CHAPTER 2: WATER-COLORED MEMORIES

Legolas came awake with a start, eyes wide and heart pounding so hard in his chest he felt he could hear it. His hands were clutching the grass beneath him so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He leaned his head back against something, and after taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Slowly now. He reopened his eyes when he felt calmer, reminding himself where he was.

He was in South Ithilien. The sun was shining, he was sitting against a tree, and he had been assaulted by the nightmare – again. Why do they call it a nightmare when one could dream it in broad daylight, he wondered wryly. He was not in Imladris and he certainly had not been floating. The Council of Imladris had taken place eleven years ago. The Quest was over, Gollum had died, and Aragorn was now in the tenth year of his reign as King of Gondor.

Legolas sighed again. The embarrassment and regret he had felt at the Council had plagued him in nightmares throughout the Quest when he pondered on the possible consequences of Gollum’s escape. After all, Aragorn had lamented, “We shall all rue it.” Although part of him still argued that he and his friends had done their best, Aragorn’s words still haunted him: “How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?” For a long time, Legolas wondered if Aragorn would ever trust him or the elves of Mirkwood again. After Sam told them about the part Gollum had played in the destruction of the ring, Legolas’ guilt had been assuaged. Mithrandir was right – Gollum’s escape had resulted in his playing a part, a critical part, in the downfall of Sauron. Sometimes things are meant to be for a reason, even if the reason is not clearly shown to us. And so the nightmares stopped.

But they had resurfaced with fresh vigour to plague him for several weeks now, and he did not understand why. Was it trying to tell him something, to expect something?

Finding no answers, Legolas shook his head and looked around him. It was peaceful here, so beautiful he felt the shadows of the unpleasant dream being chased away by the bright rays of the sun filtering through the leaves of the tall oaks and beeches around him. The trees reminded him of his other home, Mirkwood.

His other home, he mused. Well, the forests there were not so murky any more, he thought. After Lord Celeborn and his father had rid Dol Guldur of Sauron’s darkness, they had renamed it Eryn Lasgalen, the Greenwood. Much better.

But Ithilien in Gondor was his home now, North Ithilien at least – since he had brought elves there to restore the woods to the fair place they had once been before Sauron’s evil had filled them with sickness. His father had not been too pleased that his son would settle so far from him, but Thranduil had not given a direct command not to leave. So Legolas had left, for he had made a promise to help Aragorn restore Gondor, and he was willing to endure the displeasure of his father for the friend he had learned to cherish more than he thought possible. He would bring living things to Minas Tirith “for the love of the Lord of the White Tree”, he mused; those were his words to the hobbits ten years ago, as they sat contemplating what would happen after the Quest should Aragorn successfully reclaim the throne. 

And North Ithilien had indeed flourished again under the loving hands of the elves. Sitting almost at the doorstep of the city of Minas Tirith where the King and Queen dwelt, its life and breath seemed to flow even to the stone city that Gimli the dwarf had, on his part, helped restore. The thought of a living, growing forest, filled with gentle creatures and joyful trees filled Legolas with pleasure and delight. He had then turned his eyes to South Ithilien, desiring to do for it what he had done for the northern area.

South Ithilien held promise. It was further from the city, and they had to reach it by crossing the Anduin on a ferry or boat from the city of Pelargir on the northern shore, so he had to spend longer periods away from the Royal family. He missed seeing them, and they him, but it could not be helped if he wished to accomplish anything.

He and his Elves had been here several months now, scouting the area and working on clearing dead and rotting things left behind by orcs and Men who had worked for Sauron; they had had no love for beautiful things, they destroyed rather than nourished.  Legolas and the elves had to plant new trees and coax the sick ones back to life, singing and talking to them, surrounding them with blossoms and filling their long-empty branches with birds, butterflies and golden dragonflies. Bit by bit, the elves lovingly cleaned the choked streams and created paths into glades and clearings long hidden by ugly weeds.

Huge areas further south still remained to be worked on, and one day, they too would be fair again, he determined, either by his hands or those of other elves.

But his mind was on something else at the moment, two tasks he needed to finish. Briefly, he cast his mind to a place about an hour’s trek from where he was, and then to Pelargir on the banks of the Anduin.

Yes, I will finish them, he resolved.

Legolas ceased his musing and stood up, stretching his long, slender limbs as he did so.  His eyes swept the scene around him. He had come across this beautiful spot one day, quickly claiming it in his heart as his haven in South Ithilien. He came here to rest and seek the quiet company of trees and water, when he wanted to get away from his labours and the stares of humans in Pelargir, who, in their ignorance of races other than Men, tolerated the presence of the elves only because their Lord was their King’s closest friend. Legolas did not blame them, for the Elves were fading or leaving Middle Earth, and not many remained to walk freely among humans, so the Men were little exposed to the fair race. Men could not help admiring the agility and grace of the fair beings, and were entranced by their singing, but he could tell that they were still wary of them. Still, Legolas had to deal with them for supplies and food, though their conversations wearied him, and it was tiring to talk with people with whom he shared so little interest.

So this spot was his sanctuary. The elves of Mirkwood, now of Ithilien, quietly and willingly granted their prince his desire for some private moments. They loved their soft-spoken prince, for he was a fair leader and did not demand much for his own comfort, and so they discreetly kept away if they knew he had come here. Legolas was glad of that. Perhaps he was being a little selfish, he told himself candidly, but this was the one privilege he wanted for himself for as long as he could.

It was truly an unusual place. Before him was a pool with water as clear as glass, its water fed by a little waterfall tumbling down gently from some white rocks. The pool was wide enough to swim in, and deep enough where the waterfall met it, for diving. Surrounding the pool were tall oak and beech, which never seemed to lack for nightingales. The trees themselves seemed to sing sonorous songs about the earth and wind and ages past, and their leaves appeared a deeper green than anywhere else in South Ithilien. There was shadow and light here, playing in ever-changing hues. There was a raw beauty to this place that Legolas did not desire to disturb. He would not even create a clear path to this spot so that it would not be easily approached, preferring to access it by climbing a tall tree one hundred yards to the north from which he could see the spot, just as he did the first time he spied it, then jumping from tree to tree till he reached it. Yes, it was the perfect hideaway, he thought, smiling.

What he loved best about it was that a tall oak hung one strong branch right above the deep end of the pool, and from there, he could dive fifteen feet into the cool, fresh water, down, down, down into the glassy depths before turning and kicking his way back up to laugh an exultant laugh that only the trees would share. 

He cast off his clothes and scaled the tree now, agile as a cat, and reached the diving branch with hardly any effort. He stood with outstretched arms for a moment, breathing deeply of the fresh air, and the nightingales watching saw a slender, lithe body the colour of ivory and porcelain, with lean muscles that belied their strength. His golden hair billowed behind him in the breeze and his fair face was a picture of contentment, long lashes fringing his closed eyes. Then the sparkling blue eyes opened and he dove in a graceful arc, entering the water with hardly a splash, slicing cleanly through the water of the glass pool, to emerge like a golden water nymph, his long hair neatly plastered to his shapely head and water streaming off his smiling face. He laughed a gentle laugh as he usually did, sharing his delight with the birds. 

The elf floated on his back, watching the clouds float by in the azure sky, enjoying the sight of a few leaves floating down from the trees. He hummed softly a song of trees and wind, thinking of nothing unpleasant. Legolas sighed. If there were anyone he would want to share this place with…  A sudden thought entered his mind, a memory of another breathtaking place like this one, with a crystal-clear pool hidden curtained by tall trees, in the forests of Mirkwood. There was a high ledge from which he could dive into it. He had swum in it for hundreds of years of his life, the pool seeming to get smaller and smaller as the years went by, but in reality, he was the one growing. Fondly, he recalled taking Aragorn there some sixty years ago, the second time the young Ranger had visited.

“My father will be back this evening, Aragorn, and you will need to meet him for the evening meal,” Legolas reminded him. Aragorn had arrived two hours ago and they had spent them sparring first, then – dressed only in their leggings – they wrestled on the grass, showing each other new moves amidst joyous laughter as only youthful bodies and good friends can. Legolas wrinkled his nose at the Ranger’s disastrously disheveled hair, grimy face and torso speckled with dried mud. He knew he needed to clean up too, but not as desperately as Aragorn, to whom clung four days’ worth of sweat and grime from his usual forage into the Wilds of the North. “You – we – will need to – um – make ourselves presentable first. A bath?”

“But I just got here,” his friend protested, a look of dismay on his face. “Do I have to? So soon?”

“You look scruffy enough to be a doormat,” Legolas stated with a laugh. “He will notice it, believe me.”

“It’s too soon for a bath, and I’m tired,” Aragorn grumbled stubbornly.

Legolas sighed, cocking his head to one side and looking at his friend in exasperation. “All right then, doormat, if you wish for him to wipe his feet on you, so be it. But are you too tired now to accompany me to my secret spot?”

“Outdoors?”

“In the forest. You will not regret it.”

In five minutes, they were mounted on horses, still clad only in their leggings, leaving several elves staring at their youngest prince as he sped off with the human close behind. They rode at a fast pace, the Ranger in high spirits and letting the elf leading him whither he would. The elf kept them on the trail that led directly to the ledge above the pool which Aragorn had never visited.

As soon as they reached the start of the slope, a few yards from the edge, Legolas jumped down from his horse and yanked Aragorn down from his. Infected by the excitement of the elf, the Ranger felt a thrill as Legolas issued a challenge: “Race you to the top!” and sped off up the ledge, the Ranger close on his heels. Without stopping, the elf ran to the edge and turned around for an instant, just long enough to grab the wrist of his friend, then jumped right off with a whoop of delight so loud that it could not be drowned out by the Ranger’s equally loud squawk of shock and fear. The Ranger took one look at where they were headed and barely had time to pinch his nose shut before the two landed feet first in the water with a loud splash, Legolas still holding on to Aragorn’s wrist so that he could pull him out in case the jump had scared him senseless. 

The two emerged from the water, Legolas laughing in insane delight and Aragorn sputtering, looking like a drowned rat. He shook his hand free of the elf’s grasp and wiped the water off his face, catching his breath while trying to work out the quickest way to end the elf’s life.  But as soon as he had taken three breaths, Legolas dove under and yanked him down again by the feet, this time running his elven hands quickly through the Ranger’s hair to wash the sweat and grime out and effectively keeping the struggling Ranger under at the same time. Aragorn kicked one leg out, attempting to connect with any part of the elf he could reach, he did not care which, his mind bent on killing or maiming. But the elf was too fast for him, dodging him easily and swimming three yards away before surfacing. Aragorn surfaced a moment later and spun around to look for the elf, murder in his eyes.  He was in time to see a flash of gold disappearing beneath the water, and before he could even remember his own name, Legolas had come beneath him, between his legs. The elf grabbed them, placing them astride his shoulders before he kicked hard against the water and used his strong arms to hoist Aragorn a foot above the water at the same time. He gave the Ranger a moment to prepare for what he knew the Ranger was sure to expect, before tipping the helpless human yelling “Legolaaaaaa…” backward into the water, and swimming away to a safe distance across the pool. 

Legolas watched Aragorn emerge, wiping the water from his face that went from red to deep magenta with rage. Treading water and forced to catch his breath yet again, Aragorn glared at the elf, who was laughing so hard he was struggling to stay afloat. “You sneaky woodland vermin!”  he cried, and with a growl of rage, kicked out with strong strokes towards Legolas, without any doubt that he would strangle the elven neck as soon as he got his hands around it.

By this time, Legolas was so bent and weak with laughter that all he could do was hold up his hands in defeat and beg breathlessly through his laughter, “Peace, peace!” Aragorn was beyond appeasing by this time, and with a war cry, pounced on the elf, pushing him under and going beneath the surface himself. He felt the elf slip from his hands as he resurfaced. He treaded water as he waited for the elf to come up sputtering so that he could gloat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and pushed it back from his face, a grin of satisfaction on his face.  

His breathing calmed as he looked around to see where the elf would resurface, but felt uneasy as the moments went by and Legolas still did not emerge. He peered into the water, suddenly feeling afraid. “Legolas!” he called, then dove under to search for his friend below, swimming underwater across half the pool. He could not see the elf anywhere. Coming up again, he called desperately “Legolas!” 

“You seek me?” he heard a cool voice ask behind him and he spun around to see the elf treading water with calm strokes a few yards away, a cheeky grin on his beautiful face.

“How did you – ? Where were you – ?” Aragorn spluttered. The elf raised his delicate eyebrows and shrugged. Aragorn could do nothing but stare dumbfounded at the elusive elf, lost for words, struggling with conflicting feelings of disbelief, irritation and relief. Then, with a groan of exasperation, he shook his head and laughed. Legolas, the grin still on his face, swam over to a shallower part of the pool and climbed onto a broad rock, signaling to Aragorn to join him. When he had given his friend a hand up, the elf lay back to bask in the sun. The Ranger did likewise, still chuckling. His chest rose and fell as he lay beside his friend.

Legolas turned to give him a smug look. “Ah, the doormat has been cleaned,” he reminded the Ranger. Aragorn punched the elf’s arm, a broad grin on his face, now free of the grime that had been on it before their swim. The two friends turned their faces back to the sky, closing their eyes and talking quietly.

“Ahhh, Aragorn. It’s wonderful here.”

“Mmm.”  

“Do you feel at peace?”

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm.”

“Aragorn?”

“Mmm?”

“Years from now, when you are King…”

“Mmm???””

“You know you will be. When you are busy being King of Gondor, will you still wish for a time like this?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

“Would you wish for a place like this?”

“Mmmmmmm.” 

 “I hope there will still be places in Arda like this by that time.”  

“Mmmm.”

“Aragorn?”

“Mmm?”

“Would we still be friends?”

“Would water still be wet? Foolish question.”

The two friends lay in a companionable silence till the sun began to slide down the western sky.  

“Aragorn?”  

“Mmm?”

“It’s time to go home.”

Groan…

And the two companions returned side by side to the palace of the Woodland King, in time to dress and sit at the evening meal, faces as clean and shining as twice-polished brass.           

Floating on his back in the South Ithilien pool, Legolas smiled. Yes, if there were anyone he would want to share this place with, it would be Aragorn.

But only if he would come, Legolas thought with a sudden twinge of wistfulness. After the Quest, their friends Frodo, Mithrandir and Elrond had sailed West along with many elves of Imladris and Lothlorien. Sam and the other hobbits were far away in the Shire, and Gimli was founding his own little niche in the Glittering Caves of Helm’s Deep; he met with Eomer more easily than he did Aragorn or himself. Only he and Aragorn remained in Gondor, visits between Minas Tirith and Ithilien as frequent as once every two or three weeks. Their friendship had grown so deep that Aragorn loved Legolas as dearly as he did Arwen and Eldarion. The people of the city could no longer envision their king without his closest companion. 

But kings, even the greater ones, can be bowed with labour, and the King of Gondor seemed more distant than he had ever been.

Note:  Getting Aragorn clean by dunking him in a pond was an idea inspired by an episode in Nightwing's story To See A World.