowyn told her the tale of the foul beast and fight against the witch-king of Angmar, Vezely's heart stirred in pride for her friend, who she knew had an important role to play in this war. "You are as Vezena for your people," Vez told her endearingly, referring to the story of her namesake, the great woman warrior of Rhun, "May young girls find courage in the story of the shield maiden who took down an enemy no man could kill..."
The old healer returned with a bowl of porridge on a tray, "Apologies Lady Eowyn," she said coming to the other side of the bed, "But Lady Vez should try to eat and then continue to rest, for she has been without nourishment for a week."
Vez smirked slightly at being referred to as Lady Vez, but refrained from making a characteristic comment. Eowyn looked upon her friend grateful again for her renewed life before acquiescing to the healer's request, saying optimistically, "We will speak again soon."
In the next few days, Vezely would slowly build up her strength, enough to leave the confines of her room; the walls of which felt as if they were bearing down on her like the dungeons of Dol Guldur. She went to wander the terrace gardens in the afternoon, finding the sun inviting and open scenery refreshing. Eowyn was kind enough to assist in negotiations with the healers to allow her to wear an alternative garment to the cream chartreuse gown she was sleeping in, since her clothes had been discarded both by them and herself on the battlefield when she removed her tunic and Elvish armor prior to fighting Öldür. They provided her a simple draped gown consisting of three muted shades of grey, common of Gondorian women's style. Although warm and soft, the excess length in its fabric especially in its long bell sleeves, made her less than content. Though when requesting men's breeches and a tunic, they were less willing to budge on their dress code and she would have to wait until released from the infirmary to find suitable clothes for her non-conventional lifestyle. The thought of riding in such an outfit with the sleeves alone, confounded her.
The terrace's ledge provided her an unobstructed view of the remnants of Mount Doom, their fires smoldering from a mountain top that appeared to have caved in on itself. She could no longer see the Tower of Barad-dûr near its peak or feel the unnerving presence of the Eye of the one who she used to serve. Somehow seeing it in ruins, even from afar, made Sauron's defeat tangible. She regretted not being there at the Black Gate to witness such a profound moment in Middle Earth's history; in her own history. Moving slightly closer to the edge, she peered downward at the fields below, noting the slight knot in her stomach at she did. Instead of thinking of the battle just fought there, a new found memory from her Elvish childhood entered her mind, startling her slightly.
"Long have the fires of Mordor been on my horizon," a gentlemanly voice suddenly came beside her, breaking her from these thoughts, "Such a sight today is one that will take time to get accustomed to." Faramir was also in the gardens that afternoon, hoping to soon be discharged from the infirmary as his wounds were healing well enough.
Vezely turned to see the kind-looking man, knowing nothing of his rank or relations, she replied steadily, "As it will for me, though not for a change in scenery."
"You are Lady Eowyn's friend?" he queried politely.
"That I am. And I can assume you are as well?" Vezely inquired back with an eyebrow raised.
"I hope so," he remarked frankly with a small smile, and a perceptible blush Vezely picked up on, "My name is Faramir," he bowed slightly in greeting.
Knowing of Gondor's steward, as information on leaders is known to all who would wage war, she added, "Son of the Steward?"
"Though no longer," he replied with a hint of mourning for the passing of his father.
Unaware of this, Vezely nodded in condolence before introduction, "My name is Vez, I am of Rhun, but I was born in the Woodland Realm." She used the shortened version of her name that the men of Rohan called her.
"Eowyn has told me of you," he replied back, "As she feared the poison would take your life as it has so many others."
Discontent to hear of Eowyn's added grief and of the poison's death toll, Vezely asked, "Is it known the number of causalities the poison laid claim to?"
"Such numbers would be impossible to estimate," Faramir replied considering, and then saying gratefully, "Though if not for your quick acknowledgement of its use and mixture of antidote, undoubtedly it would have taken many more."
"I deserve no praise," Vezely added quickly at the misplaced accolades, for she could not help but feel partially responsible for the poison's use to begin with; having been the one who devised the dark strategy alongside Öldür nearly a century ago. She suspected his intentions to employ it here stemmed from their grudge; and that he purposefully saved his unused, tainted axe for her on the battlefield.
"Elves are often humble," Faramir replied, appearing to admire the trait.
Vezely scoffed imperceptibly at the first time being deemed so, noting how it was unfortunately misplaced; for it was guilt and not humility that she desired any praise to be quickly quieted. She let the comment slide though, finding her gaze taken in by the expanses around her, "Your city offers quite a view, Faramir, from both outside and inside its gates."
"That it does. I hope you are provided with others," he added courteously, and then saying with a hint of annoyance, "Preferably from outside this infirmary."
She smirked, noting his desire of leaving these grounds mirrored her own, "In due time, for I have only just been allowed this small venture from my room."
"The healers are as wardens," he spoke with levity, for the Houses of Healing were notorious for being run overly efficient, and their patients being meticulously cared for that it could feel as a prison for those on the mend within it walls. "Even I must be bid able to take my leave." Vez chuckled at his good-humored nature; he seemed to be a man of a light heart, not hardened by the events surrounding him. "Which reminds me of my appointment," he added a second later, "I must clear a final test before I am set free of bond. I am sure we will meet again, Lady Vez."
"Undoubtedly we will," she said with a smile then adding civilly, "And call me Vez, I stand no lady."
"Appearances then are most deceiving," he added with a smile before bowing slightly and walking away, exuding a courteousness of character she was yet unaccustomed to.
"Dresses," Vez mumbled to herself after he took his leave, reminding her at how ill-suited such garments were for her character; though it was also the strangeness of being titled so. It has happened on more than one occasion since coming West. In Rhun, such a title was easily acknowledged a misnomer; even when stripped of her rank as general, for one to call her lady could only have been done in jest. She simply did not exude the presence of a lady, as Eowyn did she thought. She gathered that perhaps in the West, they were simply more willing to uphold such manners; or perhaps men were simply less discerning when being chivalrous. Faramir was raised that way no doubt, she thought; her mind then shifted to Legolas, who also upheld a politeness suitable for one of his ilk.
A smile stretched across her face as she thought endearingly about the dignified points of his character: his impeccable manners, even during their previous quarrels they would shine through in his apologies; his optimism which stood in bright contrast to her own pessimistic attitude, with an ability to open her mind to grander possibilities; and his politeness in touch. Though she undoubtedly desired to move beyond innocent kiss and embrace, he seemed to uphold a respect for her body as other men would not. She noted this in their previous intimate moments, and while at first she thought perhaps it was inexperience that held him back, she realized instead his intentions were noble. He wanted to protect the sanctity of their courtship, and not mire it by quick desires of the flesh until their union was official. Vezely knew not what exactly this entailed in the West or for Elves; for in Rhun, the ritual of settling a union between a man and woman was as diverse as the landscape itself.
That this may require a ceremony reminded her of his rank as prince of Mirkwood, since it was a title easily forgotten in their travels together. She had noted that he first and foremost presented himself as an equal member of the fellowship; a warrior of great worth, but not one holding overt special status or privilege. He wore no symbols of hierarchy, nor made any assertion about his importance. Though certainly he was of importance, as King Thranduil's only son, and now as the only Elvish member of the fellowship he stood representative of all Elvendom in this great war. Even so, he remained humble; reminding her again of the misplaced words Faramir spoke of her.
She knew not how she garnered his love; for their story was one which began with hate, ongoing distrust, and unease over their cultural and character differences. They stood as opposites in so many ways, yet the attraction they had to each other was undeniable; despite both of their attempts to reject it. It suddenly seemed ages ago since they stood on the terrace of the Golden Hall, overlooking the starlit expanses of Rohan, reflecting on their life and subtly asking the other questions to gauge their feelings. That their initial curiosity turned into such a strong bond confounded her. She needed to believe he survived the march on the Black Gates; that she would be able to stand in his light again before leaving to regain her own. He was her source, her reassurance, her path to a life she desired. He will return, she told herself, trying to believe it.
"Lady Vez," a young healer called to her; another instance of her thoughts being interrupted, "You have had enough sunlight today. You should rest."
Vez rolled her eyes slightly before turning towards the nurse with feigned pleasantries to comply with her request. She knew not when the armies would return to Minas Tirith, but it could not be soon enough. While she was far from fully recovered, the uncertainty of her companions fate loomed over her as dark clouds before a rain storm, and even more so when she was in her room resting. She wondered if the healers knew that Elves did not sleep, and while she attempted to clear her mind of all thoughts in order to rest, it was becoming more difficult each passing day.
The implosion of the Eye of Sauron and the earth shattering collapse of the Dark Tower of Barad-dûr, came unexpectedly, and at a moment of intense trepidation as Legolas attempted to fight his way through a mass of Orcs towards Aragorn in order to divert his death from the sword of a cave troll. During the tower's destruction, the six remaining members of the fellowship all recognized the deed that must have been completed by the two hobbits beyond the Black Gates. Their hearts stirred in pride of their companions' accomplishment, of the salvation they had brought not only to all those gathered to fight before Mordor's gates, but to all Middle Earth. And after the eagles safely rescued the two from Mount Doom's consuming flames, they would depart feeling victorious.
It will have been nearly two weeks since they left Minas Tirith for Mordor, coming full circle as they entered the city's white gates just before dawn. Its citizens would have just started waking up, but celebration of their return began with the sight of their caravan from far away. Townsfolk lined the streets for them, throwing flowers below their horse's hooves and cheering as they trotted up the paths encircling the many gates of the city. They would slowly ascend to the sixth circle, where Frodo and Sam were taken to recover in the Houses of Healing, and Aragorn, with Gandalf by his side, would enter his new home with plenty of tasks laid out before him.
Gimli would give Legolas an encouraging nod before he entered the Houses of Healing, knowing not whether he would be provided Vezely's ashes or set eyes upon her sleeping form as he left her. While he held hope she was still alive, bitter thoughts continued to enter his mind in the darkest hours of the evening. That morning, the sun had yet to rise.
The infirmary had considerably settled down from two weeks ago, though the healers were continually working throughout the night, tending to those in prolonged recovery. His feet felt like lead weights as he ascended the stairs to the sixth floor, not yet coming upon a healer he recognized to either ask or be told of Vezely's fate.
Rounding the curved staircase, the older healer who once asked him of his race's funeral procedures, passed him by; immediately recognizing the fair Elf before her. She smiled; glad to bring him good tidings of the one he desired to make his wife, "She is alive, and resting," she spoke without greeting.
His eyes momentarily searched her face gauging the truth behind her words. Noting his disbelief, the old woman added curtly, as if prompting a nervous schoolboy, "Well, go to her."
The starlight cast a blue shade upon Vezely's form as she lay on her side upon the same soft white linens he last saw her resting on. Seeing her in this shifted position made him smile for it provided subtle reassurance that she had indeed awoken from the poison's slumber. He quietly sat on her bedside, finding his Elven cloak clutched in her arms and her head resting upon its hood. He brushed some of her hair back from her forehead, bringing his hand gently to her cheek, finding her temperature right where it should be. His slight touch was enough to stir her from her rest and she turned her face up towards him. Her eyes slowly fluttered open to find his looking down upon her. Time stood still and she wondered if she was dreaming as did he.
"Legolas?" her quiet voice questioned whether it was true; and upon hearing her voice his eyes began to well over with tears.
"I am here," he replied softly, causing her to immediately reach for him, and he pulled her up from her supine position into his arms; both embracing each other and desiring never to let go. The release of fear and cold despair was replaced by love and reassuring warmth of a longing touch.
"I knew not whether you would return," she told him, now sitting up in front of him. She pulled back from his arms to look upon his illuminated features. A few tears had escaped her eyes and ran down the sides of her cheeks; he wiped the droplets away with his finger tips, noting the water in his own eyes had also met similar fate.
"And I knew not whether you would," he replied softly, the worry he held for weeks now finally being released.
Her concern for the grief she caused was apparent on her face, and she looked down while saying regretfully, "I am so sorry about that."
An adoring smile stretched across his face because she offered an apology for something she did not have control over, "There is nothing to forgive." His hands were still cupping her face as the sun rose and light streamed into her room. He then looked upon her as if with new eyes, for he could see in her a light she had only a faint spark of before; the light of the Eldar now shined through her face, as it did his other kin. His finger tips gently trailed to her ears, and he found the one which was missing its tip renewed. This realization prompted him to take her hands in his, lifting them before gently folding back the fabric of her sleeves to see her wrists sans the scars they once held.
After he brought his eyes back to hers, she could see he knew of this change, prompting her to reply with a small smile, "I have chosen the complications of an Elvish existence;" words which hid a painful reality.
Complications, she had said she felt an Elvish life was "complicated" before admitting to her feelings for him at Edoras. But he did not know these complications still went beyond mere apprehension of a changed lifestyle amongst their kin. "Of immediate concern, they need not be," he told her enouragingly. He gently guided her face towards his, lightly touching his forehead to hers and holding her eye contact, "For now we must rejoice in our time together on this earth being renewed."
Now was not the moment to speak of the necessity that she leave for Rhun once she healed. She could not ruin this moment with talk of their paths again being parted for they had just survived the great war, Sauron was destroyed, and they continued to walk on the same earth, not separated by a great sea. Time was renewed, and she would embrace him as such, for her second chance had truly begun.