Chapter 20: Do Not Stand At My Grave & Weep (Legolas & Co)
(~***~)
The day before they were to leave Minas Tirith, the elves had little to do. Everything would be ready for their departure the next day. Their clothes had just been returned from the laundry. Their bags were packed. The horses would be ready to be picked up in the morning.
Lossrilleth had managed to find Legolas a copy of The Kings of Gondor at a cheap bookseller, as she had found him reading it twice at Inn libraries. He had appreciated that. It was nice that she had noticed.
Lossrilleth had found a small gift for Thranduil as well: a portable chess set. She was teaching him the game, with the promise that he could challenge Elrond and Mithrandir upon their return to Valinor. It was right in his skillset as a former commander, so he was becoming a lethal player quickly.
The elves were lounging restlessly in a mostly-empty inn tavern in the quiet time between meals when Legolas interrupted their game.
"Since there is time today…" he said with hesitation, looking between his wife and father a little sheepishly. What he wished for seemed like a detour on their quest that should be focused on Angharad.
"I would like to go Aragorn's tomb. This book says that Fen Hollen is now open to any who wish to go and honor the dead."
His companions were a little surprised. He had not said anything about this during their journey so far, although they had been heading for Minas Tirith for months. Lossrilleth squeezed his knee under their table.
"Do you wish to go alone, or would you like company?" she asked. If he wanted to go, she thought he should. It could weigh on him if regretted missing it.
"Would you come with me?" he asked Lossrilleth. "Adar I do not wish to leave you with the burden of watching all our things – "
But Thranduil cut him off. "It is easy. Go. I am fine."
Thranduil hoped that she might support Legolas in his grief for his late mortal companions, as she'd been able to do sometimes even when he could not. It was something he was grateful to her for, for he had not understood that something had been missing for Legolas until he had witnessed her attending to it. Thranduil's memory slid back…
(~***~)
It was before Angharad had been born. Legolas and Lossrilleth had only been married a few years and were still settling into each other. Thranduil and his wife had been walking in the gardens when they heard Legolas sniffling near Gimli's grave. They had witnessed this many times in the last few centuries. They always tried to comfort him, but something lingered. As they approached the entrance to the small hedged-in garden where Gimli had been buried, Lossrilleth cut across the path ahead of them.
"Let her try," Thranduil's wife said to him quietly. They waited outside the garden, listening to see if the couple needed more support.
Lossrilleth approached Legolas, who sat with his head in his hands on the bench that he had had placed beside a stone statue of Gimli to mark his friend's final resting place. He tended this garden and grave himself. The task frequently cut through his heart like a knife. She knelt in front of him, silently stroking his arms and hair. He shook his head, trying to steel himself for her sake.
"I do not want you to see me like this," he said with a grimace.
"Why not?" she asked. "I have loved mortals and lost them. I understand."
"Yes," he replied. "But you are not still weeping over it." He sat up, refusing to let himself fall apart in front of his new wife. She moved to sit next to him on the bench, keeping a hand on his back and meeting his red-rimmed eyes.
"I shed tears for them from time to time, actually. But I also had a head start on you in accepting the facts of a mortal death," she said. "Mortals learn that young. For most, it starts with something easier: a favorite animal, a neighbor, a grandparent. But you only ever knew death to mean a long separation until you crossed the sea. And now you face something permanent, beginning with the dearest friends of your spirit. Do not protest. I know I share your heart with both Gimli and Aragorn. I do so gladly."
"I wish you could have met them," Legolas said, hating the treacherous crack in his voice.
"Oh, I wish that, too," she replied. "I like to think we would have been friends. I would have wanted to thank them. I would calm their worries so they could rest easy, knowing they could pass the torch of their love for you to someone who could hold it the rest of your long life."
Legolas shot her a confused look. "Why would mortals worry for us? We come to Valinor to live forever in a paradise."
"What is paradise if you are lonely? Never mind that the Gift of Man was named for a reason." she answered. "Why else would Gimli come here?"
Legolas shook his head at her. "He came because he was curious and wished to see the Lady Galadriel again."
Lossrilleth scoffed. "Legolas do you truly not know? He came here for you. He is the only dwarf in history to end his days in the Undying Lands. It defied the very essence of what Aulё made him to hew himself from the foundation of his kindred. Why? Because he could not bear to rest until he could see that you were settled with people who would not have to leave you – that you were not consigned to be alone in bitter immortality to the ends of the earth."
Legolas had begun to collapse as she spoke. She held him steady, letting him tremble in her arms.
"How can they be gone?" Legolas cried out. "Surely they are somewhere. Men and dwarfs have many stories about what happens after they die. Some say they go to the halls of their fathers. They must be there."
"There are many stories but not one has ever been confirmed. There is no one to tell the truth of it from the other side. Even the Valar do not know what happens to them. They are gone from this world – truly gone. They are nowhere, meleth nin. The people who they were have vanished and will never rise again," Lossrilleth insisted.
The dam he had held against centuries of suppressed grief broke and he wept freely into her shoulder. The weight of his pain surprised her, but she knew he would keep torturing himself until he accepted the truth. She offered nothing to soften the blow.
"We have to let them go, Legolas. When our beloved mortals die, we have to let them go."
Legolas's parents' were in tatters on the other side of the hedge. Their strong son, their fierce warrior, had never cried so hard. Even after his mother had died, Thranduil could not remember his young son so despondent – or at least never so openly. The young elf had always been greatly comforted by stories of Valinor, where they would meet again. His parents had never confronted him with the truth of mortals' ends the way his wife was now. His mother herself had invoked the legendary halls of the fathers many times, thinking it would help him to imagine his friends safe and well. Legolas's mother started to move to comfort her child, thinking this was too much, but Thranduil stopped her, whispering to her,
"She knows this battle in a way we do not. Let her help him."
Lossrilleth held her husband fast as he soaked her hair and dress with tears. Finally he could weep no more and fell into exhausted silence.
Regaining his composure, he began to feel embarassed again. "If my father saw me now, sobbing like an infant over a dwarf…" he said bitterly.
Lossrilleth scoffed. "If your father cannot see how great an act your brotherhood with Gimli was it is because you have surpassed him. It is a tragedy indeed if he cherishes his own resentment over ancient acts so much that he cannot see how mighty his son is, to love where only hatred once grew. And if he has anything to say about that, then he and I will have words."
Legolas let out a weak chuckle. "Oh really? Have you not met my father? What would you dare say to him?" he asked.
Lossrilleth turned her head and looked right through the hedge at Thranduil, who had not realized she knew they were watching. Her expression held a challenge so fierce even the old warrior felt a chill.
"I would tell him to grow up," Lossrilleth replied.
Thranduil bowed to her, his face somber and jaw clenched, and silently took his leave. His wife followed, waiting until they were out of earshot to say,
"I thank the One for her. That last barb was harsh, I know dear, but look at how well she cares for him."
Thranduil kept his expression in check. On the one hand, he felt defensive and angry. That young pup had not been in Doriath when it was sacked by an army of vicious dwarfs. She had not seen them gather a hoard of gold sure to attract a dragon against all warnings, or greedily withhold a precious memento of his departed wife out of spite. Had she ever even met a dwarf? She didn't even have two hundred years under her belt yet… He fumed.
On the other hand… every word she had said came out of a pure, ferocious love for his son. She had shown him in one painful look that his lack of appreciation for Legolas's generosity with the dwarfs was hurting him. And what was more, perhaps she had finally addressed Legolas's malingering grief over Gimli and Aragorn's deaths. The old king let out a pained sigh.
"Indeed… I shall try not to hold that insult against her too long." And for Legolas's sake, he had found a way not to.
(~***~)
Legolas had no trouble finding the Steward's Door on the city's fourth tier. Everything looked so worn now. The city had been renewed after the War of the Ring. Now there were repairs over repairs in many places. They passed a garden that he himself had helped to design, long ago. It had been to put different uses now.
As the book had suggested, the "Closed Door" was now open for any to enter, though it was well-guarded. Legolas was offended when they went to enter and were asked to make a 'donation' for the maintenance of the tombs, but Lossrilleth paid it without fuss and pushed him through the door before he could bring attention to them. She had wondered if something like that might be the case when he had said the door was now open to the public. The commodification of history – so it had begun already here.
The Silent Street ran down two levels to the House of Kings. For all that it was open to anyone who would part with their silver, the Hallows were empty and quiet. A pair of soldiers guarded every door. They were the only people the elves saw all the way down to Aragorn's final resting place.
In the House of Kings, Legolas stood above Aragorn's tomb, unmoving for long moments. He touched the stone forehead of the reclining statue that remembered his noble companion to the ages and prayed for the wellbeing of his soul – wherever it had gone beyond Arda. Legolas rested his hand on the clasped stone hands holding a likeness of Anduril. He did not know what to do, but he was not ready to leave.
"Is it a good likeness of them?" Lossrilleth finally asked, looking at the figures of the king and the two hobbits at his sides.
"It is well enough," Legolas replied. Could Aragorn ever be captured in cold, unmoving stone? The way he had held himself and swung a sword through the air – the sound of his voice - were as much a part of him as the planes of his face. Merry and Pippin had been people of constant movement and noise. No silent rock could illustrate their essence.
"I have often thought about what you said about where they have gone," Legolas finally said. "I do not think they are nowhere. I think they are changed beyond recognition. They are in the wind and rain, and in the grass that grows in the lands where they once walked. They are everywhere. And they are in their descendants - however they fare," he added sadly, thinking about the impetuous King.
"You sound as if you are making your peace with it," she said with a sad smile that he could not see.
"Perhaps. I am glad to be here," he told her. "Thank you for coming with me." She only took one of his hands in hers and squeezed it.
Quiet footsteps and the rustle of fabric approached behind them. The couple turned in surprise. It was unusual for elves to be startled in this way.
"Who are these foreigners who weep at the grave of my great sire?" a voice said.
They turned and faced a teenaged girl. She was dressed in a deep blue velvet gown that Lossrilleth knew must be expensive. A chain of silver and white gems hung across her collarbones. The girl had dark auburn hair bearing a silver circlet and flinty gray eyes. Legolas could not help but take in a breath of surprise, for her face had something of Aragorn in it. She even held herself in a way that looked familiar to him.
The elves bowed and curtsied deeply to the Princess.
"Forgive us, majesty," Legolas said gracefully. "We're only humble horse merchants from the Northlands. We know the old stories of these lands and admire your King Elessar. We came to honor his memory."
The girl nodded, saying, "My father the King is happy to have foreign trade. You are welcome here."
But then she turned to the guards in the doorway. "Close the doors and leave us," she commanded them. The guards looked unsure. How could they leave the Princess with random foreign traders? She snapped her head and looked at each fiercely.
"Would you defy my order?" she demanded. The guards closed the doors and waited outside with great reluctance. The doors were heavy. They could not hear what was happening within. If the Princess had trouble it would be their heads. But she could as easily have them punished for defying her - she was known to be fierce.
The Princess regarded her visitors with intelligent eyes. With excellent grammar, but a strange accent, she spoke in Sindarin.
"I heard you speaking the elven language. Your disguises are clever enough for the common folk, but you do not fool me. You are elves. You knew Aragorn Elessar, did you not? Tell me your names," she demanded.
Legolas bowed low before the Princess. Following suit, Lossrilleth curtsied as low as she was able, feeling nervous. She was going to have to follow the lead of the former prince now.
"Your highness, forgive us for trying to deceive you. I am Legolas Thranduilion. I fought with King Elessar long ago, it is true. I came to give him all due honor as we are passing through the city on other business. My wife Lossrilleth is not known in these lands. May we know to whom we speak?" he asked politely.
The Princess did not reveal any surprise, though she felt it. "I am the Princess Araveth. You are known to us, Legolas Thranduilion. The ghosts of your hands are still in the gardens of this city and in Ithilien. Why are you here? Will you speak to my father?"
"We would not speak with your father if it can be helped, your majesty," Legolas began. This was not well – he worried the Valar would intervene if they were not careful.
"We have been cautioned by the Valar that it should not be known that elves are in these lands again. We are forbidden from interfering in your affairs. Three of us are here on a private errand. One of our own is lost to us. When we find her, we will retreat to the West and never return to Middle Earth."
The Princess thought this over. It confirmed much of what she already believed: the elves were real, but they would never again help or hinder her people. She did not care about their quest, for she had her own troubles. Her father would not be happy with their presence. Her mother might seek to invoke the sudden arrival of elves as a sign to improve her position in the struggle with the Order of the Faithful, creating only more strife.
The Princess Araveth still had the Faith. She knew that elves did not invoke the names of the Valar lightly, so she did not doubt their explanation. She did not want the displeasure of the gods on her. She could see no benefit in telling her father any of this, except…
"If you swear to me that if you ever come before my father you will deny our meeting, then I will let you go and say nothing," she said.
"I swear it on the grave of my friend, King Aragorn Elessar," Legolas promised without hesitation. "I shall tell no man that we have met."
The Princess acknowledged his oath. "And your wife?" she asked, turning to the elleth.
"On the bond I share with my husband I swear I shall not speak of our meeting to any man," Lossrilleth said.
The Princess accepted these vows – she was satisfied her interests would be protected. Now she was curious before she would let them leave.
"Tell me about him," she gestured to Aragorn's grave." "Was he so great a man as they say?"
"I do not know what they say now," Legolas replied. "But he was as great a man as I have ever had the privilege to know. A fiercer warrior or nobler heart there has never been. When he became King, he ruled wisely. These lands flourished under his hands. And, for my part, I can say that he was a true friend."
The Princess considered this. From what she had read of elves, she had not expected such a passionate or forthright response. It seemed her ancestor's companion and ally loved him truly.
"And what would he say to the way my father rules now?" she asked, feeling dangerous. She was furious with the King but helpless to do anything about it.
"It is not my place to say, your majesty," Legolas replied smoothly. He was not going to fall into that trap.
The Princess lifted the corner of her lip in dark humor. "I had read that you were a skilled diplomat, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen," she replied.
"Then your historians have been generous with me, and I am honored," Legolas said, the image of courtesty. "But I am prince of nothing now. In Valinor we are all but subjects."
The Princess could tell that the elf would not give her his thoughts, though she suspected he had them based on the comment she had heard earlier. She decided she was going to burden these elves with her opinions that she could say to no one else. The Princess Araveth looked upon the grave of her great ancestor, Aragorn Elessar, and said to the elves,
"Then I shall say what I think, since you are sworn to secrecy. I think my father would be a disappointment to your friend. No matter how organized his roads or forests are, his tempers lower our standing with the rulers of other lands. But who am I to say?" she said bitterly.
"For I am not only his daughter, but his second daughter. A more useless creature has never been born. If this Kingdom were mine to rule, I would see its honor returned. But such fates are never given to women – we must all rely on men, though they are too frequently weak and selfish. Instead, I am sure I shall be wedded off to some pathetic prince for a treaty. Had I my own fate in my hands, I should never wed at all."
The light of a torch was glowing in a halo behind her head. The elves suddenly had a shared vision that she wore a great winged crown. They could see her dressed in a red gown trimmed in white furs. In one hand she held the sword Anduril, Flame of the West. On her finger glittered the Ring of Barahir.
In their ears, the voice of Elbereth whispered, both intervening to prevent an error and granting a rare reward to Legolas, who had done his tasks well when they were before him long ago.
"Behold the Maiden Queen," her voice whispered to the awed elves. "She whose fate it is to restore strength and valor to the bloodline of Elessar. Keep your silence. Her opinions shall rule many and the fate of man is not yours to influence now."
The Princess Araveth was growing bored with the elves. They were standing quietly and giving her a strange look of wonder. No reaction at all to her risky speech. She had read that elves gave little counsel and it seemed to be true.
"Leave me to speak with my ancestors, Firstborn," she commanded them. "May you find your kin quickly and leave us. Our fortunes are in our own hands now."
The elves bowed deeply to the girl before them, and to the woman she would become. They took their leave in silence, as they had been ordered by two queens.
Legolas and Lossrilleth rushed back to the inn, where they took Thranduil into their room and shut the door tightly, sealing it completely before telling him about the incredible encounter. (He was not, technically, a man. They broke no oath.) The old Elvenking was duly impressed.
Legolas began feverishly drawing a portrait of the Maiden Queen Araveth from memory into the empty last pages of The Kings of Gondor. Though it was bittersweet, he was filled with relief to have the weight of Aragorn's fallen line lifted from his heart.
Thranduil and Lossrilleth shared a rare smile, celebrating the gladness of the one that they both loved.
"Lord father, I believe my husband is going to be engaged in his task for some time. Could I trouble you to escort me to the inn's tavern for some food? We missed the evening meal. At this time of night, I fear there will be drunkards. I am certain that you could succeed at keeping them off me and engaging in a chess match at the same time," Lossrilleth said with warm humor.
Thranduil bowed elegantly in agreement. "My lady," he said, offering her his arm. "You should know that I would not throw a contest simply because you are my son's wife."
"I should be offended if you did!" she replied as they left Legolas to his project. "I would prefer to tell Mithrandir and Elrond that I have beaten you both soundly and fairly now that you understand the game."
The old king chuckled. "We shall see, iell nin."
(~***~)
Author's Note:
The title is a reference to this poem, the authorship of which is contested:
Immortality, (likely) by Clare Harner (1934)
Do not stand
By my grave, and weep,
I am not there,
I do not sleep-
I am the thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints in snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning's hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry-
I am not there,
I did not die.
