Chapter 7:   Farewells

“Glorfindel!” exclaimed Elrond, surprised to see the golden haired Elf Lord ride through the stone archway that stood at the entrance to Imladris. “What brings you back so soon?   How fares Thranduil and his people?” he asked, a worried frown creasing his brow, as he assumed Glorfindel’s rapid return meant that the Woodland King must require urgent assistance. 

“Quite well, all things considered. They paid a high price for the peace they now have, but the Silvan Elves are a resilient lot, and under Thranduil’s care, their spirits, as well as the trees, are already healing,” replied the Elf Lord as he dismounted and followed Elrond to his study. “Eryn Lasgalen does not require assistance from Imladris, although Thranduil thanks you for the offer. I would have stayed there longer, but he had the audacity to send me back to you on an errand!” declared Glorfindel, not in the least as affronted as he tried to sound.  

“Surely the role of messenger appeals to you, fond as you are of keeping yourself well informed,” teased Elrond.

“A warrior does not only need sword or bow, information and knowledge are also two very powerful weapons,” commented Glorfindel.

 “I cannot argue with that,” conceded Elrond. ”What errand did Thranduil request of you?” 

“I have a wedding gift for King Elessar and his Queen, which I am to give to Legolas to present to them on behalf of his father,” answered Glorfindel,

“I see,” said Elrond. Apparently Thranduil knew how much Glorfindel wanted to be at Arwen’s wedding, and had ensured that he had a sufficient reason to accompany Elrond’s household to Minas Tirith, rather than stay behind and miss the celebrations that Thranduil himself could not attend. Elrond was touched by the unselfish act that demonstrated a deep understanding and affection between the two golden haired Elves.

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As they journeyed south, the feeling of unease that had begun to blossom in Elrond’s heart grew and he decided that the cause was the increasing distance that was growing between himself and Arwen.   They had barely arrived in the Golden Wood before it seemed as if Arwen had been spirited away by the many young female Galadhrim of her acquaintance. Elrond saw very little of her during the days of their stay in Lothlórien, and when he finally suggested that he be allowed to accompany her on one of her daily visits with her friends, the request was met with silvery laughter, and a slight shake of her head indicating denial.

 “Ai, Adar, I doubt very much that you would be interested in discussions of fabrics suitable for a wedding gown, or what flowers might be used to decorate the banquet hall at the palace in Minis Tirith,” she answered, reaching up to kiss his cheek affectionately to indicate she did not wish to hurt his feelings.

“Or how handsome Elessar will look in his kingly finery,” added Elrond, his words filled with an understanding of young love eliciting a very becoming blush from his daughter’s cheeks. “I believe I hear Glorfindel calling,” he said, allowing himself a graceful retreat, embracing Arwen warmly before taking his leave.

  course she is happy and excited, she is in love. Do try not to feel so neglected, or even jealous,” said Glorfindel as he and Elrond wandered among the mellryn of Lothlórien, before selecting a small grassy area amongst the trees on which to sit while they sampled the bottle of wine Celeborn had given Glorfindel earlier that day.

“The closer we travel to Gondor, the more radiant she becomes,” said Elrond, a bitter note in his voice that spoke eloquently of his breaking heart, and yes, even a little jealousy.

“And the more bitter you become,” observed Glorfindel.

“I do not want to lose her, I wish I had never even given her hope that she and Elessar might one day be wed,” he said regret tinging every word he spoke.

“You knew he would fulfil his destiny, just as you knew that she was a part of it, whether you willed it or not,” said Glorfindel, not unkindly, stating what they both knew was the truth.

“Perhaps, but I cannot find it in my heart to accept what will be,” said Elrond, unashamedly allowing his dearest friend to see his eyes bright with tears that remained unshed until the time of his final bitter parting from Arwen.

That night, when he learned she had made the choice of Lúthien, and accepted a mortal life, the Lord of Imladris found himself wrapped in the comforting embrace of the golden Elf Lord’ arms, and he finally gave into his grief, and let his tears fall freely.

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Elrond found he had little time for despair on the return journey to Imladris, accompanied as he was by the Hobbits and Gandalf. Whenever he appeared to be falling into the depths of sadness or self pity, either one of the Shire folk, or occasionally Gandalf himself, would start telling stories of their adventures. Once the stories were told, many a merry song was also sung about the campfire at night, lifting everyone’s spirits.

“It appears that your position as my caretaker is under threat, Glorfindel,” said Elrond one night after he had actually joined in the laughter that rippled through the group as Gandalf told one of his rather humorous, and greatly exaggerated tales of his dealings with the Dwarves.

“It is of no concern to me who lifts your spirits, I am grateful to whoever can make you smile,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

“Do you think we could convince Gandalf to work his magic on Thranduil?” asked Elrond in a tone of voice that spoke of a friendly conspiracy. “The news I bear for him will not be easy to hear.”

“About Legolas, you mean?” surmised Glorfindel. Elrond nodded sadly. “Do you really think it is your place to tell him?” enquired the Elf Lord, who apparently did not agree with the notion.

“I understand how he will feel,” came the simple reply.

“I know, and no doubt Thranduil will later look to us both for support, but Legolas is headed home, he should be the one to break the news.”

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As he travelled through the remains of the forest that was his home, Legolas listened with increasing heartbreak to the sad songs the trees whispered to him. Even had he not been able to see the devastation with his own eyes, the melancholy voices that he heard in his soul told him of the ravaging of Mirkwood. His grief at the loss was immeasurable, and deepened as he listened in vain for the many voices of beech, oak and elm that he had once known, but were no more.

Word of Legolas’s arrival quickly reached Thranduil, and he rode out alone to greet his son, unwilling to share the first precious moments of a long awaited homecoming with anyone else. Legolas saw his Adar approach and whispered the word that would halt his steed, allowing him a few moments to simply drink in the beloved features of one he had missed terribly. As if their minds were inextricably linked, Thranduil did likewise and time, even as measured by elves, stood still for the few seconds it took before they fell into each other’s arms, tears of joy giving a salty flavouring to the many kisses of welcome.

Not since he had left the Galadhrim of Lothlórien had Legolas been amongst his own kind, nor had he realised until now, as he danced and sang amongst the trees of Eryn Lasgalen, just how much he missed the kind of merrymaking only his elvish friends could provide. Despite the obvious happiness and delight Legolas felt at being home, there was a melancholy dimming of his light that only Thranduil could easily see, and he needed no words of explanation from his son to tell him why.

“The sea calls to you, does it not, Legolas?” Thranduil asked when they were once more alone.

“How did you know?”

“One has but to look into your eyes, as is our way. Your inner self is even now being called by the pounding of the waves, the cry of the sea gulls, the salt air, but I see that as yet you strongly resist.”

“I am not ready to leave Middle Earth, I have made a promise to Aragorn,” explained Legolas. “I will not leave until his time has ended.”

“And then you will leave me,” stated Thranduil sadly, already mourning the day that had not yet come.

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Not long after Legolas had returned to Gondor to begin preparations for his permanent move to the forests of Ithilien, and the Hobbits and Gandalf had left Imladris to deal with their own affairs, Thranduil received word that Elrond would soon be arriving in Eryn Lasgalen. It came as no surprise to Thranduil that his friend would wish to see how the Wood Elves were faring, and he was pleased to be able to show him a vastly renewed forest, that was well on its way to becoming as beautiful as the once great Greenwood it had been.

“Glorfindel did not accompany you?” asked Thranduil needlessly, the Elf Lord was nowhere in sight.

“No, he is helping with our preparations to leave, it will not be long before the time of the Elves is over and the Ring Bearers sail West,” said Elrond as he settled himself in his usual chair in Thranduil’s study and sipped the wine that his friend had provided.

 “I am astonished at how well your forest is thriving, obviously the power of the Elves is not fading as rapidly here.”

“Our numbers are gradually diminishing as the call to the sea is answered by those who hear it, but for now there are still many who wish to remain,” said Thranduil. “The trees of Eryn Lasgalen do not wish us to leave, for they still bask in our light, as we do in theirs.”

“That is quite apparent. I do not wish to cause you pain, but last time I spoke to Legolas he told me that the sea longing had taken him. I am sorry that he has heard the call, I am sorry you will lose your son,” said Elrond, closely watching his friend’s reaction to his words, fully expecting him to appear grief stricken and surprised when he seemed to be calmly accepting the situation.

“It haunts him, but he has the determination to resist, for now, and it will be a sad day for me when he does leave,” said Thranduil. “But I take comfort in the knowledge that he will not really be lost, merely living elsewhere. I do not desire to see the beauty of Valinor yet, as I have said, but one day I am certain we will be together again. He will never be lost to me, just living on a distant shore.”

“I envy you your certainty, and your acceptance of what is. I only wish it were so for me,’ said Elrond sadly. “All I can be sure of is that I have lost my daughter forever, and that she will die here in Middle Earth, my sons have not yet decided their future, and I will soon be taking the white ship, leaving all that I love behind.”

“As Glorfindel so rightly pointed out, our children are also adults and must live their lives as they see fit. Do not despair, you will always have their love, but is it not time for you to look to your own future?” asked Thranduil, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I will miss you when you sail west, but do not forget who is anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

“Celebrían,” whispered Elrond, closing his eyes for a moment as he imagined what it would be like to hold his beloved wife in his arms once more. “Yes, I long to see her again, and she is certainly the one who will be able to ease my pain and grief,” said Elrond, smiling at the very thought of being with her once more. “But surely you are also anxious to be with your Queen?”

“I will be, in time, and until then, she and Legolas will have each other. She understood when she left that I would remain here until my duty to my people and to Oropher’s legacy was fulfilled.,” explained Thranduil

“Then I wish you well, mellon nin and look forward to the day you finally decide to sail to Valinor,” said Elrond, raising his glass in a final toast.

“May the stars shine on you, and the Valar watch over your journey,” answered Thranduil, raising his glass in response. “Farewell, mellon nin.”

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As Elrond boarded the white ship Círdan had prepared for the Ring Bearers, he moved to the bow of the ship and looked sadly to the south. He had already said his goodbyes to Elladan and Elrohir, who were remaining in Imladris, but he had not spoked to Arwen since the day they had parted so bitterly.

“Farewell, my beloved Arwen,” he whispered into the salty sea breeze, raising a small piece of cloth to his lips, lightly brushing them over the clumsily, yet to an Adar’s eyes, beautifully embroidered swans.

Epilogue.

Aragorn’s death had been a grief too hard for Legolas to bear, as he himself had always known it would be, and he no longer resisted the call of the sea. So it was that barely a year after the passing of King Elessar, Thranduil stood on the banks of the Anduin, watching sadly as the ship Legolas had built sailed down the mighty river to the sea and into the West. The final image of his golden haired son, his face alight with anticipation, one hand resting gently on the shoulder of his friend, Gimli as they stood at the bow and waved goodbye, still brought tears to Thranduil’s eyes, even though he knew in his heart that he and his son would one day be together again.

That had been centuries ago, and Thranduil’s pleasure in the green, sunlit forest of Eryn Lasgalen had waned with the fading of his people from Middle Earth. The only joy he now seemed to find was in the forest of his dreams, as he wandered among the trees of Valinor arm in arm with his beloved Queen. He was becoming overwhelmed with a longing to be with her and their son and he knew that before much longer he would join them in the Undying Lands.  

Before he left Middle Earth forever, he decided to pay a final visit the remains of the Elven realms that had flourished during the time of his kin. It was a sad journey, for nature had reclaimed most of what was hers, and the light of the forests had dimmed so that even places once only able to be seen by elvish eyes had become well hidden. In these realms, the forests were no longer inviting, so he continued on until he reached Ithilien, and the part of the woods that Legolas and his friends had long since left. On his arrival he found, as he had in Lothlorien and East Lorien, no sign that Elves had ever been there, and even the memory the trees had of the Fair Folk had faded to a greying mist of shadow.  

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, the flickering changes from light to shadow reflecting the uncertainty that had entered into Thranduil’s thoughts in recent times. He knew that there was little left for him in Middle Earth, but it was harder than he had expected to make plans to leave.  

The lonely Elvenking wandered around amongst the trees that still flourished in Ithilien, and was surprised when he heard the sound of childish voices, arguing loudly in a nearby glade. Curiosity overcame him and he quickly climbed into the trees and made his way soundlessly along the branches to a position above where the children were fighting.  

“Grandpa says there are no such things as Elves,” the younger of the two shouted at his older companion, pushing him to emphasise his point.

“Well, my grandpa is the King, and he said that once there were many Elves in this forest, and they used to sing and dance in the starlight. He knows more than his Steward and besides, they were friends of his great, great, grandfather!” declared the elder child hotly, not touching the younger one, but glaring daggers at him all the same.  

“Well then show me where they once lived,” challenged the Steward’s son.  

“Around here somewhere,” said the Prince, vainly searching for a sign, becoming angrier at the smirk on his friend’s face, as he taunted his older enemy.  

“See, I told you there were none! My Grandpa is smarter than yours!” he exclaimed, poking out his tongue for good measure. They were prevented from any further argument by the sound of someone approaching, and an adult voice calling their names.  

“Cease your squabbling immediately. It is such undignified behaviour for young princes,” admonished the grey haired man who was accompanied by one of the King’s guards. “Your fathers are not pleased that you wandered away from the hunting party. Return with me at once!” ordered the one Thranduil assumed to be the grandsire of one of the errant youngsters. He smiled as he recalled dealing with similar problems between Legolas and Elrond’s sons when they were mere elflings.  

That night he as he slept in the branches of an ancient tree, he dreamed again of Glorfindel and Elrond, raising their wine glasses in invitation to their friend.  

“Come, mellon nin, we miss you,” whispered a voice in his mind that he easily recognised as that of Elrond.  

The image faded to be replaced by that of his beloved wife, only instead of walking in the woods, he was watching her gently holding the babe Legolas had placed in her arms.  

 Thranduil’s heart allowed him no other choice but to follow them to the Undying Lands.