1: Rendering Death and Forever With Each Breathing

Legolas sat in the embrasure of the open window of the solar looking out, unmindful of the cold. Here in Emyn Arnen there was no snow as there would be in his adar’s realm, but the wind blowing off the Anduin as it came down from the northwest was frigid nonetheless. He did not notice it. He was facing west, though he saw little of Minas Anor rising before him some miles away on the other side of the Anduin. The white stones of the city bled red in the light of the setting sun, but he paid little heed, for his mind and his fëa were... elsewhere.

"Valar, Legolas! It’s freezing in here."

Legolas turned to see Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Lord of Emyn Arnen and Steward of Gondor, standing in the doorway, his expression at once exasperated and pitying. Legolas could take the exasperation, but not the pity. He turned away to look back out the window. "I hadn’t noticed," he said quietly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

Faramir moved further into the room and went to the fireplace, kneeling down to tend to the fire which was nearly out. Only a few coals were still burning in the grate. It took little time for him to recover some flame and soon the chill that had been slowly turning the solar into a tomb was easing and the chamber began to warm.

"There, that’s better," Faramir said, standing up and turning to his friend. Legolas had not moved from his position and Faramir resisted a sigh as he moved quietly (for a Mortal) to the window. "It’s cold enough I deem that we might even see snow overnight," he opined, "though, it’s not likely to stay. Still, the children will enjoy it while it lasts."

"I remember snow," Legolas said almost to himself without shifting his gaze. "It’s white and cold and..." he furrowed his brow, then shook his head as if to clear it of the fog that seemed to be ever present in his mind these days.

Faramir laid a hand on the elf’s shoulder, an intimacy Legolas would not have permitted before... before this. He still couldn’t figure out what happened to him or why and no one would speak of it. It was so frustrating and he wanted to lash out at the world but didn’t know how to go about it. He looked up at the Mortal, a quizzical expression in his eyes.

"I’m glad you’ve remembered something, mellon nîn," Faramir said solicitously, a sympathetic smile gracing his visage. "And yes, snow is indeed white and cold and other things beside. Perhaps if we have some this night the sight of it will trigger other memories for you."

Legolas nodded, though he was doubtful. It had been weeks since his... accident... and still little of his memory had returned. He only knew that he woke to find himself in the Steward’s keeping at Emyn Arnen. Aragorn had returned to Minas Anor and Legolas had felt hurt for some reason at his friend’s seeming abandonment. And why was he here in Emyn Arnen, he wondered, not for the first time, instead of in his own demesne of Ithilien-in-Edhil among his own people? Then there was the mystery of Glorfindel....

He sighed, feeling suddenly weary, weary as he had not felt since... well, he could not recall. He smiled grimly to himself at that thought as he looked at Faramir. "I apologize for inconveniencing you, Lord Faramir. I truly did not notice the cold."

"So I gathered," the Steward said, his face full of amusement. "And truly, I am not upset. I was just concerned for you when you did not appear at the dinner table."

Legolas gave the Man a puzzled look. "You could not have sent a servant to hie me to the table?"

"And would you have minded a mere servant, Legolas?" Faramir asked without rancor. "Nay, I deemed this one task mine to do. Now, will you come to sup, mellon nîn? Éowyn misses your company."

For a moment Legolas was tempted to refuse, but then a slight rumbling from his midriff silenced any excuses he had been ready to make. He gave Faramir a sheepish look and nodded, rising with unconscious grace. "Yes, I will come and sup with you and your lady wife... me-mellon nîn." If Faramir noticed the hesitation in the elf's voice he gave no sign. Instead he smiled at the elf and gestured for Legolas to precede him out of the solar.

****

It did indeed snow that night. Legolas watched it softly falling from the same solar window, though, mindful of the concern the Mortals seemed to have for him, he kept the fire in the grate going through the night. He found he either had no need for sleep, or he slept for days. That was disconcerting to him, for he knew that he slept with his eyes closed and when he did awake it was usually to find Glorfindel sitting quietly beside his bed. The expression on the Elf-lord’s face was unreadable to the younger elf, and that troubled him, though he could not say why.

He heard the door to the solar open and ignored it, so he was surprised to feel someone wrap a warm robe about his shoulders. Looking up he saw Glorfindel staring back, his eyes glittering in the moonless dark. Legolas glanced at what the other elf had put around his shoulders and recognized it as the red robe that he remembered being wrapped in when they were transporting him back to Emyn Arnen.

"You should not sit in the cold and the dark without some protection, child," Glorfindel said softly.

"It’s neither cold nor dark for me," Legolas protested weakly, though he did not spurn the offer of the robe. Indeed, it was a deep source of comfort to him, and he welcomed its warmth as he settled it further around his shoulders, turning from the view outside to look more directly at the other ellon who had taken a nearby seat. "Yet, I thank you for your... solicitousness, lord," he said.

Glorfindel smiled. "Such formality, Legolas. I expected better from you."

The words surprised and confused him and he didn’t know how to respond. He was saved from having to comment by Glorfindel raising his hand. "Forgive me, mellon nîn," he said gently. "I did not mean to upset you."

"I’m not upset," Legolas objected, "just... confused."

"About what?"

"What happened to me?" he asked, appalled at the pleading he heard in his voice. "Why can I not remember? Wh-why did Aragorn....abandon me?"

Glorfindel was on his feet immediately and sitting beside Legolas on the windowseat, his arm around the younger ellon’s shoulders. "Is that what you think, child? That Aragorn has abandoned you?"

"He left me here," Legolas replied somewhat reproachfully. "Why here? Why am I not with my own people?"

Glorfindel sighed. "It was not an easy decision to make, you must understand," he said with a rueful smile. "Unlike the others, I have had an experience similar to yours. I deemed it best that you be tended here away from the prying eyes of Aragorn’s court and... from the uncomprehending elves of your demesne."

Legolas gave him a startled look. "Why would my people be uncomprehending? Uncomprehending of what?"

Glorfindel looked at him gravely yet with deep compassion. "Uncomprehending of the fact that you died, Legolas."

"Bu-but I didn’t else I would not be here."

"But you did," Glorfindel rejoined gently. "And you are here because Lord Námo sent you back. You are here because Estel risked his own fëa to free yours."

Now Legolas found himself shaking for no reason and Glorfindel pulled the robe tighter around his shoulders. "How...."

"Hush now," Glorfindel said, "I think it time you slept again."

"I’m not sleepy!" Legolas protested even as he fought off a yawn.

"Are you not?" Glorfindel asked with a smile. "Then sit here and tell me what you remember of your dying." He pulled the ellon closer into his embrace.

Legolas reluctantly settled himself against Glorfindel’s shoulder and whispered, "I remember nothing, except... except pain." He absently clutched at his middle and Glorfindel rocked him, humming softly until Legolas succumbed to sleep. Soon the ellon was nestled with his head in Glorfindel’s lap while the older elf gazed out of the window and watched the snow continue to fall, never ceasing his humming of an ancient lullaby and stroking Legolas’ hair as this most recent Reborn slept on.

****

Sometime just before dawn Legolas woke screaming. He was not sure why he was screaming, only that something terrified him as nothing in his life ever had. There was commotion all around him and voices, confused and angry sounding... no not angry, concerned, perhaps even afraid. Afraid of what, he didn’t know. Perhaps of him. He wasn’t sure. It was all so confusing. He felt strong arms hold him and someone calling his name and rocking him all at the same time and finally his screams ebbed away into mere whimpers and then the voice, a voice he did not recognize except in the deepest wells of his soul, bid him to open his eyes. He did so with some reluctance and discovered he was still in the solar and in Glorfindel’s arms. Faramir was there also, and Éowyn, their expressions full of concern and pity. He hated the pity. He struggled to a sitting position and Glorfindel let him though he found himself too weak to sit up all the way and contented himself with leaning against Glorfindel’s shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

"You were in the throes of a nightmare," Glorfindel said, "and if I’m not mistaken you were dreaming of your Judgment."

Now Legolas sat up completely, shock and surprise written all over him. "My what!?" He noticed that both Faramir and Éowyn also looked surprised at Glorfindel’s words. Faramir went to the door of the solar and opened it, speaking softly to someone or several someones (Legolas couldn’t tell) before closing the door again. He returned to them. Éowyn had in the meantime put another log on the grate.

"I’ve ordered some hot food and beverage," Faramir told them. "It is nearly dawn so we might as well break our fast now." He looked down at the hastily drawn on breeches and bedrobe that covered his nakedness, then glanced at his wife who had stopped long enough to pull on a nightgown as well as a robe, offering the two elves a rueful smile. "Perhaps we should go and dress more appropriately."

Glorfindel laughed lightly and even Legolas managed a thin smile. "It matters not to us, Faramir," the elf from Imladris said, "but do what makes you and your wife more comfortable. Legolas and I will still be here when you return. I imagine that it will take some time for breakfast to arrive."

Faramir nodded and Éowyn rose from her seat. She leaned over and to Legolas’ surprise planted a light kiss on his forehead. "The dawn approaches, mellon nîn," she said in what Legolas could only describe as her "mother voice" reminding him suddenly of his own naneth. "Fear not the night, for it has no hold on thee."

She stepped away and with short bows the two Mortals departed. Legolas looked at Glorfindel who sat so serenely and looking as pristine as if he’d just finished bathing. "I... I remember my naneth," he said, not sure why he said that when he should have been offering an apology, an apology he had gotten very good at saying over the last several weeks.

Glorfindel’s expression never changed, though Legolas noticed his eyes brighten somewhat. "Good," he said softly. "That is a fair start."

"You said the nightmare was of my... my Judgment?" Legolas asked.

Glorfindel nodded. "If you are following the same pattern as others, including myself. Though normally, the memory of one’s Judgment is one of the first to go and one of the last to return. In your case, though, I think the opposite may be happening."

"What do you mean?"

Glorfindel’s expression went blank. "By all rights, Legolas, you should be sound asleep in Mandos, your memories of your life here in Middle-earth slowly being suppressed. You should be sleeping, my friend, and there should be at least one Maia standing guard over you as you do."

Legolas just stared at the other elf, feeling stunned, unable to respond. Glorfindel, however, continued to speak. "I think the process is being reversed. Estel told me that Lord Námo promised that your memories would be restored to you."

"But they haven’t," Legolas protested. "At least not many," he amended. "I don’t think I even remembered who I was for several days after we got here."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, I noticed that, which I thought rather odd as that is the only memory that is not taken from those who reside in Mandos, the memory of ourselves, or at least our names. I knew nothing about being a lord of Gondolin, for instance, or that Ecthelion of the Fountain was my closest friend there, only that I was Glorfindel, nothing more."

Legolas thought about that for a moment and sighed. "Perhaps the circumstances are so different with me that nothing is certain."

"You may be correct in that and we will have to work our way through it as best we may," Glorfindel nodded in agreement, "but you are mistaken about one thing."

"What’s that?"

"There is one thing that is certain — you are alive."

To that Legolas had no rejoinder. He was saved from thinking of one by the door opening once again to find that Faramir and Éowyn were properly dressed and a couple of servants were there with breakfast. He wasn’t sure he really was hungry but he knew from long experience that these three who were his caregivers would not take ‘No’ for an answer, so he smiled gamely and chewed on toast and ate the porridge set before him in an absentminded way as he thought over what he and Glorfindel had been discussing.

No one else mentioned the nightmare or anything else more foreboding than whether the snow that was still falling would hamper Aragorn’s return from the city, for, Legolas learned, Aragorn was due to return that very day.

"He is?" he asked, feeling somewhat elated by the knowledge that his friend was coming.

"Aye," Faramir replied. "He had to return to Minas Anor to give the Council news of our little war and to decide the fate of the ringleaders of that fiasco. He said he would be as quick about it as he could be and then return here to see how you fare." The Prince of Ithilien gave Legolas a brief smile. "I suspect that Arwen will be with him as well."

But if they were hoping to get a positive reaction out of him at the news they were disappointed. Legolas dropped the piece of toast he had been about to bite into, and they could see what color he had in his face flee as he started moaning. "No, ohnoohnoohno...."

"Legolas," Glorfindel demanded sharply, "stop that at once."

His tone was so commanding that even the two Mortals stopped what they were doing and just stared at the erstwhile Lord of Gondolin. Legolas ceased his own moaning and just sat there, waiting, trying to remember to breathe.

Glorfindel, for his part, did not relent, but kept his voice stern. "Why do you cringe at Arwen’s name?"

Legolas felt himself blinking rapidly several times before he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "I loved her but she chose Aragorn over me," and for the life of him he could not fathom if he was angry or pleased by that announcement.

Faramir and Éowyn exchanged glances that proved indecipherable to Legolas. Glorfindel’s expression never changed but something deep in his eyes did. "I see," he said softly. "Well, you’re all good friends now, so I wouldn’t worry about it." The matter-of-fact delivery of that statement was like being drenched in cold water and Legolas came almost clearly awake for the first time since his return from death.

"Are you sure?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.

"Yes, I am," was the answer. "Now eat your porridge before it gets cold."

****

Aragorn and Arwen did indeed arrive later that morning, a few hours later than they had planned. "The snow lies heaviest on this side of the Anduin," the king said as he shook out his cloak once the two of them were inside the keep. Faramir and Éowyn were there to greet their lieges as hosts. Glorfindel stood to one side, a small smile on his face as he watched the four friends interact. Legolas was there as well, though he stood back, suddenly feeling unsure and shy. Here was his friend, his first friend among Mortals, but he was uncertain how to act around him. His memories of their times together were fractured and cloudy. Then, there was Arwen....

"I’ve ordered hot baths for you both," Éowyn said with a smile, interrupting Legolas’ train of thought. "When you are less frozen, we will have lunch."

Arwen smiled at the younger woman. "A warm bath sounds wonderful. I know Estel was complaining of the cold all the way here."

"I was not," Aragorn exclaimed, giving Faramir and Legolas a wink. "I was merely commenting on how cold it was for this time of year. Believe me, my dear, I’ve experienced colder weather than this in my days."

Arwen gave him a serene smile. "Whereas, I’ve never been cold in my life."

The absolute smugness of those words caused Legolas to laugh out loud. The others looked at him in surprise and delight. Both Aragorn and Arwen smiled warmly at him. Aragorn even went so far as to take him into his embrace and hug him, a liberty Legolas was sure he normally would never allow, but at that moment it felt right.

"I’m glad to see you are recovering, mellon nîn," Aragorn said softly into his ear.

Legolas shook his head. "My wounds are healed but not my memories," he confessed as he stepped out of Aragorn’s embrace, looking suddenly sad. "I only remembered my naneth this morning." He gave them a pleading look. "Why did I remember my adar almost from the first but not my naneth?"

The plaintive tone was that of an elfling, lost and confused, and the Mortals were all near to tears at the sound of it. "I do not know, Legolas," Aragorn whispered forlornly.

Arwen came to him and smiled gently. "Is it not well that you have remembered her at last, though?"

Legolas sighed and nodded, recognizing the truth of her words. "Yes. Thank you."

"Come," Faramir said then, gesturing to servants, "let us get you dried and warm. Lunch will be ready in an hour."

With that, the King and Queen of the United Realms took leave of their hosts and retired to freshen up after their journey. Legolas wandered away, lost in thought. When Glorfindel found him sometime later he was standing in the deserted rose garden, still as a statue, covered with snow, apparently staring at a pine tree. Glorfindel could see the other ellon’s expression of pain and wondered what the child was experiencing now.

"Legolas," Glorfindel said softly, not wishing to startle the younger elf, "it’s time for lunch. Come inside and dry off."

Legolas slowly turned and looked blankly at the older elf. "It was snowing when I... died," he said tonelessly.

Glorfindel resisted a sigh and nodded. "So I’ve been told. I did not arrive until sometime later and by then the snow had stopped and the sun had come out."

"You... you were Singing," Legolas said somewhat hesitantly, not sure if his memory was correct.

Glorfindel nodded, idly brushing snow from his forehead. "A Song of Power. Finrod taught me, though I’ve had no need to use it until now."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "Then I suppose I have Lord Finrod to thank for my life as well."

Glorfindel shook his head. "You have Estel to thank, child," he reminded the other elf gently. "It was his love for you, his refusal to let you go without a fight, that made it possible for you to live. I was merely the instrument of the Valar’s will in honoring Lord Námo’s promise to the King of Gondor and Arnor that a way would be found to save your hröa after your fëa was returned to it." He blew a breath at an errant snowflake that had been threatening to land on his nose and Legolas smiled, shaking himself free of the snow that had gathered on him.

"I think we should get you inside, my lord Glorfindel," he said with a wicked grin. "You look positively cold."

"I’ve never been cold in my life," Glorfindel said with a huff, allowing Legolas to take his arm and lead him indoors. "Except that time crossing the Helcaraxë, though Turgon kept insisting that it was all in our minds."

"And was it?"

"The only thing in my mind during that crossing was how much I really detested Turgon’s cheerfulness," Glorfindel quipped and was awarded with peals of laughter as the two elves joined their friends in the dining room.

****

By the time lunch ended the snow had stopped and the sun was peeking out from behind ragged clouds. The Mortals and their elven friends retired to the same solar that Legolas had been haunting these last few days. Glorfindel had quietly filled Aragorn and Arwen in on the events of the previous day and the two royals eyed their friend sorrowfully. Legolas pretended not to notice, sitting in the embrasure and staring out the window. After a while though he turned back to view the room. It was a scene of quiet domesticity: Arwen and Éowyn sat together in front of the fire with embroidery in their hands, softly talking. Aragorn was sitting with Faramir at a table with a chessboard between them. Glorfindel stood behind the Prince of Ithilien, an interested observer. The two Mortals were not playing though. Aragorn apparently was showing them the moves of a game and the sight of the pieces brought Legolas to his feet, though only Arwen and Glorfindel noticed.

"...so, then Lord Námo said, ‘let us begin’ and..." Aragorn was saying and Legolas gave an inarticulate cry that froze everyone but Glorfindel on the spot. The Balrog-slayer was instantly at Legolas’ side, divining what might be happening.

"Don’t fight it, child," he said softly as he took Legolas into his arms. The stricken look on the younger elf’s face was almost more than the others could bear, but Glorfindel simply held the ellon closer. "Let the memories come, Legolas. Let them come, best beloved. You are not alone in this."

The younger elf gave another cry as something inside him opened and the memories began to flow....

****

All words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted.

Ab ’Urth: After Death; the Sindarin version of the Latin Post Mortem. 

Adar: Father.

Mellon nîn: My friend.

Ithilien-in-Edhil: Ithilien of the Elves, Legolas’s fiefdom to distinguish it from Faramir’s princedom.

Helcaraxë: (Quenya) The Grinding Ice.

Note: The chapter title is taken from ee cumming’s poem, ‘Somewhere I Have Never Traveled’.

2: Being Dead Is Hard Work

Legolas felt nothing at first, but somehow the sight of himself impaled on that stupid branch reminded him that he should be feeling something. He managed to gasp out a few words of protest at the pain he was just now experiencing before all went dark, though not silent.

"Legolas Thranduilion!"

It was a summons that he found he could not ignore, seemingly emanating from his very fëa. Then, he was no longer hanging off a tree below the southern pass of the Ephel Dúath but was now standing before a set of mithril and gold doors that opened silently at his approach. He felt no fear, only curiosity as he stepped across the threshold. Two steps in the doors closed silently behind him and he was in near darkness. There was a dim light that was everywhere and nowhere and the oddness of it all began to impinge on his consciousness. That’s when fear began to outweigh the curiosity and he turned back towards the doors only to discover that there weren’t any, only a blank wall. He was staring at the wall rather stupidly when someone spoke from behind him.

"Ah, Thranduilion, so nice of you to drop in. I was sure I was going to have an argument on my hands trying to reel you in."

The Voice was almost jovial in tone, though there was an underlying sense of darkness to it that made Legolas not only shiver but actually cringe as he came to several disturbing conclusions. He slowly turned, wishing he had his bow and white-hilted knives but a quick glance showed him that none of his weapons had followed him to... well, wherever this was.

"Now, Legolas, you know perfectly well where you are," the Voice chided.

And when Legolas looked upon the Person who had spoken he knew full well where he was. Before him was one who appeared to be an Elf, but his eyes were too old and knowing for him to be one of the Firstborn. He was seated on a throne that oddly enough reminded Legolas of his adar’s throne, though there were obvious differences. For one thing, this throne was carved from stone rather than wood. The Person himself was dressed in somber shades of forest green and silver grey that reminded Legolas of his home in Eryn Lasgalen. His dark hair was elf-braided in a pattern unfamiliar to him and crowned with a wreath of balsam mixed with holly and winterberries. That seemed rather out of character for the Lord of Mandos. Legolas must have shown his surprise because Lord Námo actually smiled.

"It is Yule after all, child," the Vala said with a glint of humor in his eyes.

"I’m dead," was all Legolas could manage to say and he wondered at that. Could the dead suffer shock? Perhaps that was what was wrong with him, he was still in shock. He had the feeling he should be on his knees but in truth he had knelt to only one person in his life, and this Person wasn’t he.

Námo’s expression turned more sympathetic. "Yes, you are, child, and yes, you are in shock, and no, I don’t expect you to kneel to me."

Now Legolas just stared at the Vala with his mouth agape. "How...."

"Neither here nor there, Legolas," the Lord of Mandos said dismissively. "Now, let us begin."

Those words were mildly spoken, but the underlying tone and the dark look in the Vala’s eyes unnerved Legolas just enough that he found himself slowly backing away. Not that he got very far as there was the annoying matter of a wall right behind him. Then, to his utter horror, he felt himself sliding into a crouching position with his arms around his knees and then he was weeping, though why he thought he should be weeping he did not know. Only... the fact that he was dead, was that not reason enough?

Námo never moved, sitting there with a patience that would have shamed granite, until Legolas’ weeping stilled and he stopped rocking himself. "Are you ready, child?" came the soft question and the compassion that he heard in Námo’s voice was enough to calm the elf and bring him to a sense of himself. Yes, he was ready. Was he not a prince and a warrior? Had he not faced the minions of the Enemy all these long years of his life? Young he might be in the eyes of his people, yet he was not without wisdom, courage or fortitude. He was dead. Simple as that. Time to move on.

"Indeed," Námo said with a slight grin. "I do have other appointments you know. You’re not the only person who’s died today."

That sounded so like his adar, well, except for the dead part, but really... Legolas felt himself smiling as he stood up and squared his shoulders. "I am ready, my lord," he said softly with as much dignity as he could muster, remembering that dead though he might be he was still a Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.

Námo nodded approvingly and gestured for Legolas to step closer to the throne, which he did with just the slightest hesitation. "So tell me, Thranduilion," Námo asked with a faint smile on his lips, "whatever were you thinking, getting yourself impaled on a tree branch of all things?"

Legolas felt himself stiffen at the implied insult and then felt himself going red in embarrassment. "It’s not something I planned, lord," he replied.

"No," Námo agreed, "the manner of one’s death usually isn’t something one plans in advance. I’m sure your adar will not find it as amusing as I do, though."

"M-my adar?" Legolas gave the Lord of Mandos a quizzical look, not sure where this was going. He hoped his adar would be upset that he died, not in the manner of his death, embarrassing as it was. Maybe Aragorn would... er... shade the truth a bit for his friend’s sake. He sighed.

Námo meanwhile was studying the young elf before him. He saw one who had much potential to lead the way in the distant future to help bridge the gap between the Firstborn and their estranged brethren among the Secondborn. Even now, that estrangement was widening in spite of Aragorn and Arwen. Once those two were dead the estrangement would continue until future generations of humans would scoff at the existence of any rational species but their own. Legolas Thranduilion was poised to help heal that rift however this all turned out.

"Do you blame Aragorn for being here?"

The question caught Legolas off-guard and it took him a moment to register what was being asked him. "Blame? Why would I blame him for my own stupidity?"

"Well, it’s a legitimate question, child," the Vala replied reasonably. "Most people are quick to blame others for getting killed. I needed to know what your feelings towards your own death were. All part of the process, you see."

"Not really," Legolas said with a shake of his head.

"Well, neither here nor there," Námo admitted. "Now, my next question is..."

"Er.. excuse me," Legolas interjected somewhat hesitantly.

"Yes?" Námo’s expression was totally unreadable to the elf.

"It’s just that... um... are you sure this is how a... er... Judgment is supposed to go?"

For a very long moment there was a very pregnant silence. Finally, the Lord of Mandos spoke, his voice like silk over iron. "Well, every Judgment is different, as unique as the individual undergoing it," Námo conceded. "Is there something about this particular Judgment that doesn’t meet with your approval?"

Now Legolas was totally at a loss. He stared at the Lord of Mandos, feeling suddenly lightheaded. He had to swallow a couple of times before he could answer. "It’s just that I... well, I thought it would be more... er... terrifying."

"Ah..." Námo said, something dark glittering behind his eyes that made Legolas wish he had never opened his mouth. Why was he complaining about his Judgment? As these things went, his adar’s interrogations whenever he had committed some minor offense as an elfling were more frightening than this. "Child," the Vala said softly, "you have not yet begun to appreciate the terror you are about to experience."

He gestured and Legolas was suddenly kneeling before the Doomsman’s throne, his head held firmly between Námo’s hands. The Lord of Mandos looked down at him and the sadness mingled with compassion that Legolas saw in his eyes made him gasp and then he suddenly knew what true terror was when Námo bent down and kissed him on the forehead with the gentleness of a lover. He stiffened, his eyes going wide as suddenly doors in his mind he never knew existed opened and his entire life lay before him — all of it.

He thought he screamed then, but was never sure afterwards. He stopped seeing anything but what his mind showed him, his mind and Lord Námo, for the Vala was ever there beside him, guiding him, questioning him, and the questions were absolutely brutal in their clarity and his answers were perforce equally brutal in their simplicity and truthfulness. He thought he started weeping at one point and even struggled out of Námo’s hold when a particularly vicious memory concerning betrayal and loss reared its ugly head and he found himself cowering against the throne, clutching at Námo’s feet as if to an anchor. Námo said nothing, merely reaching down and placing a hand gently on the elf’s head, lending him his strength to get through this worst memory, a memory Legolas had studiously forgotten for several centuries.

Eventually, the final memory, the one detailing his last moments in Life, passed before him and then there was nothing. He opened eyes he never knew he had closed to find himself huddled at Námo’s feet like some favorite hound and slowly, achingly, he rose to a sitting position. He felt weak, wrung out, and his thoughts now were hard to pin down. He also found it hard to focus on anything for very long. He felt, rather than saw, Námo rise from his throne and he forced himself to look up. Námo had stepped away and was now looking down at him, his expression again unreadable.

"Was that terrifying enough for you, Thranduilion?" he asked dispassionately and Legolas could only nod. That of course was a mistake because suddenly everything started to spin. He moaned as he slid sideways, barely registering the fact that the Lord of Mandos had stooped down and lifted him gently into his arms.

"I think it’s time for you to rest," Námo said, and Legolas felt himself being lowered upon a couch that had not been there before. Soon a light blanket was being pulled over him and he resisted a yawn. "You’ve had a rather busy day of it," Námo said as he knelt beside the couch and brushed a hand through Legolas’ hair. Námo smiled encouragingly at him and Legolas felt warm and comforted as he felt himself drifting. "Sleep now, child, and when you awaken all will be different," Námo murmured. Legolas gave another yawn and snuggled further into the blanket and closed his eyes. "Yes," the Vala whispered as he leaned over and kissed the ellon softly on the cheek, "all will be different indeed...."

****

Legolas came to himself to find that he was lying on the floor of the solar. His head was in Arwen’s lap and a blanket had been thrown over his body. Arwen was softly brushing a hand through his hair. He looked up at her and she smiled. "Welcome back, mellon nîn," she whispered.

He attempted to move then but someone pushed him back down and he saw that Glorfindel was kneeling beside him. "You are well, child?" he asked solicitously.

The Silvan prince wasn’t sure how to answer that just yet. He allowed his eyes to roam and saw that both Aragorn and Faramir were sitting on the windowseat, their expressions ones of concern mingled with relief. Éowyn, he noticed was nowhere in sight but then he felt someone kneeling at his head and rolling his eyes he saw the Princess of Ithilien handing Glorfindel a goblet.

"Arwen and I will hold him up," she was saying to the elf, "while you give him some wine."

Glorfindel nodded and in seconds Legolas felt himself being raised far enough that he could accept the goblet, welcoming the wine warming both his hröa and fëa. He noticed that his throat felt raw when he swallowed and wondered if he’d been screaming. When he had had his fill, they laid him back. Glorfindel gave him a penetrating look. "What do you remember?" he asked and Legolas was surprised at the directness of the question, but answered just as directly.

"Everything," he said, "my entire life. I remember it all."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Hmm.... interesting."

"What? What’s interesting?" Legolas demanded as he attempted to sit up. This time no one stopped him and with a little help from the others he found himself sitting in a chair beside the grate, welcoming the warmth of the fire even as he had welcomed the wine.

Glorfindel took the chair next to him. "Remembering one’s Judgment rarely involves remembering one’s entire life," he explained. "That is something that happens over time and I think some memories never resurface for some reason. But you are a rather unique case, my friend," he added with a smile. "I think remembering your Judgment was meant to be the key to unlocking the rest of your memories."

Legolas studied his friends, seeing the love and concern in their eyes, and found he had to look away. For a while no one spoke, the others willing to wait for Legolas to speak first. "It was... terrifying," he finally admitted in a whisper.

"Yes, I imagine it was," Glorfindel conceded with a knowing smile. "Judgment usually is, though I suspect yours wasn’t quite as painful as mine, not being a rebel Noldo."

"Painful enough, I assure you," Legolas said with some heat.

"But now it’s over," Arwen interjected.

But Legolas shook his head. "One thing is missing."

"What is that?" Aragorn asked from the windowseat.

Legolas gave his friend a piercing look. "The truth of how you rescued me."

Aragorn stared at the elf for several minutes before nodding. "When you have rested somewhat from this ordeal, I will tell you about a rather special game of chess that I played with the Lord of Mandos."

Legolas nodded, satisfied, and was about to make another comment to Glorfindel when the door to the solar slammed open and, turning, they all saw Gimli standing there, snow-covered with his favorite axe in his hand. His eyes blazed with frustration and weariness and Legolas wondered if the stupid dwarf had run all the way from Aglarond. Before anyone could utter a word, Gimli strode into the room with a ‘Hrumph’ and stood belligerently before them.

"Now then, what’s this I hear about my elf dying?" he demanded glaring at them all. "He doesn’t look dead to me."

"His elf?" Aragorn whispered loudly to Faramir who was grinning widely. "I thought Legolas was my elf."

At that Legolas started laughing, suddenly glad that he was there to be anyone’s elf. He caught Glorfindel’s eye and the Reborn Balrog-slayer nodded knowingly and soon everyone, except Gimli who was demanding to be let in on the joke, was laughing as well.

****

Well after midnight, Legolas sat once again in the windowseat of the solar all alone, for everyone else had finally retired. He had promised them, especially Glorfindel and Gimli, that he would not stay up all night, and in truth he was actually looking forward to sleeping in his bed. He was not sleepy yet, and so he stared out the window, looking at the stars shining cold and brilliant in the night sky, thinking about his Judgment and what he had endured. Suppressing a yawn as he drew the red robe around him, he came to the conclusion that being dead was hard work. He would much rather be alive.

That was his last thought as sleep overtook him.

****

Lord Námo, sitting on his throne from within his Halls, looked out towards Middle-earth and saw Thranduilion nestle further into his robe and smiled. Legolas would come to Aman one day but not by way of Mandos.

"Was his death a mistake, then?" Vairë asked him.

Námo looked at his spouse standing next to him and gave her a smile reserved only for her and she returned that smile with one of her own. He held out his hand and she settled on his lap, idly brushing her fingers through his hair, now bare of wreath or crown. He held her in his embrace, gently stroking her thigh.

"No death is a mistake, my love," he said quietly, "but I knew that Legolas was not meant to remain here in Mandos."

"Rather a unique situation, then," Vairë stated. "I wonder what the purpose was?"

"Perhaps its only purpose was to teach young Thranduilion to watch where he’s going," Námo responded with a wicked smile. "Getting skewered by a tree branch... he’s never going to live that down, you know."

Vairë laughed lightly. "Poor ellon," she said. "He’s such a dear." She reached down and gave her spouse a less than chaste kiss. For a time neither was interested in continuing the conversation, but finally Vairë pulled away just enough to lay her head on Námo’s shoulder. "He’s going to be so lost when Gimli dies."

"Yes," Námo conceded. "That, of course, cannot be helped, but I think there will be those here in Aman who will help him through the darkness."

Vairë sat up and gazed deeply into her lover’s amaranthine eyes. "Including you?" she asked softly.

Námo nodded solemnly. "Including me." Then he smiled again, a smile she had come to recognize as a sign of mischief. "Perhaps I’ll challenge him to a game of chess."

Their laughter was loud and long and the denizens of Mandos stopped their play for a while to revel in the joy of it.

****

All words are Quenya. 

Fëa: Soul, spirit.

Hröa: Body.

Note: The chapter title is taken from Rainer Maria Rilke’s Duino Elegies: The First Elegy:

"....And being dead is hard work

and full of retrieval before one can gradually feel

a trace of eternity...."