CHAPTER 41: THE ELF AND THE RANGER

In a glade in a forest, there sat an elf fair;

Summer sky was in his eyes, and gold in his hair.

The peace on his face, so wondrous to behold,

Whispered the joy of giving yet untold.

In love and devotion he had wrought this dream:

A haven of blossom, a pool of light steam.

Long he sighed and weary, yet light of heart was he,

For ending was his toil for the Lord of the White Tree.

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The elf prince rested his head against the trunk of a tree, his eyes closed. He was clad only in his leggings, his upper body glistening faintly with sweat and his silky hair free and loose in the breeze. He was humming softly in his melodious tenor, his thoughts deeply focused on the surroundings, when he heard the rustling of leaves above and the sweet singing of his kin from afar, calling to him, telling him:

He comes, he comes, for he will wait no longer.

The elves had obviously spent a lot of time and care in clearing a way through the woods of South Ithilien, Aragorn observed, so that the path he and Hamille trod on now was pleasant and free of obstacles that might cause stubbed toes and painful stumbles, yet they had not vexed the trees, which still stood proud and at ease on either side of the path.

This was the way to the glade that Hamille had spoken of, the elf confirmed, and Prince Legolas had painstakingly scouted the area before deciding on the safest and easiest course for the path to follow.

“Safe?” Aragorn queried. He looked at the peaceful woods around him – there did not seem much reason for concern.

“It has to be safe enough for those who journey here,” Hamille explained, “for some will bear precious burdens.”

Aragorn’s eyebrows rose in query, and Hamille’s own eyes looked curiously at the pack the king had brought with him. But the elf neither asked Aragorn about it, nor offered any explanation of what he himself had just said, and they continued their walk in – what was for Aragorn – maddening silence. After a while, however, Hamille broke the hush with a song. He sang it in a rich voice that reverberated through the forest so that the trees seemed to thrum in response.

And somehow, deep within his heart, Aragorn knew that he was singing to tell his prince that they were approaching.

A tumult of emotions raged within him as he neared his destination, and he wondered what he would say to his friend when they met. Which of his hundred questions would he ask first? And would the elf prince be angry that his hideaway was breached? Aragorn pursed his lips in resolve. Whatever he would encounter could not be worse than the agony of not knowing.

Deep in contemplation, Aragorn blindly followed Hamille’s lead, going around a sharp bend in the path and past tall bushes.

And he stepped into a dream.

Stopping dead in his stride, he felt his breath taken away, and the pack he had been carrying dropped from his hand onto the soft grass. He gaped in awe at the vision before his disbelieving eyes.

A shaft of sunlight pierced through the foliage above and shone like a spotlight on a place that surely must have been created by the hands of the Ainur. Bathed in a golden glow, the glade looked as if its beauty had once been shyly hidden beneath layers of roughness, but magical fingers had coaxed that beauty out of hiding and made it shine with a soft radiance that was at once ethereal and homely.

In the centre of this enchanted place was a clear pool from which a faint, misty steam slowly wafted. Lilies of the valley, lilac, honeysuckle and lavender – just beginning to bloom – lined the pool and the fine marble steps that led gently into the water, their careful arrangement all around the glade testimony to the efforts of the loving hands that had planted and nurtured them. Butterflies teased the fragrant blossoms on the ground with gentle flitting touches, and danced with those that cascaded gently from the trees in white, yellow and pink showers.

Delightful birdsong filled the air, in harmony with the soft, lulling gurgle of ripples and the soft sighing of trees. And weaving itself around these sounds there came, too, the silvery voice of an elf that Aragorn would know even in his dreams.

The king felt that he could lose himself in this haven of quiet color and sound that had been designed to both lift and soothe a weary, jaded soul.

His eyes next rested on two wooden benches sitting near a tall oak tree; they were carved with intricate leaf designs bespeaking the care of Elven craftsmen. Then, catching a glimpse of white among the branches of the oak, Aragorn raised his eyes. And gasped.

An impressive talan of white wood, with a roof and low walls no less intricately designed than the benches, nestled securely within the lower branches of the strong oak. A flight of winding stairs led up to it, and ivy twined around the beams holding up the roof. On one of the walls – and Aragorn had to squint to be certain of what he saw – was the White Tree of Gondor, and above it, unmistakably, his crown, both carved with meticulous care.

Unless he was mistaken, this glade, this place of breathtaking beauty, had been made for him.

The King of Gondor felt tears rise unbidden to his eyes as he realized the time and loving care that must have been devoted to creating it. No one needed to tell him by whom it had been wrought: a true, unselfish friend, whom he had once hurt with his careless words – and who would now leave him.

Legolas stepped out from behind the oak and smiled softly at the look of amazement that had not left the face of the king.

“Aragorn,” he said simply to the man, who stood rooted to the spot, mute with astonishment.

Hamille then approached his prince and whispered in his ear. Aragorn saw the elf shrug his slender shoulders in resignation and he guessed what Hamille must have been saying: I am sorry I could no longer deter his coming here.

Understanding danced in Legolas’ eyes at Hamille’s discomfiture, and he shook his head slowly. “Ta naa luume,” he said reassuringly. “It is time.” And he dismissed the elf with his thanks.

Hamille gave a low, melodious whistle, and to Aragorn’s further astonishment, four other elves appeared - seemingly from nowhere. Two had jumped down from the oak where they had been hidden, and two emerged from behind nearby shrubs. The traces of leaves and grass on their hands and in their hair told Aragorn that they had been working, but now they bowed slightly to their prince and left the glade with Hamille, leaving the two friends alone.

When the elves had left, Legolas stood unmoving, his arms at his sides, looking unflinchingly at Aragorn with a shadow of a smile on his lips.

The King stared back at the slender elven physique and ivory skin, and the strands of golden hair flowing back from the fair, peaceful countenance. This face, these hands, this spirit – they had been with him through many struggles, physical and emotional, and his heart felt rent asunder at the thought that soon, too soon, he would no longer be able to see them or feel them any more.

What was he supposed to say to this friend of his whom he held dearer than life, but who was about to be lost to him?

He felt his feet move to close the distance between them in slow, measured steps. How he moved them, he did not know, and when he was finally face to face with the Elf, he did not know what to say.

Don’t leave, he wanted to utter.

“Your elves told me you were here,” were the words that his lips formed.

Legolas nodded. “It is good to see you, Estel,” he said calmly.

Aragorn was still hesitant about what to say. He sifted through the questions tumbling over each other to be asked and settled on what seemed the most pertinent for the moment.

“What is this?” he asked in a hushed, uncertain voice, looking around.

A sheepish smile came to Legolas’ face.

“The Royal Bath,” he announced in a gentle but satisfied tone, turning and sweeping one hand towards the pool and blossoms surrounding it. “I thought Arwen and Eldarion might enjoy it, and that you would find some respite from your duties here. It was meant to be a surprise gift.”

The Royal Bath?

“It is a pool fed by a hot spring,” the elf continued, turning in the direction of the source. “I discovered it many months ago, and we have been working to prepare it for you and your family – for when you wish to be away from the City.”

Aragorn staggered a little.

“You – you spent all this time…these months…” Aragorn began. His voice failed him and he could not finish.

Legolas turned back to him and smiled. “It was not that hard,” he said modestly. “I had good craftsmen.”

Aragorn’s eyes swept admiringly over the glade.

“But you designed it.”

A short pause. A soft “yes” came in response.

The man was mute with wonder and appreciation as he looked around again. How could he have deserved all this? Feeling humbled, he swallowed before breathing his heartfelt gratitude in a shaky voice: “I have no words to tell you how much this glade means to me, Legolas. Hannon le, mellon nin, hannon le.”

Legolas nodded slightly and smiled, clearly pleased that his friend seemed to like what he had done.

Suddenly, Aragorn’s thoughts swung back to the ship and what he had come to ask, and the awed exultation he had felt quickly dissolved into a feeling of melancholy laced with pain and a hint of hurt. His voice grew quiet and plaintive as he stated:

“But I would rather have the giver than the gift.”

The smile slowly disappeared from the elf’s face. “What?” he asked.

“Why the gift, Legolas?”

Legolas looked at him quizzically. “Why?” he echoed the question.

“Yes, why?” Aragorn felt his voice grow a little stronger as he felt his emotions come loose.

Legolas looked perplexed. “I just wanted to give you and your family a gift.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Aragorn made himself utter the question.

“A farewell gift?” There, he had said it, and a trace of bitterness and sorrow entered his voice. “Is it a farewell gift, Legolas?”

The elf looked even more mystified, his eyes wide. “What?”  

“Do you mean for it to be a farewell gift? Something to remember you by after you leave?” Aragorn felt his voice rising a little higher.

“After I leave?” The tone of incomprehension in the elf’s voice grew stronger.

Aragorn felt his composure slipping away. “Yes, Legolas, after you leave. After you sail!” His voice was hard with agony, and his wide eyes reflected his pain.

Legolas appeared to be trying to digest the words and not succeeding. He responded slowly, measuring his words. “No, Aragorn – this gift is meant for your family to enjoy now.”  He narrowed his eyes, genuinely puzzled, as he worded his question carefully. “How could you conceive of delighting in a hot pool after you… after you pass on?” 

It was Aragorn’s turn to be befuddled. He clenched his fists as he spat out his confusion in a single word: “What?!”

Legolas raised his palms in exasperation. “You asked if this was meant to be a farewell gift for after I sail. How can that be? You know when I will sail, Aragorn. After you…  after your death. I have told you this. Why do you make me speak of it again?”

“Your ship – you built – Legolas, the ship – it’s ready!” Aragorn sputtered a little incoherently. “You leave in a week, the elves told me. You leave – ” he stopped and hissed in frustration. “When were you going to tell me, Legolas? Were you going to tell me at all? How could – ”  

Aragorn stopped, drawing a breath and choking on it. He was quickly losing control of what he was saying, and he knew that if he tried to utter one more word, he would break down. So he clenched his fists tighter and looked down, shaking with the effort to keep his emotions in check. 

Legolas was just as shaken, stunned into silence. But as he pondered on the words his friend had just spat out, a glimmer of understanding finally dawned. He stepped towards Aragorn and grasped the King’s arms firmly with his own moist hands.

“Aragorn, look at me,” he urged softly, tilting his face to try and meet the King’s downcast eyes. “Look at me,” he demanded more firmly, giving the arms a small shake.   

Aragorn lifted his head and faced the Elf squarely, lips set in a straight line, grey eyes full of anguish and misted over. Gentle blue eyes looked steadily into his own.

“That ship was built for several reasons, Estel – but none of them was to take me to Valinor,” Legolas stated clearly, making sure Aragorn understood him before he continued.

“It was built to sail us to the Bay of Belfalas and along the shores of Middle-earth, should we wish to visit them,” he explained. “It is also meant to bear your family up and down the Anduin, to this place; I thought it would be less tiring than riding here, for Arwen and Eldarion, and other children you will have. I thought, too, that you yourself might enjoy sailing it, for it would be a shame if a descendant of Eärendil – greatest Mariner of all the ages – did not have a ship of his own.”

Aragorn stared at his friend, shocked beyond speech. But it was just as well that he could not yet speak, for Legolas was not finished.

“The ship, Estel – the ship is also meant to be the first of what I hope to be your own fleet,” the elf declared. “Your kingdom runs for a great part of the Anduin, and Gondor will engage in much trade in the coming years for which you will need ships. We cannot always be riding on the vessels of the Black Fleet of Umbar, can we?”

The elf grinned cheekily as he said this, but then his voice softened as he looked at his friend affectionately. “This Bath and that ship, Estel – these were surprise gifts for the tenth anniversary of your reign – just three weeks away, is it not? The work had begun about seven months ago, but it was disrupted by the… trouble… with Sarambaq. That is why I had to return here quickly to finish them, and why the elves were told not to reveal anything to anyone. Even the ferry-man and the men of Dol Amroth had my confidence.”   

“The men of Dol Amroth – ?”

“Yes, the sea-faring craftsmen of Imrahil lent us their skill when we began,” Legolas affirmed with a smile. “We have built many boats for the swift Forest River, but none that could traverse the wider, deeper parts of the Anduin or beyond the Bay. Imrahil offered to have the ship built at the Bay itself, but I… I wanted to have a hand in it.”

For the day will come when I shall have to use what skills I learn now to build my own ship, the elf acknowledged silently, not wishing to remind Aragorn of that.

“We were glad for their help,” he continued aloud. “They left just a week ago, but they will be ready with their services again should you decide to build more ships later.”

A week ago. That is why Faramir missed them, Aragorn thought. And Imrahil said nothing either…

Legolas sensed Aragorn’s thoughts. “Many prefer to know beforehand what is to be served on the table, but those who labor like to keep their secret,” he said, echoing a remark Gandalf had once made. “Wonder makes the revelation and discovery sweeter.”

Then he looked at the king apologetically.

“But I did not think it would cause you so much anguish, my friend,” he said sincerely. “Amin hiraetha, Estel. Forgive me.”

Aragorn shook his head, stunned at the depth of the elf’s love for him. He planned all this… he did all this… He was not the one who should be asking for forgiveness.

For long moments, they stood. Then Aragorn found his voice. “No, Legolas, do not ask forgiveness of me, for it is mine to beg,” he croaked. “But… I am still confused. Your insignia – I saw it on the ship. It is yours – ”

“Yes, it is there,” the elf affirmed, his voice full of patience. “But did you not see the White Tree on the other side of the prow? It is only half-done, I grant. I plan to have it finished in two or three days.” Another sheepish smile appeared on his face. “I – well – I thought this first ship would be ours to sail together.”

Aragorn stared wordlessly at him again.

“Do you not want to share the ship with me?” the elf asked slowly, his head cocked.

“No,” the king shook his head, surprising his friend. “I mean – yes! Yes, I mean yes. But – no, that is not what – ” He was perplexing the elf even further. “You’re leaving – a week – they said – ” he stammered.

His words confirmed Legolas’ guess at his earlier confusion. The elf sighed.

“Aye, I did voice that intent,” he said calmly. “When the ship was finished, I would leave. I would set sail for Minas Tirith, for the landings at Harlond. And I would present it to you there. I have desired to do that for a long time.”

“Sail it to Minas Tirith,” Aragorn said stupidly as a myriad of emotions assaulted him: disbelief, relief, joy. But mostly disbelief at the moment.

“Yes,” Legolas reiterated, and waited.

Coming out of his stupor, Aragorn raised his hands slowly to clasp the elf’s forearms. “You mean it, Legolas? You’re not leaving for the West?”

“No, not yet, not while you still live and breathe, my friend,” came the firm reply. “And as long as you still want me around.”

“If I still want – ? Legolas, you should know – how could you –  but I have no right to ask – ”

And then the reins that had been holding back Aragorn’s emotions snapped. He let out a deep breath and bowed his head. Finally, the stoic King of Gondor released the pent-up emotions and fears he had held in check for months, in quiet sobs that he would never let anyone else witness, save Arwen. Legolas hesitated but a moment before he moved to embrace his friend, holding him without speaking, letting the face of the King wet his shoulder. Aragorn clung to him without thought of embarrassment, allowing his tears of relief to wash away his grief, till the sobs subsided. The birds seemed to sing more softly and the forest hushed as the two friends held each other in comfortable silence. Finally, Aragorn pulled back far enough to look into the face of his friend, finding smiling, gentle blue eyes returning his gaze.

“Cứthalion,” he whispered. “Strongbow. Arwen was right.”

Legolas lifted his eyebrows in bafflement. “Cứthalion?”

“You should know your history,” Aragorn rejoined with a tired grin, letting the name and meaning of his words sink into Legolas’ mind as the blue eyes looked into his searchingly.

“I am not he.”

“No, but you have his heart.”

“Not his nobility.”

“Different Age, different circumstances, but every bit his nobility, every bit his loyalty,” Aragorn insisted. “I pray I never smite you again, even in ignorance.”

“Again?” Legolas queried, surprised. “You never – ”

“Not as Túrin did Beleg, not with a sword, but by foolish, careless words.”

“Estel, I think not of them any longer, I have told you – ”

“They are still lessons I must remember.”

“I lay no claim to perfection either.”

“No, but it was not you who hurt me.”

Legolas had no immediate reply for that, so he kept quiet.

Aragorn sighed as he considered his next words, debating whether to say them, and whether he would compose them well enough. As Legolas waited patiently, blue eyes fixed on his own, Aragorn was reminded of the consequences of holding back words that should have been expressed, and decided to speak.

“Legolas,” he began and faltered. The Elf waited, and he began again. “I know of the torment you bear in resisting the call of the Sea, yet I selfishly hoped against hope that you would not leave. If you were to go… there would be a vacant spot in my heart that nothing else could fill, no matter how long I live. You have remained here for me, my friend…” Aragorn swallowed and made himself go on, “but this is your life… and if it is at all your desire to leave now, I will not hold you to your word. I love you too much to make you bear – ”

“Estel, I have never even thought of leaving you since the day I decided I would stay,” Legolas interrupted quietly. “The Valar may decide otherwise that we cannot foresee, but till then, I hold to my purpose. There is no turning back.” 

“But your father – he wanted you to – ?”

Legolas was taken aback at first: how did Aragorn know – ? He grinned as he guessed at the answer, but how the king had come to know was of no matter now. He was not leaving. 

“Adar asked me to consider it when we were still in the City, and I said yes to comfort him. But I spoke with him again when we were back in the Greenwood, and he accepts my decision. I never meant to leave, Aragorn, not while you and Gimli still live. I could not bear it.”

Huge waves of relief washed over Aragorn, but he wished for Legolas to be sure. “The sea-longing will torture you, mellon nin. Are you certain…?”

Legolas looked at his friend without speaking for a while, thinking about how to respond truthfully.

“There will be times when it will hurt, Estel, that I do not deny,” he conceded. “But – the pain of leaving you and the people I love here – knowing you are still around – would be a far greater agony. I have many, many ages of the world to pass in Valinor, but only one brief – too brief – span of time with you. How could I go before that time was up?”

“It will be harder for you than for us when the time does come, Legolas,” came the quiet reminder. “Gimli and I will each pass into long sleep… while you will live on to mourn.”  

“I am aware of that,” said the elf sadly. “But it will be worth it.” He gripped Aragorn’s shoulders and said firmly: “Aragorn, I will embrace whatever joy there is to share with you as long as you live, I will tread your paths with you, even when you stumble, and when troubles assail you – you will not be alone. Then, when the end comes, my friend, I will be there to bid you farewell, and even if the pain should shatter my heart, I will have no regrets – for I would have spent those years exactly as I wished to: as your friend and at your side.”

Eyes shining with gratitude, Aragorn suddenly kissed his friend on his brow and both cheeks, noting his scent of tree and leaf and blossom.

“Under different circumstances, Aragorn, that might appear strange,” Legolas quipped, looking at his friend with an amused smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

Aragorn did not smile but looked back steadily at the blue eyes of his beloved friend. “Under any circumstances, if something needs to be done and said, it should be, mellon nin,” he replied calmly. “Lest we leave it for too late.”

The words washed over both friends like the warm ripples of the pool they stood by, as man and elf pondered the unspoken memories that had prompted the statement. Their hearts were soothed by soft unvoiced promises of a deep friendship that would continue to cleanse whatever waters they might unwittingly turn murky along the way. 

Aragorn’s eyes and voice were steady as he spoke again: “I may not say this often enough, but I say it now, clearly and without doubt: till the end of my days, I will always need you, Strongbow. If I am fool enough to forget this in the years to come, if I should act or utter words in carelessness, I pray you will remember this moment and forgive me.”

With that, Aragorn rested his forehead on the elf’s, letting a single tear trace its way down his face. Returning the gesture, Legolas responded in a voice rich with love and acceptance: “You will have no chance to forget it, Estel, for I will be with you.”

And Aragorn’s heart swelled with gratitude for the unconditional love of a faithful friend. For long moments, they remained without need for speech. Then Aragorn’s glistening eyes suddenly widened as a thought entered his mind.

“Legolas…” he said, hesitating.

The elf cocked his head slightly. “Yes?”

There was a pause before Aragorn spoke again, his hand and eyes sweeping over the scene around them. “You have already done so much building this wondrous place for me and my family…” He was about to continue but stopped again, looking back at Legolas and adding in a firm tone, “of which you surely know you are a part.”  The elf smiled and nodded, waiting for Aragorn to continue.

“But I would beg one more thing of you, my friend, if you could manage it.” The King’s voice was almost apologetic.

“Anything that is within my power to grant, it is yours, this you know.”

“Then find another spot, Legolas. A hidden one, as full of beauty and magic as this. And let that be ours. Yours and mine alone. Where we can go when our duties weigh us down too much, before they can make me forget who I am. A place of rest where you and I can be free enough to be nothing more than the Elf and the Ranger,” Aragorn finished breathlessly, the excitement in his eyes making him look almost young again.

Legolas’ mouth had dropped open at that unexpected request and stream of words issuing animatedly from the lips of the King of Gondor. In the surprised silence that stretched on, the elf’s mind wandered to a place two hours away: a spot filled with the sound of nightingales and a fifteen-foot drop from the branch of an oak tree into a pool clear as glass.

And just as Aragorn was beginning to wonder if he had embarrassed himself with his request, the fair face of the elf prince broke into a smile that lit up the clearing, and he gave a soft, silvery laugh like the sound of bells, and of water trickling over stones in a gentle brook.

“I know of the perfect place, Ranger,” he affirmed. His reply drew a sigh of relief from his friend, and Aragorn felt a thrill of anticipation run down his spine. “It shall be ready for you – for us – anytime you wish to go. But for now,” he stood up and held his hand out toward the hot pool, “shall we try out the Royal Bath?” he asked, already moving towards the water.

The Ranger’s youthful grin, absent for years, reappeared at once. “You read my mind, Elf!” he responded with genuine delight. But then he suddenly grabbed Legolas’ arm and yanked the elf to a halt. “Wait!”

As the elf watched in curiosity, Aragorn picked up and opened the pack he had brought here – and fished out a bottle of wine. Legolas’ eyes lit up in amusement; he knew at once that it was the bottle the man had mentioned the night he had first recovered from Sarambaq’s poison. Aragorn looked at it for a moment before he spoke.

“We never opened this,” he said quietly, looking up at Legolas. “I had wondered if I might be drinking it with you in parting…”

The elf shook his head and smiled. “Then it will have to return to the cellar and sit there aging for another hundred years or more.”

“No, we have already waited too long,” Aragorn said, his face breaking into a grin. “Is this a good time?” 

Legolas’ eyes twinkled with a thousand stars. “This is the perfect time, Ranger.”

And the joyful laughter of the two friends reverberated among the trees of South Ithilien, like it would time and again throughout their years of their lives together in Arda.

During the long years of Elessar’s reign, the royal family sailed to South Ithilien and visited the Royal Bath many times, enjoying a welcome respite from regal duties and court behavior, where King and Queen basked in quiet serenity and took pleasure in the union they had made possible through much sacrifice. They watched in proud delight as little princes and princesses came closer to the voice of Nature than they could anywhere else, learning to love the earth and gaining wisdom from the stories of elven guardians from Ithilien.

Elessar Telcontar built his fleet of ships, and they faithfully bore many a passenger up and down the Anduin. Each of those ships proudly displayed on its side the Star of Eärendil, an idea inspired by an elf prince who had built the Lord of the White Tree his first vessel. That first ship remained solely for the descendants of Eärendil – generations of them. For even when the children of Elessar, and their children, had grown tall and strong, the timbers of that vessel held fast – for such was the skill of the elves of the Greenwood who had fashioned it from the same timber they used for the boats traversing the swift Forest River in the days of Mirkwood’s youth; and so deep was the love that had gone into the making of the ship – that it remained as steadfast and true as the elves did during the long years.

Throughout the length of the friendship between the King of Gondor and the Lord of Ithilien, whenever the King felt too weighted with care, when he needed a healing of spirit, and a quiet renewal of bonds with yet unsullied beauty of woods and water, he would seek his elf friend. Then, Elf and Ranger would visit the Hidden Glass Pool, ever protective of the one place that was theirs alone, where – for a day or two or three – the burdens, turmoils, and social demands of the outside world could not touch them, where age and designation did not dictate or restrain, where they could savor the simple pleasure of just being who they were. They jealously guarded the secret approach through the trees, enjoying the thrill the journey added to each visit, till the human king could no longer climb or move from tree to tree with the grace and agility of the elven prince. Then for the first time since his discovery, Legolas cleared just enough undergrowth on the ground for a way through to the pool, a path still unseen and unknown to all but the two friends and the elven guards of Ithilien, who never disclosed the location.

In no annals of the reign of King Elessar, nor the stories that passed from mouth to mouth after his passing, was there ever any mention of this cherished refuge.