For the Love of the King

The towers of the White City, with the many banners flapping lazily in the wind, seemed to shine like a jewel of mithril on the horizon, and many believed that it was the return of Isildur’s heir, the son of Arathorn, that gave rise to the ethereal glow that penetrated even the gloom of the gathering twilight. Others believed it was simply an affirmation that the Shadow of Mordor was no more and that the light of peace and freedom had descended on all of Middle Earth. Although the restoration was not yet fully underway, there was something almost magical about the city that was once more home to its King. Men from lands to the South, the East, from the borders of Mirkwood and Dunland, eagerly made the journey to Gondor to pay their respects to their newly crowned King, and all were amazed at the beauty of Minas Tirith as they approached.

As was his duty, Aragorn made them all welcome and spent many hours speaking to the various ambassadors as well as providing banquets in their honour. The other members of the Fellowship were delighted to see their friend finally accept his destiny and take his rightful place as the King of the West, and were equally pleased to accept the accolades offered them for their role in the defeat of Sauron. To that end, the companions were always invited to attend the banquets, and took their places of honour at the head table.

This particular evening, the celebration was held to honour the emissaries from the border of Mirkwood, and the Men found themselves somewhat awed when Legolas requested that he be allowed to join them.

“I wish to thank you for delivering my father’s letter to me, and to ask if you have further news of his Realm?” he said as he accepted the place off honour at the head of the table. He was anxious to hear all he could of the battle he had missed, and he hoped that these men had news of how the Wood Elves had fared.

“Aye, there is a strange tale we can tell you. We found ourselves chasing Orc and the other dark ones well into the forest itself, and as we neared your father’s borders, we were met with a fearsome and totally astounding sight,” replied leader of one of the northern villages. He stopped speaking to let his enigmatic words take effect, for he was relishing the attention being paid by both his comrades and the Elf whom he held in high regard. Despite the fact that men were not normally welcome in Thranduil’s realm, the villagers on the outskirts had come to know that the son was not the father, as his willingness to join them at the table proved.

“Please go on,” urged Legolas politely. Although he spoke little, he listened intently to all they could tell him of the battles that had raged both near their village and within the realm of King Thranduil.

“The battle that the Elvenking’s people fought must have been fierce, and although they prevailed, the pathway and the forest floor was littered with the bodies of the foul minions of the Dark Lord. I am sorry to have to tell you that lying amongst the trees were also the bodies of some of your people,” he said with compassion that touched the Elf’s heart, but did nothing to ease his pain. Legolas closed his eyes and said a few words of mourning. No one commented on the sudden brightness caused by tears welling in the Elf’s eyes, for they had all lost loved ones, and whilst they could not fully understand elfish grief, they understood his sorrow. Legolas accepted a glass of wine and took a rather larger than usual mouthful and indicated for the Man to continue his tale with a slight nod of his head.

 “The whole forest seemed to be aflame, and even to our Human ears the crackling of the burning branches and the rustling of the leaves spoke of the agony of the trees. The battle was all but over and as we defeated the last of the enemy, a strange stillness overcame the forest,” the man said, stopping to take a sip of his ale as he remembered what had happened next.

“The air felt cool and crisp as lightning flashed and rolling thunder could be heard faintly at first in the distance, but became louder as the storm clouds approached on the strong winds from the mountains to the north. It rained briefly, but very heavily.” To everyone’s surprise it was Legolas, with a knowing smile curling his lips, who had spoken.

“Exactly! In very short time all the fires were out, and the storm had passed,” replied the man who was telling of the strange events.

“Aye, and never have we seen a storm approach and disappear so fast!” exclaimed one of the others at the table.

“You speak truly, but what was more amazing was that as several streaks of blue-white light filled the glade, and the last peal of thunder boomed overhead, all the bodies of the Elves simply vanished!” the leader declared, shaking his head in disbelief at his own memory.

“Not for naught is Thranduil the King of Mirkwood,” said Legolas proudly, but offering no further words of explanation for the sudden storm that he knew to be the Elvenking’s handiwork. And although he also well knew that it was the Elves who had come to claim their own, remaining unseen and moving with the swiftness of his race, he chose to keep his silence.

“I thank you for telling me your sad news,” he said with a polite bow as he rose to leave the table, wanting nothing more than to be on his own, away from the joyous atmosphere of the celebrations. Rather than rejoin his friend’s at the King’s table, Legolas walked hurriedly towards the doors leading into the garden, his deep sorrow at the news of the devastation of his beloved forest apparent in his movement, yet unnoticed by all--- but two pairs of concerned eyes.

“… Mithril and sturdy steel will serve as building materials for the new gates, do you not agree, Aragorn?” asked Gimli, suddenly becoming aware that he in fact did not have the King’s full attention. The Dwarf followed the direction in which the grey eyes were staring, and watched with some concern as Legolas left the hall.

“Aragorn?” he asked again, this time tugging lightly on the sleeve of the King’s robe to get his attention.

“What? Oh, do forgive me Gimli…you were saying?” a rather sheepish Aragorn asked, turning back to face his companion.

“It is of no great urgency. Is something amiss with Legolas?” he asked.

“I am not certain…”  replied Aragorn looking thoughtfully at the group from whom the Elf had just taken his leave.

“Well, you know we saw several sea birds earlier this morning, and I am sure they called to him,” Gimli explained in a voice so low that Merry and Pippin, who were seated on his left, did not hear. The Shire folk were rather fond of the Elf, and Gimli did not wish to alarm them, for they had all become aware of the longing with which their friend was now inflicted.

“Perhaps, but since he has spent some time speaking with the men from the borders of his home I think it more likely he has heard some distressing news. I will go and speak with him,” offered Aragorn.

“Please continue to enjoy your meal, I have a desire to take a walk in the evening air,” he said excusing himself as he stood and bowed politely to his companions before he hurriedly followed the Elf outside.

Legolas was singing softly as he walked around the garden but stopped suddenly when he heard Aragorn approach.

“It is a lovely evening, and Eärendil is shining brightly on us tonight,” the Elf said as he looked towards the dark night sky that was speckled with pinpoints of light.

“Indeed it is,” agreed Aragorn, as he too looked at the bright star directly overhead for a few moments before turning his gaze back to the Elf’s face. A deep sadness filled him as he felt the distress in the normally carefree heart, and saw the shine of eyes filled with tears of sorrow, and despair on the fair face.

“What has caused you so much distress, mellon nin?” he asked, placing his hand lightly on Legolas’s shoulder.

“I am hoping you have not come out here to smoke that dreadful pipe of yours,” the Elf replied lightly, although the small smile that played briefly on his lips did not reach to his eyes.

“No, it is out of mine and Gimli’s concern for our friend that I am here. I saw you speaking with the ambassador from the Mirkwood villages, and I am aware of the ill news he bears,” said Aragorn quietly.

“Ai, it is as you say. I am relieved that Adar is well, and that my home is safe. I had feared that perhaps the dark forces would be too strong, even for the protection he provides,” he admitted. “I have come to fully understand Boromir’s desperate attempt to defend his city and his home, for by remaining with you and fighting in the War I believe I have done for Mirkwood what he wished to do for Minas Tirith.”

“Yes, I think that you and Boromir did indeed have your love for your respective homes in common, and you have both done your duty,” sighed Aragorn as he remembered the brave son of Gondor.

“But now that the battle is won, I find that the devastation of my beautiful trees, and the grief that fills my heart for those who now reside in the Halls of Mandos is hard to bear,” said Legolas unashamedly allowing his friend to see a few tears fall.

“We have all seen far too much death in recent times, but to see one who is so usually full of joy and light fall into despair because of it, saddens me greatly,” Aragorn said with a hint of anger in his voice for the pain his beloved friend was suffering. He reached up and gently wiped the tears with the back of his hand, in a gesture of comfort offered and accepted between friends.

“The light of trees will flourish once more under the tender, loving care of your people, and Mirkwood will be restored to its former glory, of that I have no doubt,” Aragorn said confidently.

“Ai, so it will, and I believe that Minas Tirith and Ithilien deserve no less,” stated Legolas, a genuinely happy smile lighting his face as he imagined the beauty of the restored forest. A quizzical frown furrowed Aragorn’s brow.

“What are you saying? Surely you intend to return to Mirkwood? I am certain Thranduil is anxiously waiting to see you,” said Aragorn unable to keep the hope from his voice. Gimli had already agreed to return and assist in the rebuilding of the city, and Aragorn was delighted to think that Legolas might do likewise.

“Ai, so the message he sent with the Men told me. I miss Adar and will shortly be reunited with both him and my people, but I am not the same Elf who left Mirkwood,’ Legolas said, unnecessarily searching for the words to explain how he felt.

 Aragorn already knew.

“No, you are far more open and willing to speak of yourself, and have become one of my closest friends,” said Aragorn with an affectionate smile that caused a slight pink tinge to colour Legolas’s pale cheeks.

“Ai, I have learned to love mortals and though I have begun to realise that my friendships can only have a bitter ending, it is a pain I am prepared to accept for the pleasure it will bring in the intervening years. I do not wish to leave either Gimli or you. I it would be my pleasure to return to Gondor and to bring some of my people to establish a village in Ithilien and restore it to its former beauty. I wish to make many gardens in Minas Tirith and fill the city with undying trees, and birds to nest in them and sing for your delight.”

“It is an offer I accept wholeheartedly, mellon nin, and we will dedicate a garden in the palace grounds to Boromir,” suggested Aragorn. Legolas smiled again and nodded his agreement. 

“But what of the sea longing? Can you bear to deny the call for much longer?” asked Aragorn with no little concern.

“I only need deny it as long as you remain King. After your time is ended, mellon nin, I will no longer wish to remain in Arda, nor will I,” Legolas assured him, holding Aragorn’s gaze and sealing the promise with the truth of their friendship that could be easily read in their eyes, and the love that they felt in their friendly embrace.