Chapter Two – Vigil

Aragorn’s solitude was only too short.  Already he could hear the pounding of feet on the tower stairs.  Slowly he stretched out his hand and gently closed the sightless eyes with a hand that trembled slightly.  Then, gathering Legolas in his arms, he turned to face those emerging from the stairwell. 

The first he saw was Faramir.  The Steward gave a small gasp as he saw what the King held, then raised his eyes to meet Aragorn’s.  “My Lord – is it true?”

Aragorn gave a short, helpless shake of his head and moved past Faramir to the door.  Two guards moved aside.  Silently Aragorn descended the steps, slowly, suddenly feeling all the weight of his long years.  The Elf’s body felt light and insubstantial in his arms, belying the strength and resilience inside.

At the foot of the stairs he gently laid Legolas on a long table in the hall.  Turning to Faramir he finally spoke.  “He saved Eldarion’s life.  And mine.”

“I met Eldarion.  He said something had happened up there.  I sent him to find his mother and Gimli.”  With that, a door beside them was flung open and Arwen and Gimli entered in some haste, followed very slowly by Eldarion, who kept his head turned away from the table.  Faramir went to the boy and drew him to one side.

Arwen’s gaze went first to Aragorn as if to reassure herself that he was safe, then moved to Legolas.  She gave a soft cry of dismay and gently reached out her hand to touch his cold face tenderly.  Her fingertips barely brushing the skin, she traced every line and feature, mouth, throat, eyes.   Silver tears flowed, brimming from her dark eyes, and she raised one hand, absently brushing away her tears.  She ran her fingers along the side of his face, following the outline of his ears and caressing the delicately pointed tips, and leaving a damp trail.  Then, leaning forward, she stroked his hair, now limp and still damp from the rain, and kissed him gently  in a final gesture of farewell.

Aragorn found himself watching Gimli.  The Dwarf took a few faltering steps towards the table, his gaze never leaving his friend’s face.  There was nothing of the anguished roar of grief that Aragorn expected, just this unblinking stare from eyes as hard as stone.  His stillness somehow conveyed his emotions far more effectively than the anticipated howls of rage and sorrow.

Finally rousing himself from his stupor, Aragorn touched Arwen gently on the shoulder.  She turned to him, and he cupped her face in his hands, brushing away with his thumb a tear that threatened to escape.  Then she sighed, lowering her head to rest on his shoulder as his arms encircled her. “I’m sorry, my love” he murmured against her hair, their mutual grief so intense they seemed afire with pain.  They stood together, immobile.

A loud thud, a stir of air and a click roused him again.  Gimli had turned abruptly and gone into the night through a door into the gardens.  His axe still quivered, buried deep in one of the heavy logs that lay next to the fireplace.  Aragorn was about to follow, then stopped.  Gimli would be better on his own.  Aragorn understood only too well his need to be alone at the moment, alone with his memories.

He turned at the sound of soft footsteps behind him.  “Aragorn?  Tell me if there is anything I can do, anything you need.”

“Faramir.  Thank you for looking after Eldarion.  Where is he?”  In the midst of his own grief and anguish, Aragorn could not forget the look of terror on his son’s face.

“With Éowyn.  She’s trying to get him to rest.  He thinks this is his fault.”

Aragorn swore softly.  He should have foreseen this.  “I will talk to him.”

“In the morning.  He will be asleep soon if I know Éowyn.  My Lord, my Lady – you must decide on…. arrangements.”    He spoke hesitantly, his own sorrow clear on his face.  Aragorn looked again at Legolas’ pale, still features.

“Yes.  He will be taken to the House of the Kings tonight.  He saved the life of my son – he  will be honoured.  And I must send a messenger to his father in Lasgalen.  Faramir, will you take word back to Ithilien?”

Faramir nodded, but before he could reply another voice spoke gruffly behind them.

“And I will go to Lasgalen to tell Thranduil.”

Both Aragorn and Arwen turned.  Gimli had returned silently and stood beside Legolas.  Rain pearled on his hair and beard, but he was not as wet as they expected.  Aragorn looked at him in concern.  “Are you all right, my friend?”

Gimli only gave a curt nod.  Aragorn was far from convinced, but knew better than to press the issue.  He went on:  “I will stand vigil in Rath Dinen tonight.  Will you join me?”

Gimli nodded again.  “Yes.  We will both be with him tonight.  And tomorrow?”

Aragorn hesitated, trying to think.  A few hours before he had been rejoicing in the visit of one of his dearest friends.  Now he was planning the funeral of that same friend.  “He is a great hero of this city.  He will be laid to rest in the Tomb of the Kings.”

Faramir looked a little surprised, but approved wholeheartedly.  It was an honour never paid to anyone other than the Stewards in his family, and, in ancient history, the Kings themselves.

Four guards appeared then bearing a bier.  Gently Legolas was moved onto it and covered with a richly embroidered cloth.  “My Lord, are you ready?” questioned one of the guards.  Aragorn realised it was Mardil, Mihal’s father, and that it was the second time he had asked the question.  He tore his eyes from the covered bier.

“Yes.  Faramir?  Gimli?  Come.”  The small procession set off.  Faramir was at the head in his official capacity as Steward.  He was followed by the four guards bearing the bier.  Aragorn, Gimli and Arwen walked behind.  They left the hall and wound slowly through the streets.  The storm was over now but it was late and the streets were deserted.  Rain pooled on the flagstones under their feet and from somewhere came an incessant drip, drip of water seeping through a broken gutter.  The wind had dropped to a gentle breeze.  It carried the scent of the clean, rain-washed hills and forests.  Overhead the sky was clearing and a thin moon danced between the gaps in the scudding clouds.

They went on through the citadel gate where the sentinel stared at them in wonder and dismay as they passed by.  Turning westward they came at length to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle.  Their slow feet echoed as they walked down, down, until at last they came to the Silent Street, Rath Dinen.  In the House of the Kings a stone table lay, and the bier was placed on this.  The guards were dismissed and Aragorn and Arwen bade farewell. She was to return to their tower with Faramir for the sake of Eldarion and Ithilia, but they would return for the funeral rites the next day.  As Faramir was about to leave, Aragorn called him back.  “Open all the shutters here.  And do not close the door when you leave.  He – he  would not want to be shut in.”

Faramir obeyed, then he and Arwen left quietly, leaving the place in darkness apart from two small torches at the ends of the catafalque.  Aragorn and Gimli each took position at the head and foot.  Gimli’s axe stood on the floor, the blade between his feet, his hands clasped on the top of the upright haft.  They stood motionless, lost in thought, staring outwards, while apart from the soft night sounds outside, silence drifted slowly back like dust.

 To be continued

Chapter Three – First  Meeting

As he stood in the darkness and echoing silence, Aragorn’s thoughts were a turmoil of utter despair.  He constantly replayed the events of that evening, events so sudden and shocking – so senseless – they still seemed unreal.  His mind ranged over major happenings in his life, his coronation, his marriage to Arwen, the birth of his children.  All were events that Legolas had delighted in.  He had been especially pleased when their only daughter had been named for his realm. 

His thoughts went even further back – the war, the chase across half of Rohan in pursuit of the orcs, the long, soul-destroying  dark of Moria.  He knew Legolas hated such places, but had never been able to find out why.  It was something the Elf simply would not talk about, but it had been unfair of Gimli to torment him with this fear.

Inexorably, he returned to the night’s dreadful tragedy. There was the vivid flash, so intense he had felt it sear into his soul.  His fear that he had been struck blind; his terror for Eldarion, and the awful, numbing realisation that his friend was dead.  Forcing himself away from this final image, though it was burned into his mind indelibly, he tried to recall happier times and found himself remembering the first time he had met Legolas, at Lasgalen, the Court in Mirkwood.

Aragorn had travelled there bearing messages from Elrond.  The formal business dealt with, he had gone to the kitchens in search of a late meal.  There he encountered another traveller, one of the elves of Mirkwood.  The stranger was weary and hungry, and he explained he had just returned from a patrol around the borders of the forest.

“I went down to the south – perhaps further than was wise, as I was alone, but I had received reports that a new evil had come to Dol Guldur, and needed to see how real the rumours were.  I had stopped briefly for the night when something spooked my horse, a lone wolf hunting down a deer.  The wretched creature disappeared, so I had to return on foot.”  He paused for a drink of the clear spring water, and Aragorn looked at him thoughtfully.  Although the elf made light of it, it would not have been an easy journey.  Alone, on foot, through the darkest regions of Mirkwood from Dol Guldur.

“I thought the Elves of Mirkwood were supposed to have a way with animals?”  Aragorn asked lightly.

“Not Mirkwood.  Lasgalen,” his companion corrected him.

Aragorn was puzzled.  “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“Mirkwood is the name outsiders use for the forest.  Our own name for it is Lasgalen.  Mirkwood is an ugly name.  The forest can still be beautiful.”

“I’m sorry, I did not know.  But as I said, I thought the elves of Lasgalen had a way with animals?”

The elf chuckled.  “Not this one!  My own horse was lame, so I had taken one from the stables.  It was only after an hour or two I realised why it was still in the stables.  It tried twice to throw me, and left at the first opportunity.  It refused to come back, even for me.”  He sighed.   “It deserved better than to fall victim to spiders or wargs, though.”

As Aragorn studied his companion more carefully, he could see the tell-tale signs of a warrior.  Even now, obviously tired, he had a grace and fluidity of movement that spoke of long years of weapons training.  There was a constant alertness, and even here in the palace a long knife hung from his belt.

He suddenly became aware that the elf was regarding him just as quizzically.  “It has been a long time since I saw a man in the halls of Lasgalen.  What brings you here?”

Aragorn explained his errand, but did not go into details of his message to the stranger. 

“Elrond? So why are you his messenger?”  Still not wanting to go into too much detail, Aragorn merely said that he had been raised in Rivendell, and had only recently started journeying alone.  “Imladris,” the elf sighed with regret.  “It has been many years since I was last there.  The battle against the shadow takes all our time and energy.”   

As Aragorn continued, describing the journey he had had, including an encounter with a band of goblins, the elf laughed.  “You are like me, my friend!  We are both wanderers.  There are few who do so now, the land is perilous.  When your business here is finished, will you journey with me through Lasgalen?  There is much I could show you.”

Aragorn had learned to make swift judgements.  He instinctively felt that the two were indeed alike, and he welcomed the opportunity to get to know the elf better.

His meal finished, his companion rose and stretched.  “Forgive me.  I have been travelling for many days.  I will see you tomorrow.”  As the elf left, Aragorn realised that they had not exchanged names.  He assumed the other was one of Thranduil’s captains, but rose and went over to the cook.  “Who was that, who just left?”

The cook looked at him in some surprise.  “That was Legolas.”   At Aragorn’s startled look, he added “Prince Legolas.  King Thranduil’s heir.”

So that was Legolas.  His brothers had spoken of him with affection, and there had been letters from them among the documents delivered to Thranduil.  Somehow, he was not as Aragorn had expected.

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The next morning Aragorn was up early and walked through the palace grounds.  As he moved further into the forest he became aware of a rhythmic thud.  Rounding a corner, he came across Legolas shooting arrows into a series of targets.   As he watched, the style of practice changed.  Another elf threw thin discs of wood high into the air, one after the other,  often two or three at once, in a never ending stream.  By the time each hit the ground it had an arrow straight throughout the centre.  It was an impressive display of skill, and Aragorn applauded.  He had some skill with a bow himself, having been taught by Elladan and Elrohir, but both he and they preferred the sword.

Legolas turned swiftly, raising a hand in greeting.  “Good morning!  Will you be ready to leave today to travel through Lasgalen with me?  You will find it very different to Imladris.” 

They made their way back to the halls of Lasgalen, where Aragorn had already packed.  He preferred to travel light, and had only a little food, a blanket and a warm cloak.  He also took his short bow, a quiver of arrows, and his sword.  As they left the Court, they skirted the grounds, heading west along the Forest River.  As they travelled upstream the trees changed, fading from beeches to chestnuts, and then to oak.  Birdsong rang in the air about them, and Aragorn saw butterflies with wingspans the size of his hand.  Squirrels raced among the trees, not the sinister black squirrels he had seen further south, but a russet red, with tufted ears.  A pair sat scolding them as they approached, from the safety of a high branch.  Aragorn laughed.  “Mirkwood – I’m sorry, Lasgalen – is a lovely realm.  I had thought it a dark and shadowed place, but this is very different.”

“I remember it was once all like this.  It was called the Greenwood then.  There were many birds and animals, and the glades were bright with sunlight.  In the summer we lived among the trees, and seldom used the halls and caves.  There were always a few of the great spiders, but they lived near the mountains, and rarely troubled us.   But when the Necromancer came to Dol Guldur, the shadow came, and darkness spread like a cloud over the land.  We fought it for many centuries, but many were lost to his evil.  The White Council finally drove him out only ten years ago, but I fear – something – has  returned.”  The Elf’s face was sad, distant, as he recalled the evil which had slowly poisoned the once beautiful forest that was his home.

As they moved deeper into the forest they left the river, travelling north towards the Grey Mountains.  The first night they camped they did not light a fire as the night was mild.  Even here, only a day’s journey from Lasgalen, they set a watch.  The next day it rained, a thin drizzle that penetrated even the elven cloaks both wore, soaking their clothes and gear.  They saw no animals, everything with sense being safely sheltered from the weather.  By evening the rain had stopped, but the ground was soaked, and drips fell incessantly from the trees. That night they lit a small fire, enough to heat their rations and ensure at least dry bedding.  They sat by the fire long into the night, talking. 

“I told you I was raised in Rivendell.  Lord Elrond is my foster-father.” 

Legolas nodded slowly in understanding.  “I see.  That explains much.  So you know Elladan and Elrohir?  And Arwen?”

“Yes.  I only met Arwen recently.  She had been away in Lothlorien for a long time.  She’s – very beautiful.” 

Legolas gave him a strange look and hid a smile.  “She is.  My father and Elrond hope we will become betrothed.  It will strengthen the ties between our lands, and also make an alliance with Lasgalen and Lorien.”

Aragorn looked at him in shock.  “You – and  Arwen? But I thought – she didn’t say anything – and we – oh, I knew I was foolish to hope.”  His voice stumbled to a halt as the elf’s laughter rang through the trees.

“Fear not.  Arwen is a dear friend, I love her like a sister – but not, I think, the way you love her?”

“But – your betrothal?”

“Is wishful thinking by my father and Elrond.  We are not lovers – and never have been” he added to reassure Aragorn, who still looked stunned.  “The hour grows late.  We should get some rest.”  Once again Legolas took the longest watch, sitting silently next to the fire for most of the night while Aragorn slept. 

It was on the third day of their journey that Aragorn became uneasy.  They had turned west, planning to re-cross the Forest River, loop south, then travel east back to Lasgalen.  At times the land rose, or the trees thinned, and ahead they could see the peaks of the Misty Mountains.  The forest was silent.  No bird sang.  No fox barked.  The trees grew thickly here and little light reached the forest floor.  At his side, Aragorn became aware that Legolas grew more and more tense with each step.  They halted in a small clearing.  The silence was overwhelming. When the elf spoke his voice seemed loud in the oppressive stillness.  “Something is wrong, but I do not know what it is.  I have felt evil in Mirkwood before, but not here – and never anything like this.  Stay close. Be careful.”

Aragorn nodded, surreptitiously checking his bow, and placing one hand on his sword. Gradually they became aware of a soft sound heading towards them.  It was a rustling, padding sound, and now came from all sides. 

Legolas took a step away from Aragorn, giving them both room to move, and instantly had an arrow ready to fire.  He gave a cry of warning. “Wargs!”  It was a pack of wolves, the biggest and fiercest Aragorn had ever seen.  As the first ones came through the trees, Legolas loosed his bow.  One, two, three of the creatures fell dead, each with an arrow buried deep in its chest or eye.  Aragorn’s own bow sang in unison, but he did not have quite the Elf’s speed.  Switching to his sword he hacked and stabbed at the crowding wolves, their growls and howling cries chilling his blood.  Hearing a snarl behind him he whirled, sword raised, to see two wolves springing on him together.  Desperately he swung at them, beheading one – as the other fell dead with an arrow through its throat.  With barely time to react, he gave a nod of gratitude to Legolas, then returned to the desperate fight.

The attack lulled then, and they both repositioned, checking weapons.   Legolas’ knife was stained with blood to the hilt – and he had only a few arrows left.  Snatching what he could from the bodies around him he thrust them back into the quiver.  The wolves had only paused to summon re-inforcements.  Howls from the surrounding trees were answered by many others nearby, and a cacophony of growls and snarling broke out.  The howling of the wolves was now all around them, sometimes nearer and sometimes further off.  Several wolves at once burst through the trees, and Legolas reverted to his bow, trying to drop the wolves before the creatures reached them.  Even he was unable to keep them all at bay, and more and more were now surrounding them.  A wolf larger than any they had yet seen launched itself straight at Legolas.  As he moved his stance he stepped back onto the body of a wolf – and fell.  Even before he hit the ground his long knife was in his hand, thrust before him to impale the wolf as it jumped.  It never reached him.  It fell at his feet, Aragorn’s last arrow in its side.  As the Elf scrambled to his feet he called desperately to Aragorn.  “We cannot fight them!  We have not enough arrows, and there are still more coming!”

“What do we do?”

“Run!”  They turned and raced through the trees, dodging roots and branches as they went.  Gradually the sounds of pursuit faded.  Suddenly they came out of the trees and found themselves at the top of a steep bank that dropped down into a stream – a tributary of the Forest River.  Sliding down the bank they splashed into the water and paused, breathless.  There was silence apart from the water.  There were no sounds of the wolves following them, and the forest’s natural sounds had returned.

Bloody, muddy, and soaked, they stared at each other.  Both Legolas’ Elven dignity and Aragorn’s pride were severely dented.  Aragorn waded to the opposite bank, then turned and looked back at Legolas.  “I thought elves were supposed to have a way with animals?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even now, Aragorn felt a reluctant smile growing.  His friendship with Legolas had survived that inauspicious start.  On their return to Lasgalen he had gone back to Rivendell, but during his wanderings in the wild in subsequent years their paths had crossed several times, in Rivendell, Lorien, Lasgalen, and once on a rainy night on the banks of the Entwash on the borders of Rohan and Gondor.  He had eventually revealed to Legolas his true ancestry, and they had sworn allegiance.  His journeys then had taken him away on dark roads and he had not seen Legolas for many years.  After his meeting with Gandalf, and the capture of Gollum, his first thought had been the elves of Lasgalen – they were after all the only elves he knew of who had anything resembling dungeons.  He had travelled secretly to Lasgalen – and had there met with Legolas again for the first time in far too long. 

Although Thranduil had not been keen on involving himself in the affairs of men, Legolas had seen the threat and sworn to guard the creature.  He eyed him with distaste.  “Do not fear, Aragorn, he will be safe here.”  Gollum hissed and spat at the elves surrounding him.  As Legolas reached to him to remove the rope bound around his ankle, he sank long sharp fangs, none too clean, into Legolas’ hand.  He swore sharply, snatching his hand away.  Blood dripped from the bite, but again Legolas gently took the pitifully thin leg and removed the rope.  Gollum snapped again, but this time the elf was forewarned.  He seemed to sense what Gandalf had not said in so many words, and despite the menace of the creature pitied him.

“Legolas, are you sure your people can guard him?”

“Yes.  I will watch him myself.  Tirnan and Alfiel will help me when I cannot avoid my duties at Court.”  Aragorn relaxed slightly.  With Legolas himself guarding Gollum, he would not escape.  And Tirnan and Alfiel were Legolas’ seconds in Lasgalen’s army.  There were none better than those three in the realm.

Therefore, when Gandalf’s message reached him that Gollum had fled and his guards were slain – or worse, taken – he was filled with a deep dread and feared the worst.  It was not until he saw the party from Lasgalen arriving at Rivendell for the Council of Elrond, and with relief recognised Legolas at their head, that he realised just how worried he had been.  With a brief word to Arwen they went straight to greet the travellers.  “Legolas, my friend, when I heard from Gandalf about Gollum I thought you were lost.  What happened?”

The elf’s face was weary and strained.  “They attacked by night. A large raiding party of orcs.  Gollum had evaded us in a tree so I left Tirnan and Alfiel to guard him while I led the attack on the orcs.  It was a mistake.  They were merely a ruse to divert our attention.  Another group went straight to Gollum’s tree, slaughtered the remaining guards and went south.  They knew exactly where he was.”

Aragorn already knew the likely answer to this question, but asked it anyway.  “What of Alfiel and Tirnan?”

“Tirnan was killed outright.  Alfiel – Alfiel was taken captive.” 

Aragorn paled.  He knew what orcs did to elves unlucky enough to become prisoners.  And Alfiel was a friend of Legolas’.  “I’m sorry.  He did not deserve that.  He should have died cleanly, in battle.”

“I pursued the orcs south with one of the patrols.  We caught up with some of them after two days, but Gollum was long gone.  I found Alfiel.  He died hard.”  His gaze became distant, unable to escape from the image burned in his memory of his friend’s mutilated body.  He repeated softly, “He died hard.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Aragorn came back to his surroundings with a start, and realised that it was only the day after this reunion that Legolas and Gimli had encountered each other for the first time.  There were no instant likings then.  With a sense of guilt he realised that he had barely given a thought to Gimli, standing motionless behind him.  Although elf and dwarf had not known one another long – only about twenty years – their initial hostility had developed into a true, deep friendship.  He wondered what Gimli was feeling now.

To be continued

Chapter Four - Mistrust

Gimli stood, unmoving, staring with unseeing, burning eyes into the shadows.  There was a hard pain in his throat, but his mind felt numb.  This was impossible, an awful mistake.  He kept expecting Aragorn to turn to him and say they had been wrong.  He felt sure that if he turned around he would be able to see the faint stir of his friend’s breathing, and would know he still lived after all.  Yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to move.  This way there was still hope.  Once he looked there would be no room for any possible doubt.

When Sauron’s messenger had come to the Lonely Mountain, Dain and the other Dwarf chieftains had been greatly troubled.  They could not stand against the evil contained in the veiled threat, so eventually the decision had been taken to seek advice.  Grudgingly, they accepted that the wisest course was to ask Elrond – and Rivendell was also where Bilbo was, who had to be warned.  As Gloin had met Elrond before, and knew Bilbo, he volunteered to carry the message, and Gimli accompanied him.  They had a relatively easy journey to Rivendell, but once there Gimli felt very uneasy at being among so many Elves.  He did not trust them, did not trust their swift changes of mood from joyous to sad. 

He was surprised that he and his father were included in Elrond’s Council, but at least it seemed as if their news was being taken seriously.  The Council started well – up until the point where those present were named.  Some of the Elves were from Mirkwood.  Gloin muttered at that, and shot the group a deeply unfriendly look.  Elrond continued with his introductions.  Their leader was Legolas, the son of King Thranduil.  Gimli froze.  Thranduil, the Elven King.  Gloin, Bombur, and the other survivors of the quest for Smaug’s gold often told tales of their long imprisonment deep under the halls of Mirkwood.  Beside him, his father spat a curse at the Elf and fingered the haft of his axe longingly.  Gimli leaned towards him.  “Shh.  I don’t think you should kill him here.  Elrond wouldn’t let you.  Later.” 

Gloin subsided, but continued to scowl at the Elf, who appeared oblivious to the glares being cast his way.  Typical.  He was either too stupid to notice, or too arrogant to care.  Instead, his attention was on one of the Men at the council, the son of some sort of king.  The Elf leapt to his feet, and Gimli tensed.  He confronted the man, Boromir, and in a ringing voice defended another man at the Council, proclaiming his ancestry.  Gimli blinked.  The heir of Elendil and Isildur?  How could this be?  As Elrond calmed them, the three sat down again, but remained tense.  Gimli sat up straighter and began to pay closer attention to the group.  This was interesting. 

The debate raged around a gold ring that a strange creature – a Hobbit – had placed on the central table.  It was clearly the same ring that Sauron’s messenger had been seeking.  Boromir seemed to think his people could use the thing to their advantage.  Gimli wasn’t so sure.  Now Thranduil’s son was on his feet again.  “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?  The ring must be destroyed!”

At this new interruption, Gimli’s patience evaporated.  “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?   I will never trust an Elf!” 

That, he conceded, was not the wisest thing to say. Not when he was in an Elf city, surrounded by Elves.  All the Mirkwood Elves were standing now, baying for his blood at this insult to their prince.    The whole Council was on their feet, shouting, arguing.  No - not everyone.  The Hobbit who had first brought the ring to them sat quietly in his seat, flinching at the anger surrounding him.  “I will take the ring.  I will take it!” 

Slowly, the arguments died away.  Then Gandalf, the Wizard who had accompanied Gloin on the quest for Smaug’s treasure, smiled and pledged his help.  So, too, did Elendil’s heir, Aragorn.  Then Thranduil’s son said: “And you have my bow”.  

There was no way Gimli could trust the Elf on a quest like this.  He would have inherited his father’s greed and be after the Ring for himself, so before he knew it, the Dwarf added: “And my axe!”  He glared up at the Elf, who shrugged and looked resigned.

And that was it.  In the end there were nine of them, a strange cross mixture of races and temperaments.  Gandalf seemed to know everyone, and the four Hobbits had grown up together.  Aragorn and Legolas – both heirs of tainted bloodlines – were old friends.   Only Gimli and Boromir did not know anyone else. 

They left Rivendell, and slowly journeyed south.  By the time they reached the mountains tempers were becoming frayed.  The Ring seemed a constant presence, a tenth member of their company, and travelling conditions were difficult.  When the decision was made to turn back and go through the Dwarf realm of Moria, Gimli was delighted.  His cousin Balin had led the recolonisation of Moria long ago, and Gimli looked forward to seeing him again.

Entry into the mines was difficult.  A fearsome creature lurked in the water in front of the gates, and once they had got past it, it had slammed the gates shut behind them.  For three days they walked in near darkness, lit only by the light of Gandalf’s staff.  The rest of the company seemed tense, but Gimli walked through the halls of his forefathers with pride. 

He noticed that of them all, the Elf disliked the darkness most.  When he casually mentioned the weight of rock that lay above them the Elf changed the subject, and when he wondered aloud how many more days their journey would take, Legolas started a conversation with Aragorn, or Gandalf - or anyone.  After that, Gimli never missed an opportunity to refer to the dark, the length of their journey, how deep underground they were.  When he started discussing mining accidents, and Dwarves who were buried alive following cave-ins, the others began to look haggard too, until Gandalf asked him sharply to stop. At this point Legolas abruptly left his side and moved to the head of the group.   Gimli could hear him talking to Aragorn in a fierce undertone and hoped it was about himself.  However, he had no wish to upset the Wizard, so he stopped tormenting the Elf – at  least when anyone else could overhear.

On the fourth day they finally saw a glimmer of light high up ahead of them towards the east.  Dimly they could see a chamber opening off the main hall, and went that way to explore.  In the centre of the chamber was a stone slab like a tomb.  Gandalf translated the runes carved on it.  “Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.”  Gimli gave a muffled cry of grief and rage and fell to his knees before the tomb.  The chamber was so quiet he could hear the thud of his own heart.  The sound grew louder and faster, until the others could hear it too.  He suddenly realised it was the sound of drums in the deep caverns. 

There was a harsh ring of metal as swords were drawn, and they all turned to face the chamber doors.  Arrows flew as the doors were smashed down, and orcs poured into the room.  Gimli fought fiercely, wielding his axe with deadly effect, when he heard a cry from one of the Hobbits.  Risking a glance in that direction he saw the Elf, surrounded by dead orcs, still fighting on a ledge at the side of the cavern.  He was cornered by a huge cave troll swinging a wicked looking chain.  Trust the Elf to get himself trapped.  There was no one else close enough to help, so Gimli would have to do it.  Swinging his axe high he brought it down hard on the troll’s foot.  It let out a bellow of pain and rage, and glanced down.  The heavy chain missed Legolas by a hair’s breadth and wrapped around a pillar.  It was all the Elf needed.  With a nod of thanks to Gimli he launched himself at the troll, firing arrows into its head before leaping off. 

 At last the battle was over.  The troll and all the orcs were dead, and the company for the most part was unscathed, although there had been some worrying moments with Aragorn and Frodo.  As they stood in the cavern, breathing hard and checking weapons, Legolas looked across at Gimli.  “You have my thanks”. 

There was no time for further discussion as they fled the chamber, running back through the main hall and down a flight of stone steps that bridged an immense chasm.  A yawning gap stretched across their path.  One by one they leapt across the gap, Aragorn and Boromir throwing the smaller Hobbits to safety.  When Aragorn would have done the same with Gimli he stepped away, glowering.  He jumped across himself, but only just made it.  His feet slipped on the broken stone, and he was only saved from falling by Legolas lunging forward and grabbing the only part of Gimli within reach.  To his deep humiliation, the Elf seized his beard and hauled him onto the steps.  He had been saved by the Elf, and the life debt incurred by Legolas, which Gimli had hoped to use to his advantage for a long time, had already been repaid.  Scowling, he stormed down the steps, following Boromir and Gandalf to the next bridge.

When Gandalf fell, he was transfixed in horror.  It did not seem possible that of all of them the wizard was gone.  Each of the company revealed their grief in different ways – the Hobbits cried inconsolably, Gimli and Boromir raged at the skies, Aragorn sat, head bowed, on the ground.  Legolas stood to one side, staring down the valley.  When he eventually rejoined them Gimli could see tears on his face.  That surprised him.  He did not think the Elf would show emotion in that way, he seemed too aloof.  But during the long journey from Rivendell he had learnt much about Elves, and this Elf in particular.  He had remained in good spirits through all the hardships they had endured, whether it was rain, snow or enforced travel by night.  True, the cheerfulness had seemed rather forced while they travelled through Moria, but he never complained.  He had willingly turned his hand to any of the tasks that needed to be done, even digging latrine pits when they camped.  Gimli wondered just how different the Elf might be from his father.

He got the opportunity to find out that night.  It was late when they left Moria, and by the time they moved a safe distance from the mines and tended to Frodo it was too late to travel to Lorien.  “We will stop for what remains of the night and go on in the morning.  It would be better to arrive in daylight.” Aragorn decided.  “I will take the first watch with Merry.”  To everyone’s surprise, Legolas argued against this plan. 

“Aragorn, don’t be a fool.  I know how hard that troll hit you.  Let me take the first watch while you rest.  Let the Hobbits sleep too, they could do with it.  Gimli can stay with me.”  It was a measure of how bad his headache was that Aragorn made only a token protest before lying down.  He was asleep almost immediately.  As silence fell over the camp Gimli and Legolas were left alone.  Gimli turned to find the Elf was watching him carefully.  “My thanks to you, Master Dwarf, for distracting the troll.  I think I owe you my life” he said quietly.  Then, to Gimli’s total disbelief, he held out his hand. 

Numbly, Gimli shook it, and found himself saying  “And I have not thanked you.  I would have fallen from those stairs if not for you.”

Legolas smiled.  “Indeed.  I fancy your beard is somewhat longer than it was before your adventure.”  Gimli bristled at this comment, but could not prevent a small chuckle.  Soon they were both laughing, waking Boromir, who looked at the pair in amazement.  As the night wore on, they talked.  “I think Gloin was less than pleased to see me at Elrond’s Council” said Legolas softly.

So, he HAD noticed.  “He is not very fond of Elves.  Your father imprisoned him and his companions.  He can never forgive that!”

Legolas sighed. “It is true my father has no love for dwarves, and can have a hasty temper.  We had just had many battles with the spiders, and he thought the dwarves were a distraction, maybe even in league with them.  If he had only listened to reason, he would have realised he was wrong.”

“But why couldn’t YOU do anything?”

“I was not there.  We had many patrols out, guarding the borders of Mirkwood.  I was commanding the south and west patrols – that was the direction the spiders were coming from.  When we drove them off I returned, just days after Bilbo had freed your father and the others.  The place was still in uproar!”

Gimli sighed.  “Well, thank goodness for Bilbo, then.  If it wasn’t for him, they would still be in the dungeons!”  He looked at the Elf suspiciously.  “What? What’s so funny?”

“We are Elves, Gimli.  We do not have any dungeons.  We do not usually have prisoners – our only enemies are the great spiders, and orcs and goblins from the Misty Mountains.  I don’t think my father really knew what to do with them!  Thorin and his companions were held in parts of the wine cellars, and various storage rooms – they were scattered all over the palace.  Then he had to feed them.  I think he would have thrown them all out long before if it had not meant giving in to Thorin’s demands.  I think he was secretly relieved when Bilbo did the job for him!”

Gimli, who for many years had heard highly embroidered tales of his father’s long incarceration in the gloomy dungeons far beneath Mirkwood, of cruel deprivations at the hands of the merciless Elven King, chuckled at the new picture that presented itself.  “That is not how my father tells it!”

“It is not what MY father tells anyone else.  But I got the truth out of him - and spoke to some of the guards.”  Their laughter woke Boromir again, who this time gave them a look of disgust.  “He and Thorin met again at the Battle of Five Armies, so I made him apologise.  He did not like doing so, but they made their peace at last.  I am glad, for Thorin was killed later that same day.”  Legolas paused, recalling the mighty battle and the many Elves and Dwarves who had fallen.  “It made me realise how petty their bickering had been.  We faced a far greater peril, and stood together.”

Gimli nodded.  “We still face great peril.  And WE must stand together.  We are both part of this Fellowship.  The Enemy will surely win if we continue to fight each other.”   They clasped hands in comradeship, then Legolas rose and went to wake Boromir for his watch.

Gimli shifted his balance slightly, feeling stiff.  That had been the start of their friendship.  It hadn’t been instant, and there had been difficult moments, particularly when they first arrived in Lorien.  But it had lasted.  However, he was a relative newcomer in the Elf’s long life - while he had known Legolas for a matter of a mere twenty years or so, Arwen had known him for far, far longer.  Thousands of years.  He could scarcely comprehend such a time.  He had not spoken to Arwen this night, but found himself wondering how she was faring with Eldarion’s grief and guilt.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  I’m sorry it’s been so long since I updated this tale, I quite forgot it was due!  Much of this chapter relates what has already been told in ‘Memory of Darkness’, but it’s a necessary link for this story.

Chapter Five - Friendship

Silently, Arwen and Faramir returned to the tower in the citadel where she and Aragorn lived.  The house was in near darkness, a single torch burning at the door, and a few candles still lit in the hallways.  She turned to Faramir gravely.  “Thank you.  Will you stay here tonight, or return to your own house?”

Faramir took her hand.  “Éowyn is still here.  I will wait for her.  We will stay, as long as you need us.”

“Thank you,” she said again softly. 

Leaving the room, she moved to the stairs leading to the upper floors.  At Eldarion’s room she opened the door quietly and went in.  Éowyn was in a deep chair next to the bed.  She was dozing, but as Arwen entered she looked up and rose to her feet.

Arwen gazed at her son as she spoke.  “Éowyn, thank you for staying here.  How is Eldarion?”

“He’s sleeping now, but I think he’s having bad dreams.”

“Yes.”  She looked up at the other woman.  “I can stay with him now.  Faramir is downstairs, waiting for you.  But I have a request – would you stay tonight, both of you? Please?”

“Yes, of course we will.” Éowyn drew Arwen close, and hugged her briefly.  “We loved him too, you know,”  she added as she left the room.

Arwen sat in the chair Éowyn had vacated.  Eldarion was asleep, but restless.  She watched him intently.  He had Aragorn’s dark looks, but her fairer skin – and his ears were slightly pointed.  She knew he would be deeply upset at what had happened – he rather tended to hero-worship Legolas.  She was also sure he would blame himself.  He had his father’s tendency to take responsibility for events over which he had no control.  It was a trait she simultaneously loved and hated.

For the first time in that long night, she allowed herself to relax, relinquishing the iron control with which she held herself, both as a daughter of Elrond and as Queen of Gondor.  She remembered the young Elf prince she had first met at her father’s court long, long ago, and gradually the tears began to fall.

~~**~~

It was the custom of the three Elf lords to meet in council every ten years, and on this occasion it was her father’s turn to host the gathering. The household had been in preparation for weeks.  Rooms had been prepared, bedding laundered and the banners of the Lords and their captains dusted down.

He brothers had already travelled to Lasgalen, and now Thranduil was to bring his son to Imladris for the first time.  As heir it would be part of his training to take part in the council and gradually to represent his father at audiences.  Arwen was glad her future did not hold such trials.  Her brothers would both be Lords; Elladan of Rivendell, and Elrohir of Lothlorien when Celeborn and Galadriel departed; and Elrond was already training them in their duties.  For now, though, she was content to be mistress of Imladris on the occasions when her mother was away in Lórien.

When the party from Greenwood the Great arrived, she looked at Thranduil’s son with interest.  He was a little older than she was, a little younger than her brothers, with an air that spoke of the possibility of much fun for the four of them.  The initial introductions were all formality.  “Lord Elrond, may I present my son, Prince Legolas,”  Thranduil announced. 

Legolas bowed low, both to Elrond, and, to her acute embarrassment, to Arwen herself.  “Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrían , I am honoured to meet you.”

When it was her turn, Arwen curtsied.  “Your Majesty, you are most welcome to our house.  Prince Leg’as – Legolas – I bid you welcome, your highness.”  She flushed at the error, but it served to break the formality, and she heard her father laugh. 

“You will not be needed yet.  Arwen, will you show Legolas Imladris?”  She nodded, and pulling him behind her, led him away to meet her brothers. 

They had somehow heard of her slip, and exchanged twin’s glances as they approached.  “Hello, Leg’as.  Welcome to Imladris.”

“Yes, we are pleased to meet you again, Leg’as.” 

Without showing a flicker of reaction, Legolas smiled at the brothers.  “Ellahir, Elrodan – thank you for the welcome to your city.  I am sure I will find much of interest here.”

It was as if he had passed some sort of initiation.  From that moment the four were inseparable, and roamed the whole valley of Rivendell, ranging up onto the moors above the valley, and as far as the Ford of Bruinen.  They did not quite dare to cross the forbidden Ford towards the Trollshaws, despite Elladan’s prompting – Elrond’s wrath could be formidable.

~~**~~

Eldarion was growing more restless, tossing and turning.  He cried out once, and Arwen touched him gently on the shoulder.  He awoke with a start.  “Mother?  What is it?”  His face clouded as he remembered.  “You’ve been crying.  I’m sorry.  It’s all my fault.”

“Shhh.  No.  It was not your fault – there was nothing anyone could have done.  Go back to sleep,”  she soothed him.  “If you like, I will tell you about the first time I went to Lasgalen with your uncles.  It was called the Greenwood then.  We all got into a lot of trouble once.”

He smiled.  “Tell me.  I can’t imagine you ever being naughty, mother.”

She smiled at him as she recalled the day they had explored Legolas’s home.  They had visited Lasgalen one winter.  She had barely begun her tale when Eldarion fell asleep again, but she was lost in memories.

~~**~~

It had been decided to map the tunnels beneath Lasgalen, and Elrohir had volunteered all three of them for the task.  Legolas, too, had been enthusiastic.  “I’ll show you the caves under the palace.  My grandfather built this place in the Second Age, and the tunnels seem to go on for miles.  We’ll need torches – it’s dark down there.”

As they moved deeper into the cave system Legolas explained the history.  “Part of the ForestRiver ran through here and made these caves, and Oropher excavated some of the other parts.  The caves nearest the surface are used for storage, but my father tells visitors that deeper underground he has dungeons for any unwelcome guests.”

The cave walls in places glistened with water, and the air was chill.  They split up, explored separately, and rejoined.  Their voices echoed, and outside the circle of light from the torches they could see nothing.  The tunnels and caves branched and interlinked, so Arwen had no idea how far they had come.  “Perhaps the part about unwelcome visitors is right,” she suggested.  “They’d never find their way out again.”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances.  “But you know the way, don’t you?” they said to Legolas. 

“Ye-es.  Of course I do.  This way.”  He led them down another passageway.  It twisted and turned, and branched off into darkness at several points.  At times it was difficult to make out the main route.  At length they came out into a large cavern.  The rock seemed different here, and high up on one side a gleam of light showed.  “I have no memory of this place at all.”  He sighed.   “I think we’d better go back.”  They followed Legolas back down the tunnel they had come through, the torches flickering in the draught from the hole behind them.  He soon faltered and peered down a tunnel that led off to the right.  “I think that’s the way we came – come on.”

The new passage continued to twist on itself but eventually they saw it widen ahead.  They were in a large cave – and high up a gleam of light showed.  “How did we get back here again?” queried Elladan.

“Don’t worry,”  said his brother.  “It will be quicker if we climb up and get out through that gap.  Arwen?  Do you think you can do it?”

She looked up at the wall consideringly.  “Yes, of course.  Can you?”  She glared at Elrohir and threw the challenge back at him. 

Legolas laughed.  “All right.  We’ll go that way.  It doesn’t look too difficult, but I’m sorry I got us lost.  Elladan, you go first.”

Elladan jumped and caught at an overhanging rock.  Finding hand and footholds he quickly scrambled up until he could pull himself through the gap.  He turned to peer down.  “It’s easy.  Elrohir – you next.  Come on.”

Elrohir followed his brother up the side of the cave.  He had nearly reached the top when the rock beneath one foot broke away.  He clung to the wall for a moment, frozen, then carefully pulled himself up a little further.  His foot, reaching for a toehold, kicked against the rock, and another stone broke off and fell.  Then a whole slab of rock, loosened by the other movements, broke away and crashed to the ground below him.  It was followed by a cascade of stones, pebbles and soil which gradually slowed and stopped.  Elladan had lunged forward and seized his brother’s wrists before he fell, then with a heave hauled him up and through the hole.  “Are you two all right?!”  he cried.

Arwen coughed, her throat and eyes stinging from the dust.  “I am, but I think Legolas is hurt.  He’s not moving”

“Elbereth!  Is he dead?”

Picking her way over the loose stone and rubble on the floor she knelt beside Legolas.  He had jumped forward when Elrohir nearly fell, and had been hit by the rockfall.  A slab of rock lay across one leg and he was covered with rubble and debris.  His upper body was twisted as he had tried to shield himself and get clear.  Carefully she took his wrist and felt his pulse, the way her father had shown her.   “N – no.  I don’t think so.  He’s alive.  Elladan, what are we going to do?”  She gazed up at her brothers far above, feeling lonely and very scared.  The torches had gone out when they were dropped and the cave was in near total darkness.  The faint light from above did not penetrate this far.

Elladan and Elrohir had a hurried conversation, then Elladan called down to her.  “I’ll go and get help.  Elrohir will stay here and talk to you.  I’ll be as fast as I can.  Don’t worry!”  They disappeared from the hole, then Elrohir was back.

“He’s gone to get help now.  I don’t think we’re too far from Lasgalen, so it won’t be long.”

“But Thranduil told us not to go outside!  He’ll be angry!”

“Arwen, if we’ve killed his son that will be the least of our worries.  Father will have our ears for this!”

Arwen had gone rigid at Elrohir’s first words, but managed a weak smile at the final sentence.  It was Elrond’s favourite threat whenever they did something wrong.  A slight movement beside her brought her attention back to Legolas.  He muttered something about darkness and his eyes flickered.  “Legolas?  Legolas, can you hear me?  It’s Arwen.”

“Ar – Arwen?”  His voice was faint, the merest breath.

“Yes.  Don’t try to move.  Someone’s coming soon.”  He turned his head towards her.  As he shifted slightly he gave a gasp of pain.  “I said DON’T try to move!  Keep still!”

His eyes were open now, and his voice a little stronger.  “Why?  What happened?” 

She was worried by this, but kept talking to reassure him.  “We’re in the caves under Lasgalen.  The side fell in and some of the rocks hit you.  It’s going to be all right.  I’m going to move some of the stones now.”  Carefully she began to pick the rubble off him.  She could remove most, but the heavy slab was beyond her.  “I can’t move this.  It’s too heavy.  I’m afraid if it drops back it will hurt you even more.  I’m sorry.”

He nodded, turned his head more carefully and looked up at the shaft of light.  “Who’s that up there?  Ellahir?”

She almost sobbed with relief, and gave a watery smile.  “No, it’s Elrodan.  Ellahir’s gone to get help.”  She raised her voice.  “Elrohir!  He’s awake!”

“Thank the Valar!  Legolas, are you all right?”

“Wonderful.  We must do this again one day.”  Beneath the banter Arwen could hear a tension in his voice.  He was very pale and his pulse was racing.  There was a deep gash on the side of his head.  His hair was matted with blood, and there was a tracery of blood on his face.  He moved again and was unable to suppress a sharp hiss.  To take his mind off things, Arwen thought back to the time when they had explored Rivendell. 

“Do you remember when you fell in the river?”  she asked him.

“Fell?  You pushed me in!”

“Actually, it was Elrohir who pushed you.  Because you’d been talking to that girl who came with the Lothlorien group.”

“Alyssia?  I’d forgotten about her.”

“Forgotten?  You knew her name straight away!”  Legolas laughed, then winced.  “I’m sorry.  Does it hurt?”

“No.  It’s not so bad now.  I can’t really feel much.”  At that, Arwen was more worried than ever, but kept on talking. 

“Do you remember the time when Elladan dared us to go across the ford and up to the wood?  He said there were trolls there.”

“He was right.  Elrohir and I crept up there one night and nearly got caught.  I don’t know what I was most scared of – the trolls, your father, or mine!”

“I never knew that!  Why didn’t you tell me?”  demanded Arwen.  “Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”

“I don’t think Elrohir wanted you to see how scared he was!”

“Or how scared YOU were?”

“Maybe.”

She could tell his attention wasn’t really on her.  His eyes kept darting around the cavern, trying to see into the darkness, and up at the wall of rock Elladan and Elrohir had climbed.  Parts of it still looked unstable, and she prayed that more wouldn’t come down.  Outside the cave, Elrohir leaned through the hole again.  His movement caused a fresh shower of small stones to rain down.  She gave a gasp of fright and tried to lean over Legolas to shield him.  He looked up at her.

“Arwen, what are you doing?  Get out of the way!  It’s coming down again!”  His voice was weak, but he sounded furious with her.

“No!  Elrohir, the wall is collapsing again!”

“Arwen, get back!  It won’t help him if you get trapped too.”

Now Legolas added his voice again.  “Move!  This whole side of the cave could give way.  You must get out of the way, Arwen, please!”  He was angry, but there was a stark fear in his eyes.

“NO!  I’m not leaving you!” she said fiercely.  “Elrohir, move back.  Away from the side.  I think that’s what’s causing it.”  He disappeared from the hole.  As he moved a few more stones fell but then the shower stopped.  “That’s better.  You’ll have to stay there.  Don’t come any closer.  It’s too weak.”  She spoke calmly, but now her heart was racing nearly as fast as Legolas’.    She could no longer see Elrohir, but could still faintly hear his voice.  She called again.  “Is there any sign of Elladan yet?

“No.  He’s been gone a long time.”

“What if a spider got him?!”  She could not quite keep the tremor out of her voice.

“Don’t worry.  I told you, we’re quite close to Lasgalen.”

“But Legolas told me they sometimes attack someone on their own, even here!”

“He was probably trying to scare you.  Ask him.”

She looked down at Legolas doubtfully.  He did not really seem to be aware of her now.  “I don’t think he can hear me.”

“Arwen, talk to him.  Keep him awake!  Wait – I can hear someone.”  There was a long pause, then:  “It’s Elladan. It’s all right, Arwen, someone’s coming.”

She gave a sigh of relief. “Elladan?”  What’s going to happen?”

“Father and Thranduil are going through the tunnels.  When I described the cave, he knew where you were.  It will be easier if you come out that way.  If they can’t do that there’s some people here with ropes to pull you up.”

It seemed a long time, but eventually she could see a faint flicker of light approaching, and heard voices calling her. She got to her feet as her father, Thranduil and several Lasgalen Elves came out of one of the passages.  Elrond held her close.  “Are you hurt?  No?  What about Legolas?” 

She turned to look behind her.  Thranduil was already there, with Legolas leaning back against him.  It seemed incongruous to see the stern king kneeling in the dirt, cradling his son’s head.  “Elrond? What can you do?”  His voice sounded curt.

Elrond examined Legolas carefully.  He did not seem too worried by the gash on his head, but his face was grave as he peered under the heavy stone.   He beckoned several of the Elves over.  “We need to lift this.  It will hurt”  he warned.

“I don’t care. Just do it.  Get me out of here,” whispered Legolas.  For the first time his control slipped, and she glimpsed the pain and fear underneath.  Arwen returned to his side and took his hand.  "Ready?"  He nodded.

As the heavy slab was lifted, circulation returned, and with it, pain.   He gripped her hand so tightly her fingers hurt, but he made no sound.  Beside her, she could hear Thranduil murmuring something, so softly she could not make out the words. At last the stone was heaved to one side.  The brown material of his leggings was dark with blood, and the ground beneath glistened wetly.  As Elrond ran gentle fingers over his leg, Legolas gave a soft cry and suddenly went limp.  His hand went slack in Arwen’s and his head sagged against his father’s shoulder.  Thranduil’s voice broke off abruptly and he made an odd sound, but Elrond gave a sigh of relief. 

“This is for the best.  His leg is broken, quite badly.  I can see the bone.  I need to splint and set it, then we can get him back to Lasgalen.”  He looked at up.  “There is no need to worry.  He should be safe now.”  Tears started welling in her eyes, and she ducked her head so no one would notice.  She took a quick sideways look at Thranduil.  His face was grey and lined with worry at the fear of losing his only child.  She knew his wife had died in childbirth many years ago, and the baby, a girl, with her.  Her father had not been there but he had said he would have been unable to save either of them.  She prayed he could do something this time.  She did not think Thranduil could endure another loss like that.

The whole process took a very long time, and Legolas did not regain consciousness until they were back at Lasgalen.  As they eventually set off Arwen overheard Thranduil talking to her father.  “Tomorrow I will have these passages and caves sealed.  They have become far too dangerous. He could have died, Elrond, they could all have died!  This must never happen again.”

Elrond agreed, but then, with the ghost of a smile, asked, “But what about your dungeons?”

Thranduil gave Elrond a sharp look, but to Arwen’s eternal amazement reluctantly returned the smile.  “I don’t need to tell anyone they’ve been sealed, do I?”

~~**~~

Eldarion was asleep again, and seemed calmer now.  Outside, the sky was growing lighter and she realised with a start that it was nearly dawn.   The accident had happened so long ago, but she remembered every detail vividly.  The physical scars had healed quickly, but Legolas had been left with a lingering dislike of caves and such places.   As far as she knew, he had never spoken of the incident since.  Certainly, Aragorn did not know, and she was sure Legolas had never told Gimli.  Their unending taunts could be exhausting, but were always light-hearted, never cruel.  The Dwarf would not mock the fear, and would never have played the trick in the Glittering Caves if he had known the truth.

A nagging doubt at the back of her mind regarding the events that evening - yesterday - suddenly crystallised into certainty.  They had made a dreadful mistake, and she had to see Aragorn before it was too late.

To Be Continued

 .

Chapter Six – Fire And Smoke, Dust And Ashes

Arwen hurried downstairs to where she had left Faramir the night before.  He and Éowyn sat together by the window watching the dawn.  It was obvious neither had slept all night.

She wasted no time in soft words or greetings.  “Éowyn, Faramir, I need you to come with me.  We are making a terrible mistake, I must go to Aragorn at once.”

Hope flared in their faces.  “You mean –,” began Faramir.

He face saddened.  “No.  Not that.  Forgive me, I should have thought.  Come with me, I will explain when we meet Aragorn and Gimli.”

She led them through the streets of Minas Tirith.  They were followed at a discreet distance by two guards.  It was very early and only a few people were about.  They stared and hurriedly bowed as they watched their Queen pass by.  Behind her, Faramir and Éowyn were exchanging mystified looks.  Overhead the sky was a clear blue, and the day was already warm.  It was an incongruously beautiful morning.

The guards on duty saluted as they passed through the walls, and at length came again to Rath Dinen.  At the end of the street was the House of the Kings, the doors flung open.  Arwen ascended the steps, then for the first time faltered.  “Aragorn.  Gimli.”  She spoke quietly, but they both turned at her voice.

“What is it? Is anything wrong?”  Aragorn sounded strained.

“Nothing else.  But I realised there is something I have to tell you, so you understand.”

Now all four looked mystified, but they followed Arwen back onto the steps where they sat down.  Gimli cast a look over his shoulder at the still figure within.  Aragorn could not suppress a sigh of relief after standing during the long night’s vigil.

Swiftly she told them of the incident far under Lasgalen, so long ago.  “I think he never talked to anyone else about it, ever.  You all know how stubborn he can be – could be” she corrected herself. 

Aragorn picked at a loose thread on his tunic.  “I see.  It explains a lot.  I knew he was uneasy when we travelled through Moria, but none of us was comfortable.  Except Gimli.  But he never said what was wrong.”

“He thought that his fear was a weakness.  He would never admit to it.”  Beside her, Gimli had listened in silence.   She could feel a barely suppressed anger in him, which suddenly erupted into words.

“Why did he never say anything?  All the way through Moria I tormented him about the mines.  I teased him about cave-ins!  And yesterday I laughed with you about our visit to Aglarond.  Why did he never say anything?  Blasted Elf!” 

As his anger and grief ran out the last two words caught up with him.  He stopped, horror struck, and tried to take them back.  “Arwen – Aragorn – I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean –.”

Arwen caught his hand.  “It is all right.  We know what you mean.”  From somewhere she found a small smile.  “It was what you always called him when he won an argument or you were exasperated with him.” 

Now she addressed herself to the other three as well.  “I did not say anything before, because it was not my secret, not my business to talk of his fears.  But now – Aragorn, I know you mean to honour him.  But the Tombs of the Kings are not the place for him.  He – he would not want to be entombed in cold stone.”  She stopped, exhausted by the vehemence of her words.  She saw Aragorn, Gimli, Faramir and Éowyn all nodding in agreement as they pondered her words.

“Yes.  You are right, of course.  I should have thought.  But what do we do instead?”

Arwen paused then, shooting an apologetic look at Faramir.  As she continued, Aragorn understood her hesitance.

“I think we should give him to the flames.  Let the fire and smoke carry his spirit to the four winds.  He was always a wanderer.  Let him wander now.”  She finally ran out of words, and stopped. 

Faramir had tensed at this reminder of his father’s death and his own near immolation, but as he considered what she said he found it made more and more sense.  Aragorn and Gimli, too, initially reluctant – it was how they disposed of orc carrion – found themselves approving.  It was fitting.  There was no shame in it, and it was truly a better tribute for Legolas than a dark tomb, or even the cold earth.

There was silence for a moment.  All five were tired after the long sleepless night, and grief and strain were etched on their faces, even Éowyn, who perhaps knew him less well than the others.  Then Faramir rose to his feet and pulled Éowyn to hers.  “Aragorn, go home.  Talk to your son.  The guards can take the vigil, and I can do all that is necessary.  I will see you later.  Go.”

Gimli spoke his agreement. “Aragorn?  He’s right.  There’s nothing more we can do for now.  And if the rites are to be officially observed, you need to be more formally dressed.”

Aragorn looked down at himself.  His tunic was frayed at the edge, and his leggings had a muddy grass stain on one knee from when he had been playing with Ithilia.  He sighed.  “You’re right, Gimli.  This has to be done properly.  And I need to see Eldarion.”

When they returned to their tower the household was waking.  Aragorn went to find Eldarion.  He was awake, listlessly staring out of the window and kicking the stone wall.  He did not turn as his father approached and stood behind him.  The window faced west over the city.  Roofs, walls and towers fell away before them, down towards the Anduin.  In the distance the first peaks of the Ered Nimrais shone in the early sun. 

Eventually Eldarion spoke, his voice barely a whisper.  “I’m sorry, father.  I shouldn’t have gone up to the tower.  I stayed too long, and the wind blew the door shut.  I tried, but I couldn’t open it.  It’s all my fault!”

Aragorn closed his eyes at the naked anguish in his son’s voice, and rubbed the boy’s back, soothing him the way he had done when Eldarion was very small.  “No.  It’s not.  I said you could go, does that make it my fault?”

Startled, Eldarion turned to face him for the first time.  “No.  Of course not.”

“And instead of coming down immediately, Legolas stayed on the roof, to feel the rain and the wind.  Is it his fault?”

“No!”

Aragorn continued his gentle rubbing.  “So what makes it your fault?  It’s not, you know.  There’s nothing anyone could have done.”

“That’s exactly what mother said,” Eldarion murmured.

“And did you believe her?”

Eldarion shook his head.  “No.  Not really.”

Aragorn continued stroking his son’s back, holding him close.  “And now?  Do you believe me?”

Eldarion paused.  “I’m – not sure.”

*At least he didn’t say no.*  Aragorn thought.  “Think about what I’ve said.  And believe it.  It’s true.”  He moved away then, deciding not to pressure Eldarion any more at this time.  “I’m going to see your mother and Gimli.  We’ll be leaving for Rath Dinen soon, but I’ll see you before we leave.”

Eldarion turned suddenly. “Can’t I come?” he cried.

“No.  NO,” he repeated, as Eldarion looked at him rebelliously.  “You’re too young.  I’ll see you later.  And don’t worry.”  He left then, heavy hearted, afraid of the effect all this would have on his son. 

When he returned to the main rooms downstairs, Faramir had come back.  They ran over the details of the morning’s ceremony together, then Aragorn called Arwen and Gimli over.  “I’ve arranged an escort to go with Faramir to Ithilien, and to Lasgalen with you, Gimli.  Are there any other messengers to send?  Anyone else who should be informed?”

Arwen nodded. “My brothers in Imladris.  They have known Legolas since we were children.  They will be greatly saddened by this news.”

Aragorn cursed.  How could he have possibly forgotten Elladan and Elrohir?  “Yes, of course.  Gimli?”

“Sam, Merry and Pippin.  And there is a lady in Lothlorien.  Alyssia.  Legolas spent a great deal of time with her when we went to Lorien some years ago.  And I know he has been back several times since then.”

Arwen looked amazed.  “Alyssia?  I had no idea!  I knew her well when I lived in Lorien, but I had no idea Legolas had seen her again.”  She gave a sad smile.  “I remember Elrohir was jealous, though.”

Aragorn was saddened.  It seemed there were several things he had never known about his friend, but in a lifetime of thousands of years he supposed he could never know everything there was.  Now he never would.  “Alyssia?  I wish I could have met her.”

A door at the far end of the room opened, and Eldarion came towards them with a purposeful expression.  “Mother?  Father?  I want to be there this morning when – when you bury him.”

Aragorn and Arwen exchanged worried glances.  “No, Eldarion.  I explained.  And it is not to be a burial.  There will be a funeral pyre instead,”  Aragorn explained firmly.

He looked at them speechlessly.  “Burning?  But why?”

“Legolas hated being enclosed, or underground.  We think this is what he would want,” Arwen explained gently.  “But Eldarion, you cannot be there.  You are too young; I think you would be too upset.  Your father is right, you cannot come.”

There was a soft cough behind them. “My Lord, my Lady – if I might talk to you?”

It was Faramir, being formal.  That meant they would not like what he was about to say.  Aragorn gave a sigh of resignation.  “Eldarion, see if Ithilia is awake yet.  Bring her down if she’s ready.”  Eldarion, with a dark look at his parents – he knew when he was being got rid of – turned and left with Gimli.  “What is it, Faramir?”

“Aragorn, I was only five years old when my mother Finduilas died.  I was not permitted to attend her funeral – they said I was too young.  I never quite forgave my father for that, for not allowing me to say goodbye.  I think you should allow Eldarion to come.  In the circumstances, I think he needs to.  He loved Legolas.  Yes, he will be upset, but he will bitterly resent it if he is prevented from going.”

Aragorn sank into a chair, his head in his hands.  “Perhaps.  Arwen, how can I be so wrong?  I though I knew Legolas, knew my son.  Yet it takes others to point out what is best for both of them.  All that I do goes amiss!”

Arwen sat on the arm of the chair and leaned against him.  “Not wrong.  Just overwhelmed.  Trying to think of too many things at once.  The vigil was your idea.  Gimli was proud to do it.  I think it helped both of you to sort out your thoughts and feelings.”

Aragorn gave a short laugh.  “Yes.  I was remembering the first time we met.  We had some wild adventures!”

“Adventures, father?  Can you tell me about them one day?”

Aragorn twisted round.  Eldarion stood there, having returned silently.  He had his mother’s gift of approaching noiselessly and startling him.  “Yes.  But not now.  You’d better go and get ready if you’re coming with us.”

“I can come?  You mean it?  Thank you!”  He turned and ran out of the room.

Arwen looked down at Aragorn, still slumped in the chair, still in the clothes he had been wearing the day before.  “You had better go and get ready too.  If you are coming with us,”  she told him gently.

o-o-o

As Aragorn changed into formal robes he wondered who this was for.  *Legolas wouldn’t care a brass farthing what I wear, he hated ceremonials nearly as much as I do,*  he thought.  But this would be a public ceremony, the Elf was a hero of the city, and well loved.

In the end he selected sombre black.  Black trousers, a black silk shirt, and a tunic stiff with black and silver embroidery.  Over this he wore a black cloak with a lining of grey silk.  The only ornaments he wore were the winged crown, used only for ceremonial occasions, and the Evenstar Arwen had given him, which he never removed.

Downstairs, all were ready.  All were dressed in their most formal clothes, Faramir with his badge, and Steward’s Sword of Office.  Arwen wore a dress of plain, soft grey, and again a long cloak of black silk.  She had the ornate mithril coronet of her rank, and a necklace, a single white stone that shone like fire.  Her dark hair was unbound, and streamed down her back to her waist like a waterfall.

Eldarion was very pale, but seemed resolute.  He stood to one side, gazing out of the window silently.  He, too, was dressed in formal clothes, and for the first time voluntarily wore his narrow silver circlet as Prince of Gondor. Aragorn moved to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder.  “You honour Legolas.  I am very proud of you.  Remember, there is no shame in tears today.”

They walked slowly through the streets, escorted by two ranks of guards.  Word had spread like wildfire, and the streets were lined with people as they returned to Rath Dinen.  At the House of the Kings the bier was lifted by the same guards as before, and the procession wound its way to an open patch of green behind the city.  There the pyre had been built.  Wood was piled under it and the bier was placed in the centre.  Kindling was built high all about it, and all was drenched in sweet oil.  Legolas lay peacefully, remote, all cares gone.

Aragorn approached the pyre and spoke in a loud, clear voice.  “Today we gather to say farewell to Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Ithilien, member of the Fellowship of Nine Walkers, a hero of this city, and my dear friend.  He died to save the life of my son Prince Eldarion and is worthy of the highest honours the White City can confer.  He will not be forgotten, and his memory will live on in my household for all time.”

A guard held two torches ready.  He gave one each to Aragorn and Gimli, who approached the pyre steadily.  On Faramir’s signal they lit the pyre.  Aragorn thrust the brand into the fuel and at once it crackled and roared into flame.  Gimli did the same, with a hand that betrayed only the slightest tremor.

They stood back and made the elvish gesture of farewell, right hand placed over the heart, head bowed.  It was a mark of respect in the city, too, and all gave the same salute.  Softly, Arwen spoke the words of an ageless Elvish blessing, a prayer to Elbereth.

“Deep peace of the shining stars to you

Deep peace of the flowing wind to you,

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you

Deep peace of the still waters to you

Deep peace of the Lady of Peace to you.”

Aragorn spared a glance at Eldarion.  His head was bowed, but his eyes were fixed on the pyre.  There were tears on his face, but also a new pride and determination.  A maturity.  Aragorn realised sadly that he was no longer a child.

All was wreathed in fire and smoke, and nothing else of the pyre could be seen, for which Aragorn was thankful.  As the flames climbed higher, plumes of smoke rose into the air, billowing towards the clouds.  A slight breeze blew the smoke into streamers, which drifted towards the north.  North, across Ithilien, towards Mirkwood – Eryn Lasgalen now.

The flames were fiercer now and the thick smoke rose still higher, a great cloud spreading out over the city.  The breeze strengthened, and ash and smoke were blown away on the wind, spreading north and west across the lands they had travelled together.

Aragorn watched the smoke and ash drift across the sky.  He could feel the heat of the flames on his face, but it was not that, or the smoke, which caused his eyes to burn and sting.  *Goodbye my friend.  I’ll miss you.  We could not have achieved the quest without you, without your archery skills, your eyesight, your unfailing good humour, your friendship.  Goodbye.*

At the other end of the pyre, Gimli stood motionless. His thoughts were chaotic.  *I thought you were immortal, that you would be left when I died.  I never considered that I would be the one left behind, never thought you could die.  I’m sorry, so very sorry for tormenting you about Moria and Aglarond.  I never knew.  Why did you never tell me? And now – I have to tell your father this news.  It will destroy him.*

Éowyn stood still as a figure carven in stone.  *I never really knew you, even when you ruled Ithilien with Faramir and me.  You were always – remote. Perhaps I was in awe of you.  But I recall the first time I saw you, at Edoras.  I had never seen such beauty in anyone.  I think I loved you a little – until I met Faramir.  I know he will grieve for you – but I wish I had known you better.*

Beside Éowyn, Faramir stared at the pyre.  *We worked well together in Ithilien.  I cannot imagine who will take your place there, who could ever take your place.  I wish I was not the one to take word to your people.  I dread this task, this duty I have undertaken, they will find it so hard to accept.*

Eldarion, although his head was dutifully bowed, stared unblinkingly at the flames. *If only I had not gone up to the tower to watch the storm.  If only the door hadn’t slammed shut.  If only we hadn’t stayed on the roof.  Legolas, you said you were going to teach me archery.  Father said it isn’t my fault, but still, I’m sorry, so sorry.*  Hot, scalding tears ran down his face and he sobbed.

Arwen held her son close as he cried.  Maybe Faramir was right, and he needed to be here, but it was not easy on him.  Or her.  *Legolas, I miss you so much.  I love you.  I know father wanted us to marry, but I always knew you too well for that.  You were always a brother to me, not a lover.  But I will always love you.  And I will never forget that you saved Eldarion.  And Aragorn.  Without them, I know I could not go on.  Thank you, my brother.*

They watched the smoke billow and drift across the city, across the land.  The wind blew northwest, over Gondor, Rohan, towards Fangorn, Lórien and Eryn Lasgalen.  In the end it would carry the smoke and ash over the misty Mountains to Rivendell and Eriador.  And when the flames died and the fire was cold, the ashes would be scattered on the Anduin to carry him to the sea he so loved and yearned for.  He would indeed travel to the very ends of Middle Earth.  And perhaps beyond.

The End