Leaving Glorfindel’s company, Legolas stopped just around the far corner of the pavilion, pausing a moment before going on.  His vantage point now granted him a clear view southeast, and on the horizon he could still see the woods of Ithilien, a living belt of green beneath the looming black mountains.  For its sake, he was glad he had accepted Aragorn’s invitation.  A handful of Elves could often make all the difference in the recovery of an abused forest.  He would not ask many to come back with him, for there would be more than enough work of that kind to be done at home in their own wood.

He could only imagine what his father would say at the thought of him living so near to Mordor.

From here he could also see and follow the shimmering line of the river, the Great River, the same that eventually joined its waters with the Sea.

Just when he thought he had nearly forgotten it, the Sea encroached on his thoughts again.  Legolas sank down to sit upon the grass betwixt the tent ropes, deaf to all going on about him, feeling in his heart the anxious unrest that heralds an impending storm.  It may be years and even decades in the brewing, but it would come nonetheless.  And in that he recognized that his days were indeed numbered.

The ominous forewarning the Lady had given him through Mithrandir had been ambiguous at best, as were most Elven counsels, and afterward Legolas had followed Aragorn with the grim determination to meet his death with honor if it came to that.  Now he realized it was a different fate of which Galadriel had spoken, a wound that could not be healed on these shores.  But the invisible barbs of Belegaer had slighted their mark, merely grazing his heart rather than transfixing it, so he may yet have some time to linger in reasonable peace, at least until Aragorn’s reign had passed.  It was not an overpowering wound, but it smarted all the same, and with it all had changed.  Perhaps that was what had put him on edge today.

He had not yet seen the Sea; the crying of the gulls had been enough.  The woodland half of his heart was glad he had not, and turned him ever north toward his home where he belonged.  But his dormant Eldarin blood had been stirred now.  He knew what it was, he had seen it in others, but it was a bit unsettling to feel it himself.  In his heart of hearts, Legolas knew that it was not the sea itself which was the root of this proverbial yearning in all his kin.  It was the desire for permanence, for a home as timeless as themselves, a place where loved ones could gather and die no more.  It was a deep and debilitating homesickness.

The sun had begun to set behind the mountains, painting their white peaks in new and rich colors.  It seemed that even she was beckoning him West, dipping coyly behind the snow-crested range in ageless invitation.

“Ho, Legolas!” Gimli called as he found him there, jarring the Elf out of his reverie.  “Here you are, lad.  Come on, before we miss supper!”  He jostled the other’s shoulder in rough Dwarvish affection.  “The Lord and Lady expect us.”

Legolas sighed and reluctantly climbed again to his feet.  There were some things Gimli would never understand, and his bellowing interruptions were simply to be forgiven and forgotten, though he often felt as though he had been slapped.  Perhaps someday he would say something.

Together they walked through the growing darkness toward the glowing encampment of the Galadhrim, Gimli either unconcerned or unaware that anything was weighing upon his companion.  Legolas granted him the benefit of the doubt, knowing Dwarves such as Gimli were not as acutely observant as Elves such as Glorfindel.  Besides, the Dwarf heard no call now but that of his stomach.

They passed beneath the pale Lórien lanterns, met by the smiles and kind-hearted laughter of the silvan Elves sitting in circles all around in the grass while the aroma of food hung over the entire field.  Lights could be seen beyond in the darkness among the Elves of Imladris, the Gondorians, and the Rohirrim, a gathering such as the stars should not witness many times henceforth through the coming ages.

The Lord and Lady were easily found, seated royally upon the ground beneath the eaves of a silver canopy, the lesser lords of Lórien seated around them.  The two rose as Legolas and Gimli approached, and the others did likewise.

“Mae govannen, Legolas Thranduilion,” Lady Galadriel greeted him with warm and regal affection.  “And welcome also to you, Gimli son of Glóin,” she continued.  “How fares my doughtiest servant?”

“He fares well, my Lady,” Gimli replied, blushing furiously and shifting upon his feet, eliciting grins of endearment from the Elves.  “Even more so now that he is assured of your gracious good favor.”

“That you may never doubt, son of Aulë,” she assured him, “should your steps lead you along just and right paths.  But come, honor us, both of you, with your company.  For we are all here veterans of the Great War.”

Legolas and Gimli took their places among the others, seated comfortably on the living carpet.  Much was said during the course of the meal, from the details of the war to what Legolas deemed the future held for him in Lasgalen or Gondor.  For himself, Legolas answered their inquiries guardedly, speaking none too freely his deeper concerns, though he knew the Lord and Lady read and saw further than did the other Galadhrim.  However, they did not pry, understanding that he perhaps did not wish to bare his heart before so many.

After supper there was music and song through to midnight.  Much had been written of the war against the Dark Lord, recounting the victories of both the Elves of the East and the Men of the West. Only when Gimli’s eyes began to fall closed of their own accord in spite of him did Legolas politely excuse them both.  Lady Galadriel bade them good evening, as did the Lord Celeborn.

“Too seldom have we spoken, Legolas,” the latter added softly, maintaining a kindred hold upon his shoulder.  “For all your years, I find that I know you but little.  Yet I can see that not all is quiet within you.  If you will not open your heart to me, see at least that you speak to someone.  Sorrows will not often begrudge company.”

“I will try, my lord,” Legolas promised at least.  He was stricken again by just how similar Celeborn’s holly-green eyes were to his father’s.  “As you have perhaps guessed, the sorrow I bear shows many faces, and I have seen several fairer than this.  It will pass.”

“Perhaps,” Celeborn said.  “Perhaps not.  I cannot say.  Many of us you shall not see again this side of Belegaer.  Use these days wisely.”

Legolas said nothing, but regarded him solemnly, taking his words to heart.  This Celeborn saw and was satisfied.

Legolas thanked him and took his leave at last, leading Gimli along through the dark by the shoulders.

“That’s all right.  I can find my own way,” the Dwarf murmured drowsily as he stumbled up the slight incline, but Legolas paid him no mind.

“The sleepless should lead the slumbering,” he returned amiably.  “I fear we have kept you from bed beyond your time, my friend.”

Gimli grumbled something back, a protest of ‘bedtimes for children’ or some such thing, but his complaints were not renewed.

Turning back for a moment before passing inside Elrond's enormous pavilion, Legolas saw that most lamps had already been dimmed in the camps of Gondor and Rohan.  Only the Elvish lights illuminated the landscape, as soft and pleasing to the eye as their music was to the ear, a waking lullaby for others of the entourage.

For now Legolas turned away from the lights and passed into the temporary confines of Elrond’s domain, lit but dimly out of courtesy to those of mortal kind who shared their quarters.  Many eyes marked their passing in the golden twilight, but no one spoke.

Turning Gimli gently aside toward his pallet, Legolas then sat down upon his own and glanced out of the window cut into the canvas, for their places had been set very near the far walls. 

The stars were unveiled.