Title:  Through All of These Years

By:  Linda Warren

Rating:  G  (for general angst)

Summary:  Nothing travels faster than gossip, and nothing can wreak more havoc than even the most well-intentioned gossip.  In this story, a ranger turned King learns a bitter lesson about trust and promises, while an immortal elf learns that you are never too old for a lesson in patience.  (This story was first published at the Mellon Chronicles site, and has undergone a rather surgical rewrite since then.  *g*)

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and all of its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I am simply borrowing them for a short time.  I make no profit from this story except the joy I have gained from writing it.

Reviews:  Please do!  Any feedback will be deeply appreciated and constructive criticism more than welcome.  (This is a first effort at writing fiction; one can only hope the errors are not too glaring…..ah, hope!)

A/N:  This story takes place 16 years after the beginning of the fourth age.  I used a reference from Appendix B, THE RETURN OF THE KING, Later Events Concerning the Members of the Fellowship of the Ring, year 1436 (by Shire Reckoning).  It was written in response to an MC challenge to write a story based on the song “My Immortal” by Evannescence.

***All characters’ unspoken thoughts will appear in italics.

THROUGH ALL OF THESE YEARS

     “He’s leaving,” whispered the man standing at the rampart’s edge, looking out over the darkened city below.

     Arwen Undomiel, once the Evenstar of her people and now Queen of Gondor, flinched slightly at the desolate hurt in her husband’s barely audible voice.  She had been standing at the top of the stairs leading up to this level for several minutes, watching the King of Gondor wrestle with thoughts of a coming event, which he could not control. 

     The Queen felt some measure of relief that her husband had finally broached this very painful subject.  She had been patiently waiting for almost a month, watching his silent battles with increasing concern, for she feared she knew the cause of his pain and grief.  His softly spoken announcement only confirmed those fears.

     “You do not know for certain, meleth nin,” she spoke, and crossed the expanse of tiles to his side.  He turned and looked at her, a disbelieving look on his face.

     “It is all the news lately amongst the elves of Ithilien,” he replied, and then returned his gaze to the city below.  “He mentioned to his watch captain, Aravir, that he would be going in some several months, and even Gimli’s latest communication speaks of his journey to the Grey Havens….”

     His voice trailed away, and he leaned forward, arms braced stiff and straight, hands fisted and resting on the battlements.  His head bowed, and the dark fall of unruly hair obscured his face from her sight.

     Arwen shook her head slightly, and rested a gentle hand on his arm.  She could feel the muscles under her fingers, tight with tension.

     “And have you heard this from his own lips?  Perhaps it is not what you think.  Perhaps there is a very logical reason for this trip.”  She shook his arm now, and Aragorn turned his troubled gaze on her once more.  “Have you even spoken to Legolas about it?”

     They stared at each other – husband and wife for almost 16 years, and well acquainted with each little nuance of expression in the other’s face.  Aragorn dropped his eyes, and then confessed.

     “I am afraid to ask him.”

     As I thought.  Arwen looked at Aragorn in loving exasperation, and slipped her arm around his waist, stepping close to his side. 

     “Oh, Aragorn,” she murmured, “why?  Why do you torment yourself so?”

     He leaned slightly into her embrace, finding some much needed comfort in her nearness, and replied, “Because I am afraid the whispers will be true!”

     She opened her mouth to speak, but her husband stopped her.

     “You know the sea-longing still eats at his heart.  Although he has learned to control the attacks and they are not as severe as they once were, there are still days when he can hardly think for the song it sings to him; days when the call of the white gulls is the only sound he hears.  I fear the passing of years will only strengthen its hold on him.”

     Arwen nodded sadly.  “I know,” she replied.  “The call grieves him, and we who love him and must watch him suffer, even more so.  But Aragorn, you must talk to him.  You have been brooding over these rumors for almost a month now.  Even the children have noticed, and Eldarion is becoming concerned…”

     Here Aragorn snorted softly, and looked at his wife sidewise, some of his dark mood sliding away at the mention of his eldest son.

     “Eldarion, the Valar bless his 14-year-old heart, cannot see past his sword play lessons and the admiring maidens of Gondor.”

     The Queen laughed, “True – he is his father’s son!”

     “Now, guren nin, you know I only ever had eyes for you!”  Aragorn protested, slipping his arm around his wife.  “Besides, according to Legolas, no self-respecting female, elf or otherwise, would come near a scruffy fellow like me.”

     He smiled slightly, remembering past conversations with the irritatingly CLEAN Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.

     “Hmmmm,” Arwen smiled up at him, her sapphire jewel eyes sparkling with laughter and starlight, “jealous, were we?”

     “Of that prissy elf?  Hardly!”  Aragorn muttered.  They both laughed at Aragorn’s standard answer, but as suddenly as a cloud hides the sun, the King’s shoulders slumped and his face fell.  He closed his eyes and groaned.

     “Eru help me, Arwen, I know it is best that he go…I know it is beyond selfish of me to keep him bound here for friendship’s sake, but the thought of losing his counsel, his very presence…”

     Aragorn’s voice faltered, and Arwen drew him close.  “I know,” she whispered, “I shall miss him, too.”

     Eru help us all, my love, if these rumors are true.  The first tear slipped unnoticed down her cheek as she stood beside her husband, looking into the dark night.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

     Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and Lord of Ithilien, had experienced worse days in his long life (one does not live in the neighborhood with Shadow and not have a bad day now and then), but he was not sure when.  This one, although, had to be placed near the top of his list, right alongside battles with orcs, spiders, Dark Lords, and testy dwarf friends.

     “When last I looked, Legolas, not his friends, was Lord of Ithilien,” he muttered to himself, and grinned suddenly at his reflection in the mirror.  “Why I sound just like Theoden King!”

     He shook his head as his grin widened slowly.  “Is that how he felt?  No wonder he almost took Aragorn’s head off!”  Then the memory of the events of the past hours resurfaced to claim his attention, and once more, a scowl quickly marred his fair features.  His hand, currently occupied with combing the tangles from his damp hair, slowed to a stop as his thoughts carried him back to earlier in the afternoon.

     Apparently, everyone in Ithilien, elves and men alike, has completely lost their minds!

     Pushing the peevish thought aside, the elf began grumbling to himself, “I take a few days, mind you, to slip off ALONE into the forest to check on the progress of some of the more damaged areas, and what do I find when I return?  CHAOS!  Utter chaos!”  His frown deepened.  “Oh, and unexpected guests!  I love those!”

     What could have possibly caused such an uproar?  It had begun about the time he had reappeared from his jaunt into the woods, singing and at peace with the world because the forest looked to be recovering rapidly.  Word of his return must have been passed quickly ahead by the colony Guard, because the instant he had stepped into the clearing near the house, he had been accosted by his elven friends and advisors, along with Faramir and Gimli, who had just arrived for a “visit”.

     So much for peace.

     The whole group had descended upon him all at once, barking questions and accusations (about what he still did not know!), until he had thrown up both hands and roared, “Cease this noise NOW!”

     Everyone had quieted instantly, staring at him in varying degrees of shock and surprise.  He had examined the upset, protesting faces, put on his most arrogant, princely expression, and said, “I am retiring to my quarters to clean up and change.”

     At the beginning rumble of protests, he had raised one hand for silence, and again they subsided.

     “In one hour, I will return – to eat – ”, he clarified in warning, “ – and AFTER I eat, I will talk to you all.”

     With that pronouncement, he had stalked into the large, graceful building that he now called home (or at the least, his official residence.)  Truth be told, he preferred his large, airy flet situated amongst numerous others in the forest, but a Prince must keep up appearances!  At least, that is what THEY said.  Taking the steps quickly, he burst through the heavy doors, and ran on up another flight of winding stairs to his rooms, leaving everyone behind talking and gesturing loudly.

     Upon reaching his quarters, he had stripped off his soiled clothing, swiftly bathed, and jerked on clean clothes, all the while replaying some of the louder complaints and comments in his mind - which had led, of course, to this disjointed conversation with his mirror!  Legolas made a face at himself, and turned away. 

     He smoothed his dark green tunic over the darker leggings, and pulled on the soft boots he favored.  Still thinking furiously, he finally reached the conclusion they were upset because he had left without informing anyone.

     as if I must ask permission like…like an elfling before going out to play!  He snorted derisively at the probability of THAT  happening.

     Legolas returned to the mirror, and examined his face closely.  “Just how old are you anyway?” he muttered, again shaking his head for what seemed the hundredth time.

     He began rebraiding his hair, his strong, elegant fingers quickly and efficiently forming the familiar braiding patterns: the kin-braid of the House of Oropher in back, and the warrior’s sidelock braids favored by his father’s Silvan subjects.

     The imperious knock on the door he had been expecting finally came, and he raised one dark eyebrow, thinking that Gimli had displayed a remarkable degree of patience to have waited this long to come and take him to task.

     “Come,” he called, and quickly finished putting the braids in order as the door flung open and Gimli stalked into the room.  He stopped just inside, arms folded across his chest, and a heavy, disapproving frown on his face.

     Legolas kept his back to the dwarf, observing his reflection in the mirror with growing amusement.  Finally, judging his dwarf near to exploding, he asked cheerfully, “Well, friend Gimli, how goes it with you?”

     Gimli’s face reddened and he sputtered, “You pointy-eared menace – where have you been?  How could you, Legolas?  How could you do this to all of us?  How could you do this to Aragorn?  And you walk in here without a care – singing?”

     Legolas turned sharply at the first How could you?, and at the mention of Aragorn, his heart stumbled in alarm before resuming its regular beat.  He interrupted Gimli’s tirade.

     “What about Aragorn?  What exactly have I done?  Speak Gimli, before I throttle you!”  He stopped abruptly, struggling for some semblance of calm and reason.

     Gimli just stood silently, glaring at his friend and waiting.  Legolas returned the glare in full measure and snapped, “Well?  Speak!  What do you mean?”

     “I am talking about your leaving, Master Elf!”  Gimli growled.  “I am speaking of your plans to go to the Grey Havens.”

     “Leaving?” Legolas stared at Gimli in puzzlement.  “Where did you hear...?”

     His voice trailed off as, suddenly, a light of understanding dawned in his clear slate gray eyes.

     “You mean you think…you mean they all think that I…?”  Legolas’ eyes narrowed as anger began to flare, and his voice dropped to a whisper.  “You mean Aragorn thinks…?”  He stopped, and the shocked, outraged look on his face startled the dwarf.

     Now Gimli had never professed to understand his elven friend – fey and moody he was at times – irritating beyond words at others, but he did not like the look on the elf’s face, and he liked even less the thought only now beginning to occur to him.

     “Well, lad,” he backtracked quickly, “it is what everyone here was saying…” 

     His voice subsided as Legolas looked at him, the light of anger darkening his eyes to the deep, turbulent blue-gray of a threatening sky, and when he spoke, the dwarf winced at the hard, flat tone of the normally melodic voice.

     “You think…you all think that I would just leave – sail from Mithlond and leave you all without a word of explanation or even a goodbye?  You do not have a very high opinion of me, do you, Master Dwarf?”

     Gimli winced again at the sarcasm dripping from the usually fair and gentle voice.

     “Now, Legolas…,” he began gruffly, seeking to somehow placate his friend.

     “No, Gimli,” Legolas replied sharply.  “Tis plain what everyone thought and what has been spread throughout Ithilien, apparently clear to Gondor.”

     He turned away, murmuring to himself,  “I cannot believe Aragorn would think that of me.”  The elf stood for a moment, head bowed in thought, then abruptly crossed the room to his wardrobe, pulled a traveling cloak out and slung it over his shoulders.  He strode towards the door.

     “Legolas, wait!”  Gimli called.  “I will come with you!”

     Legolas turned and stared at Gimli silently for a few uncomfortable moments before shrugging.

     “As you wish,” he said curtly, and continued through the door.

     Gimli found himself practically running to keep up with the elf’s long strides as he descended the stairs and walked through the hall to the front entrance. 

     Legolas turned to Gimli and stated, “I go to fetch Alfirin.  Be ready when I return, for I will not wait.”  He turned then and slipped out into the night.

     Faramir, hearing their voices, came into the hall just in time to see the door shut.  “Gimli, what is it?” he questioned.

     “I dare not stop now, Faramir,” Gimli faced him and blurted out, “That blasted elf is on a rampage!  I think we go to Gondor.  Faramir, we misunderstood – he is not leaving after all!”  The dwarf looked wildly around for his things, which of course, had been removed to his room.  “Blast it all, I need a cloak!”

     Faramir’s face had lit with joy at Gimli’s first words, even as he unclasped his own cloak and removed it, offering it to the fuming dwarf.

     “He is not?” he exclaimed.  “But…that is wonderful news!”  Then it occurred to him exactly what had happened, the misunderstanding involved, along with Legolas’ obvious reaction, and he sobered quickly.

     Faramir knew Legolas well after fourteen years of working closely with him, and while the elf was the most affable of beings MOST of the time, he was still his father’s son and possessed his father’s temper.

     “We should have known better, Gimli,” he said, “We should have known Legolas would never leave like that…but this sea-longing…I cannot understand what it does to him.  I suppose I have half expected him to leave long before this.”

     He shook his head sadly.  “I cannot imagine how we will ever apologize enough for doubting him this way.”

     Gimli snorted.  “Worry not, Faramir.  The elf will exact his pound of flesh from us, no doubt.”  He clapped Faramir on the shoulder.  “And we will give it gladly to him, won’t we?”

     “Aye, Gimli, we will,” Faramir answered with a grin.  “Here, take my cloak…double it so it will not hinder you.  Go with him, and we will follow in the morning.  I will speak to the others and sort things out here.”  He helped the dwarf adjust the heavy cloak, and opened the door for him.

     “Safe journey, old friend,” he said, clasping Gimli’s sturdy shoulder briefly in farewell.

     Gimli nodded.  “As safe as possible on that wild horse Legolas has taken to riding!  ‘Tis a pity the horses of the Rohirrim do not stay young and strong like the elves.  I miss Arod,” he grumbled, thinking of the retired steel-white gelding presently inhabiting a place of honor in Legolas’ stables.  Gimli stomped down the steps with Faramir’s chuckles still sounding in his ears.

     Not a handful of minutes had passed before he heard the sound of hoof beats, and Legolas rode up on the back of a fiery, long-legged, golden mare named Alfirin.  The elf dismounted quickly, and without a word, boosted Gimli onto the golden back, remounting in one graceful leap.  Speaking softly in elvish, he urged Alfirin forward, and they rode into the night, traveling south to Gondor.

     Gimli settled behind Legolas, one hand gripping the edge of the saddle (a concession Legolas and Alfirin made only when the dwarf rode with them), and the other holding onto the elf securely.

     “Lad, should we not wait for the morning?” he asked.  “The nights are still colder than the Witch-King’s heart, for all that it is spring…and as dark, too.”

     Legolas glanced over his shoulder at his friend.

     “You appear warm enough,” he answered shortly, and turned back.

     Gimli huffed in ill-concealed exasperation.  Stubborn elf!

     “Besides,” he heard the elf’s low comment, “Ithil will rise soon to light our path.”

     “Legolas…” the dwarf began, only to be interrupted.

     “No, Gimli…no more,” the soft voice said, and that was the end of their conversation.  Gimli sighed and let it go for the time being.  He let the rhythmic motion of the horse calm, and finally, lull him to sleep.

     Legolas felt Gimli gradually relax, and knew the exact moment when his friend dozed off.  Making sure the dwarf was secure behind him, he finally returned his full attention to his horse and his surroundings.

     Even with his heart in turmoil, sharp elven eyes noted the eerie beauty of the forest of North Ithilien after dark.  The stillness of the night, periodically broken by the evening song of insects, the call of night birds, and the rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush, soothed him somewhat, and he took a deep breath for the first time since hearing Gimli’s amazing accusation.

     Tall sentinel trees swayed in the cool breeze, as the inky darkness slowly faded to the deep indigo-silver of an evening blessed by Ithil’s full illumination.  Legolas breathed deeply the evergreen-scented air, listening to the trees’ greetings as they rode by. 

     How their song gladdened his heart!  Sixteen years ago, there had been no song – only the anguished, fading cry of a living forest suffocated by the encroaching evil of Sauron.  Legolas raised his eyes, gazing at the ebony sky crowned with stars and arrayed in Ithil’s pearly light, and sighed, thanking Eru and the Valar for his small part in restoring this forest’s song.

     The pensive elf held Alfirin to a sedate pace, guiding her along the path that would eventually merge with the main road to Gondor.  Quite some time passed before Alfirin’s gentle thoughts finally reached beyond the chaos of the elf’s mind.

     What has angered and hurt you so?

     Legolas leaned forward to stroke her warm golden neck.

     Not what, mir nin, who.  He continued to stroke the mare’s neck absently.  Do not be concerned.  I am fine…just disappointed in one I thought knew me better.

     The mare tossed her pale, gleaming mane in response, and quickened her strides.

     Perhaps they should listen to you more closely.

     Legolas smiled slightly, a tight, disillusioned grimace, and set his face and his horse towards Minas Tirith.

     Once reaching the road, Alfirin covered the miles in a steady, sweeping canter, stopping at dawn for her riders to refresh themselves and her with a short rest and water.  Legolas had managed her carefully during the night, but in the morning loosed her to set her own pace.

     Alfirin, being sure-footed and swift, and wanting to reach someone who might ease her beloved elf’s mind, covered the remaining miles quickly, and reached the mithril gates of the capitol city of Gondor by mid-morning.  They passed through them to the loud, glad greetings of both guards and citizens alike, as both elf and dwarf were well known and loved by all.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

     Legolas left Alfirin at the city stables and he and Gimli began the long walk up through the seven levels of Minas Tirith to the royal apartments at the Citadel.  He had not spoken a word all the long night or morning to Gimli, no matter the provocation, and Gimli, tired of the elf’s oppressive silence, was currently at his MOST provoking.  However, no sarcastic remark seemed to penetrate the wall of anger and hurt the elf had placed between himself and his friend.

     Gimli finally clamped his mouth shut, and trudged on beside the tall figure, punctuating the quiet with intermittent “hrrumphs” of disgust.

     Meanwhile, in the Hall of Kings, Aragorn had just completed a meeting with some of his advisors.  He had removed the heavy robes of state and was standing, absent-mindedly rubbing the back of his aching neck, when Eldarion burst into the room.

     “Ada!  Ada!  Legolas and Gimli are here!  A guard said they are on their way up now!” he announced, almost bouncing with excitement.  “Come on, Ada!  You promised the next time Legolas came, you would ask if I could go for a visit!”

     His father smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm, and gripped his shoulder gently to steady him.  “Slow down, ion nin!” he cautioned, and grinned as Eldarion straightened his tunic and snapped to attention.

“Like this, nin Adar?” he asked, his clear gray eyes sparkling with laughter.  He and his father both knew what Eldarion thought of sedate, princely behavior.

     “Impudent bratling,” his father laughed, punching his son in the arm affectionately as he passed by.  “Come along, pen-neth nin.”

     He paused and looked back at his son thoughtfully.  “Eldarion, let me do the talking.  It may not be convenient for you to visit Ithilien and Legolas right now.” 

     Eldarion grimaced.  He sensed there had been some problem worrying his Adar about Legolas lately, but he held his tongue and followed the King out of the room.  Perhaps his mother would be more forthcoming about the situation.  He resolved to pester her for the information as soon as possible. 

     They met Legolas and Gimli in the large living area of the family quarters.  “Legolas!  Gimli!  Welcome!”  Aragorn called, crossing the room to clasp Legolas’ shoulder, as was their custom.

     However, the Prince bowed low, murmuring, “Aran brannon,” stopping Aragorn mid-stride. 

     He looked at Gimli, who shook his head and shrugged.  When Legolas straightened, Aragorn stiffened at the look in the elf’s eyes.  It had been some decades since he had seen this particular elf in such a simmering rage.

     Gimli, noting the rising tension, greeted the King quickly and gathered Eldarion to his side with, “Well, lad, I am starving!  Take me to some food, ‘ere I die!”  Eldarion laughed, and after another glance at his father, left the room with Gimli.

     Legolas turned his back on Aragorn and walked over to the huge open windows overlooking the Pelennor Plain.  It spread out before him in all its peaceful, prosperous, springtime glory, courtesy of the Valar and the rule of Elessar.  He heard the door shut behind Gimli and Eldarion, and sighed in relief.  He was about to indulge in what his father called a “fit”, and certainly did not need any extra witnesses.

     “Legolas?”  Aragorn walked up behind him.  “What is it?”

     Legolas whirled around and looked at his dearest friend closely, noting the shadows of fatigue and the lines of strain around his mouth.  His eyes narrowed, and he asked in a quiet, expressionless voice, “What has been causing you such worry and turmoil, hir nin?”

     He is being very quiet and formal…not good...not good at all.  Aragorn smiled and replied quickly, “Nothing beyond the usual, my…”

     “Do not lie to me, Aragorn!” Legolas snapped, interrupting the King’s excuse.  “Tell me what you have heard that troubles you so.”

     He knows…he knows that I know.  Why is he so angry?  I cannot talk about it…I do not want to talk about it...Aragorn, his heart sinking, fumbled for some sort of plausible explanation.  “Legolas, really…it is nothing.”

     “Nothing?  NOTHING?  You stand before me clearly exhausted, your eyes dark with grief and worry --- and you say NOTHING?”  Legolas’ voice rose in volume until he was virtually shouting.  “So now I am blind, as well as stupid?”

     He stepped closer to Aragorn, whose eyes dropped guiltily, a flush beginning to color his cheeks.  The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

     Finally, Aragorn lifted stormy gray eyes and looked into his friend’s angry slate blue ones.  His lips tightened as his own formidable temper began to kindle.  Legolas arched one eyebrow at him, daring him to continue saying that nothing was wrong.

     Aragorn, not one to back down from a challenge, proceeded to do just that.  “I said it was nothing – and I meant it!” he managed to get out between tightly clenched teeth.  “Just WHAT is your problem?”

     Any shred of control Legolas still possessed vanished in the face of this blatant human insolence, and he exploded.  “PROBLEM?  Let me tell you my problem, Aragorn, son of Arathorn.  I have a stubborn, stupid human for a friend who, apparently, has taken to believing every little thing he hears and has lost all trust he ever had in me!”

     “I have not lost my trust in you!” Aragorn shouted back at the elf.

     “You have if you thought I was leaving, Aragorn!” Legolas shot back at him, and Aragorn’s face paled as he stepped back in surprise. 

     Legolas swore softly in elvish and turned away, feeling his anger cool somewhat as a great weariness seemed to settle into his very bones. 

     Why is he surprised?  Did he think these doubts would go unnoticed?  We have been through so much together…I thought…surely he knows me better than this!

     He turned back to Aragorn, looking at him closely and noting how he would not look at him.  He gritted his teeth against the anger that arose again, and quickly decided to press the issue.  This lack of trust had to be addressed now, and the root of it destroyed, before any more harm could be done.

     “That is it, is it not?  You believed I was sailing,” he spoke softly now, demanding an answer from his friend.  “You heard I was planning a trip to Mithlond in a few months, and you assumed I was leaving…and not just leaving, but sneaking off without telling anyone.”

     Silence.

     “Well?” he pressed hard now.  “That IS what you thought, is it not?”

     Please, mellon nin, say no.  Say you would not think me so faithless to do such a thing.  Please, Estel…

     Aragorn had shut his eyes during Legolas’ accusation, but they opened at this last question, and he looked at the elven Prince bleakly.

     “Yes, I believed that,” he whispered, and to his shame and dismay, his friend’s face seemed to crumple.  The tall, golden warrior who had stood by his side through every danger imaginable, turned away now and walked slowly back to the window.  Aragorn watched as he gripped the window’s ledge and bent forward, as if trying to escape from some inner pain.

     The King tried and failed to remember a time when he had ever hurt his friend like this.  Oh, they had had their quarrels, but never had either of them doubted the strength of the friendship between them, or each other.  Until now.

     Aragorn saw Legolas struggle with his thoughts for a moment, then leaned closer to hear the raw, pain-filled whisper, “My father is sailing, Aragorn, along with others of Lasgalen.  I go to meet him to say goodbye.”

     Aragorn jerked, as if struck by some unseen force, and sorrow mixed with bitter remorse almost choked him. 

     No!  Oh Elbereth, please!  Anything but this!  Anyone but his Adar!

     “Oh no, Legolas.  Please, my friend, I am so sorry,” he begged, his voice breaking.  “I thought that…I thought you…ah, Legolas, forgive me, mellon nin,” He walked to the window to stand beside his friend, looking at the remote, closed expression on the fair face, and knowing he had put it there.

      Legolas turned to look at him; eyes awash with tears unshed, he asked, “Why?”

     Clenching his hands to fists, and struggling with his fears, Aragorn fought to explain to him.  “Try to understand, gwador nin.  I have feared all these years you would give in to the sea’s call on you.  I have watched it torment you.  Do you remember the talk you had with Gimli and me at the camp by the Snowbourn…four years ago?”  Legolas nodded, his eyes softening as a measure of understanding began to dawn.

     Aragorn shuddered.  “I have never forgotten the despair in your eyes, the hopeless longing in your voice.  And then there was the attack later…we almost lost you then.  I know you learned to control the call, but still, I see you suffer, and curse myself for my selfishness.”  He held up a hand to stop the elf from interrupting.

     “No, let me finish.  When word reached me of your plans, I assumed the worst.  I do not know why…I just did, even though in my heart, I knew better.  I know it would be best for you to go, but to think of that day…” He swallowed hard.  “Ai, I am such a fool, a selfish fool, and look what I have wrought with my fear.”  He bowed his head, fighting the tears that threatened, and winning…almost.

     Legolas straightened slowly, allowing his eyes to wander once more across the broad expanse of plain, on to the great river Anduin beyond.  He took a deep breath of the clean, fresh air, and lifted his eyes to the clear azure sky as he sought for the words to reassure his friend, and make him understand.

     Legolas turned back to Aragorn, studying his friend’s haggard, saddened face carefully.  Memories of another, younger Aragorn flooded his mind, and he saw the same uncertainties and loneliness in that young face as he saw now in the King’s older, more mature one.  He smiled, and touched Aragorn on the shoulder, drawing the clouded gray eyes to him.

     “Do you remember when we first met?”  Legolas asked.  Aragorn nodded slowly. 

     “You were all of five years old, and had gotten yourself stuck up in one of those immense trees near Lord Elrond’s house,” Legolas remembered, his voice soft and far away, lost in memory.  “You had been at Imladris for some time, but your mother had just left for the North, and you were totally lost without her.”

     Aragorn nodded again – it had been a difficult time for a small boy.  He listened as Legolas continued.  “You had made your way about halfway up that tree – a worthy effort for such a small human.  And all on a dare – all because you had heard some of the others talking about you and laughing.  You were weeping, and so embarrassed you could hardly breathe.  I climbed up and introduced myself.”

  Legolas looked sidewise at the King.  “You seemed impressed that I was a real Prince.  We sat in that tree for a time, and I told you some stories about Mirkwood and my Adar.  You were especially intrigued by the giant spiders, as I recall, and wanted to know exactly how to kill one and if their blood was black and how poisonous they were and did they really eat people…all manner of grisly details.”  Aragorn smiled slightly. 

     “We dried your tears finally, and I helped you find your way down.  We walked for a while, and you asked many, many questions about a great many things, most of them concerning being different from elves and fitting in.  When you felt better, we returned to Lord Elrond and I told him I would be giving you climbing lessons every day for the rest of my visit.”

     “And you did…every day,” Aragorn said.  “Yes, my friend, I remember.”

     Legolas returned his gaze to the plain below.  “And do you remember when Lord Elrond told you of your heritage?  You were about twenty, I think.”

     “Twenty-one,” Aragorn replied softly.

     “Yes, and you ran from Imladris because you felt betrayed by the fact that the knowledge of your birth had been kept from you, and overwhelmed by the responsibility it represented.”

     Aragorn grimaced.  “It scared the life out of me.”

     Legolas nodded in understanding.  “You also thought you did not belong to your Adar any longer, and that made the news even more shattering to you.  You finally came to the Wood, and stayed with me for a time.  Do you remember our talks about what it meant to be descended from royalty?”

     Aragorn looked at Legolas.  “Only the words of a Prince could have reassured me then, Legolas.  Later, you even had your father speak to me about what I might face as a King, and I think that helped to finally restore my confidence.  It could not make me want the position, however.”

     They smiled, remembering Aragorn’s stubborn refusal of his destiny. 

     “My father reassured me acceptance of such a future was often slow in coming.”  Legolas sighed.  “My father is a wise King.”  He paused, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth at the thought of his fierce, loving father.

     Then, he turned to Aragorn and said, “Do you remember what I promised you then?”

     Aragorn nodded again.  “Yes,” he whispered, “you promised to always stand by me and be there for me.”

     “And what else did I promise you, Estel, before the battle at the Gates of the Morannon, and once more, even after that?” Legolas prodded.

     Aragorn answered in a slightly shaky voice, “You promised to stay with me.  You said that for the love of the Lord of the White Tree, you would remain here on Middle-earth, until my reign was ended.”

     Legolas bowed his head as he heard the words of his vow repeated, and turned to face his friend again.  Aragorn’s breath caught at the sight of the emotion on his friend’s normally stoic face, and he took a step towards him.  Legolas stopped him with a look, though, and asked, “Have I EVER lied to you, Estel?”

     The King of Men flinched at the pain evident in the elven Prince’s voice, and shook his head no.  He did not trust himself to speak any longer at this point in their conversation.

     Then, Legolas placed one hand on his shoulder and said in a stern, we-will-not-have-this-conversation-ever-again- voice,  “That day will NEVER come.  No matter what you hear, or imagine, or think, remember this – I will never leave you, Estel, never.”

     Haunted eyes shadowed with pain lifted to his and searched his face.  Legolas could see every doubt the stubborn human had ever had about being the best friend of a Prince (and an elf, no less), reflected in those raincloud gray eyes.

     His grip on Aragorn’s shoulder tightened, and he repeated the word, “Never.”

     Aragorn blinked, and the shadows receded a bit.  Legolas shook the man’s shoulder.  “Lasto beth nin, Estel!”

     The shadows retreated further, and Aragorn drew a deep breath.  Legolas shook his head at the stubbornness of men (forget dwarves, men were one thousand times worse!), and allowed a smile to light his face and his eyes.

     Ai, Estel…you grow more intractable with age, my friend…

     He gave the tense shoulder one more forceful shake.  “Never,” he repeated. “Stubborn human!”

     Aragorn’s eyes reflected the dawning smile on his own face.  “Prissy elf,” he retorted, and lifted his own hand to clasp the elf’s shoulder in return.

     The two friends, renowned members of the Fellowship of the Ring, leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and sighed wearily.  Eyes closed, they stood quietly, allowing the shared love of their friendship to heal any lingering pain or doubt.

     After several quiet moments, hands dropped and they gazed at each other, pained, self-conscious expressions on their faces.

     “Well, Thranduilion,” Aragorn murmured, “you father will be pleased to know his cub has quite a bite!”

     Legolas sniffed haughtily.  “He knows.”  Aragorn looked at him with surprised curiousity.

     “Do not even ask,” Legolas warned, reading the question in his friend’s eyes.

     “All right, but I suspect it was recent, and I will wager that new black colt you were admiring that Gimli was involved,” Aragorn guessed.

     Legolas glared at him in mock anger, then relented, saying, “I would not dare wager against a surety, Aragorn,  When has that dwarf not caused me problems with my Adar?  He is ALMOST as bad as you!”

     “Your pardon, Master Elf!” Aragorn sputtered. “Me?  I highly doubt it!”

     The bantering stopped, and they smiled in relief at each other as they began walking towards the door.

     “I suppose we should join the others before they imagine the worst,” Legolas suggested.

     “Yes, I am sure Eldarion has already reported our “discussion” to his mother…” Aragorn started.

     “…and Gimli, no doubt, has given a detailed account of my tantrum to her also,” Legolas finished.  They looked at each other and laughed.

     Aragorn shook his head sadly.  “I think Arwen is about ready to send me…somewhere,” he concluded, remembering his wife’s exasperation.

     Legolas suggested helpfully, “Mordor?” and Aragorn gave a shout of laughter.

     “Exactly!  Come on!”

     As they made their way down the long corridor leading to the main dining room, Legolas laid his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder and asked, “Would you consider coming with me?”  Aragorn looked at him in surprise.

     Legolas continued eagerly, “You have spoken several times about wanting to visit the northern lands again to see how they fare.  You could bring Arwen and the children and stay for a time at Lake Evendim.  I understand it is especially beautiful during the summer months.”

     Aragorn looked at his friend thoughtfully.  “It is beautiful up there.  I have always loved that lake and the surrounding area.”

     Legolas continued persuasively.  “You can stop by the Shire on the way…see Sam, Rosie, and the children.” 

     Aragorn smiled at the thought of Hobbit little ones.  He looked at Legolas, grinning at his friend’s earnest attempt to convince him.  Legolas grinned back.  “You know how Sam says his daughter Elanor wants to meet you and Arwen,” he said.

     “Oh no, my friend, do not pull that excuse out now.  She wants to meet ELVES, mellon nin.  She is much like her father in that respect.”  Aragorn paused, a considering look on his face as he examined the tall elf walking beside him.

     “Tell me, my friend,” he said, conversationally.  “does anyone EVER tell you no?”

     Legolas looked surprised, then somewhat embarrassed. 

     “Well…ah…actually…not in recent memory.  Except, of course, for that time at Parth Galen when I felt the evil approaching us and wanted to leave, and you said…”

     “All right, all right!”  Aragorn threw up both hands in surrender.  “Your point is well taken!” 

     He looked at Legolas sheepishly.  “Well, far be it from me to do it again, Legolas.  Yes, I would like to see Sam, and perhaps Merry and Pippin as well.  It has been too long.”  The King’s eyes grew distant, and Legolas recognized that planning, plotting look immediately. 

Aragorn finally nodded to himself, satisfied that the trip could be made with little fuss.  Well, some fuss…but it can be done, and I will not let him face this alone.

He looked at his friend, and said, “I will have to make some arrangements with Faramir for such an extended absence, but, yes, we will accompany you.”

     The elf smiled, relieved beyond words as his friend added, “And I will go with you to the Havens, if you so desire, to wish your Adar safe journey.”

     “Hannon lle, mellon nin,” Legolas said softly.  The two friends entered the room together smiling, to the great relief of all who awaited them.

     Three months later, Aragorn stood beside his friend, a supportive, comforting hand on his shoulder, as he and Legolas watched the gray ship pass from their sight.

EPILOGUE

     In the Red Book of Westmarch, there is an entry made by Samwise Gamgee for the sixteenth year of the Fourth Age, 1436 by Shire Reckoning.  In his entry, Sam gives a rather detailed account of the visit of Elessar and Arwen, the meeting at the Brandywine Bridge, and the ceremony making his beloved daughter, Elanor, a maid of honor to Queen Arwen.  He tells that after the happy reunions, Elessar went on to dwell for a time near Lake Evendim.

TRANSLATIONS

meleth nin   -   my love

guren nin   -   my heart

aran brannon   -   lord King

ada   -   daddy

adar   -   father

hir nin   -   my lord

nin Adar   -   my father

pen-neth nin   -   my young one

nin gwador   -   my brother (said of a chosen brother, not one of blood)

nin ion   -   my son

Thranduilion   -   son of Thranduil

lasto beth nin   -   listen to me

hannon lle   -   thank you

mir nin  -   my treasure