Chapter 52 - Letters

The Gondorian was already gone by the time Legolas realised that the human had been in the Realm. He had been so engrossed in the training that he had had no time to pay attention to the gossip floating around.

His group had done well at archery – as was to be expected from any group Legolas taught - and he was keeping an attentive eye on a few that showed potential. Though he hoped they would never have to prove their skills on a battlefield, he knew that hope to be wasted.

As he watched the elves practise, he felt a surge of pride. They were good, a credit to the King and their people. Watching them, Legolas could believe that the elves would survive any threat, any obstacle that Fate had in store for them. How could they not when such skill and fortitude was on their side?

Eäráng, a fairly new recruit called out to the watching Prince, “Come join us, my Lord. You look like you are in need of some amusement.”

Legolas smiled at his impertinent tone, “I was under the impression that you all were supposed to be training.”

“We are, my Lord. But there is nothing to say that we cannot be amused at the same time.”

“Indeed.” Legolas left his position on the sideline to join the group in the middle. The rest of the group shifted to include him, smiling all the while. “What do you want me to do?”

Eäráng grinned, and Legolas wondered what he had gotten himself into. Before he could say anything else, the other elf had blindfolded the Prince. “We want you to catch us, my Lord – if you can.”

With that, the elves faded away leaving a blinded Legolas alone in the field. He grinned wickedly – he had always enjoyed this elven version of blind-man’s bluff. Unlike the human version, this one was a little more graceful and a lot more deadly. It was one of the first ‘games’ that Mirkwood novices were taught.

The blindfolded elf was taught to rely on his other senses, preparation in case their sight ever failed. Legolas, who had been playing this game for almost an Age, could hear the rustling of the leaves, the wind, and the silent conversation of the trees. He knew exactly where he was and where the nearest tree branch and means of escape were. Not having his sight forced him to rely on memory and the trees.

Other Wood-elves could do this too – each having played the blind hunter many times in their long lives. But the real enjoyment in all this was to play the role of the hunted. Moving more silently than wraiths, weaving through the treetops that belonged to them, they teased and tormented the hunter, silently taunting him to catch them. The braver amongst them made deliberate noise to attract the Hunter. Most got away with it a few times, some like Legolas, got away with it many times. But in the end, even they learnt the value of holding back, of restraint.

Legolas crouched in the grass, calming his breathing so he could hear the footfalls of his prey. Unfortunately, these were Wood-elves and they did not make any noise. Besides, they had probably taken to the trees, where the rustling of leaves would protect them.

Eäráng moved silently above the Prince, making sure that he did not make any noise. He signalled the rest of his group to fan out around the Prince. When they were in position, he threw a small stone, taking care that it fell a little east of the nearest elf.

Legolas spun around at the noise, moving rapidly towards the sound. But he had not moved more than two steps when he heard another sound, this time a little to the west. He turned. Then was another sound, and then another, all designed to throw his senses off balance.

Legolas stopped moving; if he could not trust his ears then he would trust his heart. He opened his mind and let the presence of the trees fill him. They welcomed their beloved elf, telling him that they loved him and they would be glad to help, but why was he so distant today? Legolas’ connection to the land was still strong, like his father’s. The Call of the Sea had dulled it, chafing at the thread that tied him to Arda, replacing it with its own siren song. But until the day came when that thread snapped, it was a brave elf who challenged Legolas’ connection to the forest.

Legolas could sense the presence of other elves nearby but could not pinpoint them since the trees would not give up their friends so easily, even for him. But given a little more time, Legolas was sure he would be able to catch them. They would make a mistake soon enough and he would be ready.

The sound of footfalls made him instantly alert. An elf was coming close, making more noise than usual in the game. Either he was truly confident about his ability or he was not part of the game.

The messenger, who had been running towards the Prince with a message from the King, found himself pinned to a tree as soon as he got within arm’s length. “My Lord?” he squeaked.

Legolas instantly put the elf down. “I apologise for my actions but you interrupted our sport. What is it?”

“The King wishes to see you.”

“Do you know what it is about?”

“I believe the messengers brought letters for you.”

“Messengers? Letters?”

“Yes, messengers – I think one was from Gondor and the other from Lothlórien. I could be wrong. One was assuredly a human, but the other could have been an elf. Though that is not certain …”

Legolas waved the elf to be silent, knowing he would continue for a while unless stopped. “Unless the messengers are still here, it does not matter, does it?”

“I guess not, my Lord.”

“I will join the King shortly, as soon as I finish matters here.”

The younger elf bowed, “Yes, my Lord.” With that, he hurried inside, surreptitiously fixing the collar of his tunic.

Legolas cocked his head slightly, listening to the elf’s retreating footsteps as they faded into the distance. His bounced a little pebble in his hands, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Letters – probably from Aragorn. Maybe even from Faramir. But what about the letters from Lothlórien?

Legolas would have understood if the letters were for his father – Lord Celeborn wrote as often to his Kinsman as possible, though Thranduil often complained it was not often enough. It probably was not, but Thranduil understood how the pressures of rule did not leave time for much else. But what did he, or anyone else in Lothlórien, have to say to Legolas?

Eäráng dropped himself to the lower branches, curious to see what had captured the Prince’s attention. Before his feet could touch the wood again, Legolas whirled around and hit him square on the head with the small pebble.

“You make too much noise.”

“You did not hear me before,” Eäráng grumbled, rubbing his head.

“I heard you now. Take over in my stead.” Legolas threw the blindfold to the elf and headed towards the Palace.

Eäráng looked at the rest of the group and shrugged a bit sheepishly. Underestimating the Prince was a dangerous thing.

   x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

“You should get away from the door, Herenion.”

“Why is that, my Lord?”

“I am expecting Legolas any moment, asking for the letters from his friends.”

“And what does that have to do with my standing near the door, my Lord?”

“Do you not remember what happened last time Legolas got excited and you were standing behind the door he burst through from?”

Herenion rubbed his nose, suddenly feeling his nose throb with the pain from that time long ago. “Legolas was young then, my King.” Herenion felt obliged to defend his Prince even as he surreptitiously moved away from the door. Just to be on the safe side.

Thranduil looked up from the report he was reading. He had decided to check up on the Avari intelligence with a little judicious observation of his own – with interesting results. For the most part Rhinure’s reports about orc activity and numbers seemed to be accurate, though the lack of any indication on who was doing this unnerved the King. He might have to become a little more aggressive in his own intelligence gathering. While he was reasonably certain that Rhinure would tell him of any major changes in orc activity, he could not help but feel that she might be leaving out some of the more minute, seemingly insignificant details.

“This is Legolas we are talking about? The bundle of energy and exuberance often mistaken for an elf?”

Herenion looked at the King and then moved a little further away from the entrance. Prudence was always a sensible thing, so it could not hurt to be a little extra prudent.

  x – x – x – x – x – x – x – x

Legolas must not be as cheerful as his smile suggests, Herenion mused when the younger elf finally made his appearance. He only shook the doorframe when he slammed the door open. Herenion checked the wall just to make sure.

*~ No damage. No breakage. The wall is one piece – relatively speaking. Legolas must be less happy than he seems. ~*

Legolas plopped himself down in his chair in front of Thranduil’s desk, noting that his father did not acknowledge him with more than a nod of his head. He stretched his legs out and hooked his ankles together, making himself comfortable before asking, “So Ada, where are the letters that came for me?”

Thranduil looked up at his son, eyes twinkling wickedly. This was too good an opportunity to pass. “What letters do you speak of?”

“The letters from Gondor.”

“From Gondor? We received letters from Gondor?”

“Did you not send a herald to tell me that letters had arrived?”

“Did I?”

“You did. Now where are my letters?”

“Now which letters are these again?”

Legolas got up from the chair and rummaged through the papers on Thranduil’s desk. “These letters,” he exclaimed triumphantly, waving the thick packet almost in front of his father’s face.

“Oh, those letters.” Thranduil took them out of Legolas’ hand and made a great show about examining them. “These are letters from King Elessar, Queen Arwen, Prince Faramir and even one from that dwarf friend of yours. Quite a haul, do you not think so, Herenion?” Thranduil passed the letters to the Bodyguard, avoiding Legolas’ grasping hands.

“Yes, my Lord. Quite a number. But you missed a couple.” Herenion grinned at the King and passed the letters back, neatly avoiding Legolas who folded his arms in exasperation and glared at the older elves.

Thranduil went through the letters again – very slowly, “Oh yes I did.” He bent down to add two more letters to the pile. “Here is one more – from Lord Celeborn. It is not a large one; Lady Galadriel must have forgotten to add her usual post-script.”

Legolas drummed his fingers on his arm, “Are you going to let me see them?”

“Such impatience, ion nín.”                

Thranduil looked at his son and finally decided to put him out of his misery. “Here, little one. Read to your heart’s content.”

Legolas almost snatched the letters out of Thranduil’s hand, not knowing if he would continue teasing him. Thranduil chuckled before sitting back down and turning back to the reports.

He was distracted by his son’s confusion. Legolas had spread the letters out before him and was looking at them with deep concentration. It reminded Thranduil of Legolas when he was a child faced with a feast. He did not know which treat to attack first. “Which one will you read first?”

Legolas shook his head and grunted something non-committal.

Thranduil put down his quill and looked fondly at his son. “Perhaps you should start with the longest. That will have the most news and thus you will not miss any reference the others make.”

Legolas nodded but did not make a move.

“Perhaps you should burn them all and pretend you received none of them.”

Legolas nodded once more, and re-arranged the letters.

Thranduil shook his head and turned back to his work.

It was after a while that Legolas finally decided to read Aragorn’s first – it was the longest and that way he would not miss any reference the others made.

Dear one,

It has been too long since we have last corresponded, for which I apologise, mellon nín. Things are well in Gondor. We are slowly rebuilding what was once lost. Faramir has been a great help, more than he gives himself credit for sometimes. The people begin to love me as they have long loved him. We hope to finish the Western half of the city by the time Faramir’s wedding date arrives.

Yes, Faramir’s wedding – Éowyn finally wrangled a date out of him. He procrastinated for a while saying that he wanted to finish building a house for her in Ithilien, but she insisted that they would do so together. I personally think it was Éomer’s threat – er observation, that if Faramir could wait for so long then he could wait until Rohan was rebuilt as well – that finally made Faramir reconsider.

Sometimes, he is too much like his brother – perhaps the firmness of purpose is bred into that line. One would not think so considering that Faramir is so reasonable most of the time. I am looking forward to seeing the children he and Éowyn will have.

Arwen assures me that they will be little darlings. She says all children are. I am sceptical but it is not wise to argue with her. She has a tendency of getting teary-eyed on me if she does not get her way. I think she does this on purpose, but I really do not mind since I enjoy making up with her. Arwen is happy and therefore so am I.

I presume you will be coming for the wedding. From what I understand, the situation in Mirkwood is not secure and I will understand if you are unable to attend. I am beginning to understand the trust the people put in their rulers first hand. Your people need you and I appreciate that. However, I still remember the promise you made to me. The forests of Ithilien still need the love and care only the Wood-elves can provide. We hope to see you come to Gondor soon, once your home is safe, if not at the wedding.

Faramir, of course, might not be so understanding if you do not come, since he managed to make it to your wedding.

I cannot believe, my friend, that you are married. You did not give us any warning, any indication that you had a betrothed. Faramir explained why you married the Princess Rhinure and what an unusual elleth she is. I truly admire you for the sacrifice you have made and hope that your marriage no longer remains one. I would have you know the happiness that I do with my elven princess.

I look forward to seeing you and your lady in Gondor. The wedding will give us an excuse to meet her – and all of us are anxious to do so. Please do come – it had been too long since we have seen you.

Your friend,

Aragorn

Legolas put down the letter smiling. It was good to hear from Aragorn, though the human’s happiness made his heart twist a little – just a little - with envy. Love like that between Aragorn and Arwen was something he had wanted for himself.

*~ Maybe - eventually. ~*

Legolas was an immortal; he could afford to be patient – and hopeful.

He looked at the rest of the papers that Aragorn had sent – plans of the reconstruction, pictures of him and Arwen, even little news items from the city. Legolas was touched at Aragorn’s attempt to include him in his life. The naiveté of the gesture and the determination behind it were so human. Legolas knew from experience that no matter how often friends corresponded and how hard they tried, distance changed friendships. While it did not end it, distance robbed friends of the chance to observe all the small, intimate details that often combined to become something important. Legolas was certain that it would happen to Aragorn and him as well. They both had their lives to live and both would eventually change without the other.

Legolas sighed – one more reason to move to Ithilien. The time he had with Aragorn and his other mortal friends was so short that perhaps it was best he spend it nearby. Immortals had the luxury of re-discovering and re-forging old ties which was denied to the Second Born. Possibly this was the reason why all friendships, all relationships they shared, were so intense.

Legolas glanced at Thranduil – how would his father view his vow to Aragorn? Legolas had not discussed it yet, fearing Thranduil’s reaction. It was not that he thought Thranduil would forbid him – his father would never allow Legolas to renege on any promise once given – it was just that he was afraid of disappointing his father. Would Thranduil view Legolas’ decision to eventually settle in Ithilien as abandonment, as desertion of his people – and father?

And Rhinure?

Legolas knew with a sinking feeling of certainty that she would not be happy at the thought of leaving Mirkwood. He had seen the wistfulness in her when she thought no one was looking – the scent of loneliness that he caught when she thought she was alone. He did not understand all of what caused it, but part of it was the fact that she was away from her people. It hurt to look out the window and realise that the bed you slept in was not yours, the trees were not yours, the people who smiled at you were not yours – and you were not theirs.

Making her leave Mirkwood would make that fragile heart of hers even more brittle. Legolas feared it would break it, but Rhinure was strong. She would survive and together they could build a new home. She would like Ithilien, he was sure of it. They would be together and somehow they would be happy. The thought that Rhinure might not come with him did not enter his mind.

Legolas turned to the next letter with a smile.

Dearest Legolas,

I believe my husband has already written to you, but I thought I would add my entreaties to his as well. I know that your love and respect for me is so great that you would never refuse any of my requests. Estel, who is very rudely reading over my shoulder, is snorting in disbelief right now. I am obliged to point out to him that I am slightly older than him and therefore have known you for longer. I hope you will not make me a liar.

I would dearly love to see you at the wedding – as would Éowyn and Faramir. It would be the best present that you can give them.  Though I think Faramir is more interested in your Lady. He spoke of her quite often and well. I must say he has made me all the more curious to meet her. Éowyn too is looking forward to meeting her. Though her motives might not be so unselfish, especially if Faramir keeps talking about her.

Estel is well; I am making sure of it. He still works too hard and Faramir just encourages the habit. What can I do when I know how much the work is needed? If only my brothers were here – they would make sure that Estel forgets his work. Though I am not sure the tension they cause will help in the long run. If I remember my father’s lessons, humans are very susceptible to high blood pressure and heart attacks. Though I am not sure exactly what they entail I am certain I do not want Estel suffering from them.

When I bring up my concerns, Estel just waves them away. He has the blood of Númenor in him. He is not susceptible to disease like ordinary humans. Besides, he is a renowned healer – he knows better that to push himself. Thankfully, I have learnt to disregard such arguments and make sure that he eats properly and gets as much sleep – beside me – as possible.

Gimli visits as often as he can, but he too is busy in Ithilien. It cheers Estel to have his companions close, if only because he can forget for a little while that he is King.

Come and help him forget for a little longer.

Arwen

Legolas smiled as he picked up Gimli’s letter. Arwen could always make him smile, even though she did not add much to what Aragorn has written. She would wait until she saw him. Elves had that much patience at least.

As he opened Gimli’s letter he burst out laughing. All it said was:

Come to Gondor for the wedding, Elf. If you do not I will wade through that forest of yours and come get you – King Thranduil’s dungeons or not.

No signature, not greetings, no news – nothing. But then, that was Gimli. He was not a dwarf of many words and dwarfs were not known for fair speech in the first place. The theme of these letters was becoming pretty clear. Legolas was expected to attend the wedding. Or else.

“Something amuses you, ion nín?”

Legolas nodded as he picked up the next letter; Faramir’s, he surmised from the writing. “Gimli.”

Thranduil pursued his lips; “I have never found dwarfs amusing in the least.”

“There is still time for you to change your opinion.”

“That is not going to happen, impertinent son of mine.”

“We will see, adamant father of mine.”

Legolas was right, the letter was from Faramir. It was not long and it just re-iterated the first two in the demand for Legolas’ presence. It went on to inquire about the situation in Mirkwood and whether the danger was serious enough to warrant Gondor’s involvement. It outlined King Elessar’s measures to improve security and tentatively offered Gondor’s support if and when the elves needed it. Legolas was moved that Faramir made the offer, even though he knew it was not one that could be seriously considered. If Gondor had troops to spare, King Elessar would have offered and the Steward would have written formally to Prince Legolas – not Faramir to his friends. Still, the gesture in itself was appreciated.

Legolas was going to put the letter away when he noticed another sheet in the envelope. He managed to extract the unusually fine paper. It was a wedding invitation – an engraved formal wedding invitation with a little note attached to it.

To Legolas Thranduilion of the House of Oropher, Prince of the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood,

Faramir II, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor requests the pleasure of your company on the occasion of his marriage to Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan.

 The invitation was beautiful with the family emblems of both Faramir and Éowyn intertwined together. The penmanship was exquisite, and Legolas suspected that Faramir had done it himself. Even if he were unable to attend, he would treasure the invitation. The note was not as elaborate. All it said was:

Just to make sure you had no excuse not to attend, I sent an invitation along as well. There are two others, one for your father and another for your wife.

I will see you in a few weeks time.

Faramir

Thranduil watched Legolas finger the delicate paper. He knew what it was since he had a similar one sitting on his desk. “Do you wish to go, ion nín?”

“Yes, Ada. Very much so.”

When Thranduil did not say anything Legolas looked up at his father. Thranduil’s face was grim, as if he were struggling with a hard decision. “I will not go if you think I should not, Adar.”

Thranduil smiled briefly, “I did not expect such obedience from you, little one. You have never been so accommodating before – what is going through that blond head of yours?”

“It is gold.”

“Blond, gold, does it really make a difference?”

“To me it does.”

“Such vanity – must come from your mother’s side.

“Or my father’s.”

“So as I was saying,” Thranduil went on as if Legolas had not spoken. Some comments were best left ignored. “It will be difficult but I think we may spare you so that you may attend the wedding. And Princess Rhinure too, if you plan on taking her.”

Legolas blinked, that had been very easy. His father must be mellowing. “Yes, I would like her to come. I am afraid that Aragorn will not let me Gondor unless I am able to present my wife along with myself. But, Ada, are you sure that you can spare me?”

Thranduil smiled, “My dear Legolas, as good as you are and as precious you are to the Wood-elves, you tend to overestimate your importance sometimes. We have been doing this for a while. Sometimes, even without your help. Imagine that. We will muddle through somehow without you here – no matter how difficult it may be.”

“I get it already, Ada. I am not important to you.”

“You are very important to me, ion nín. You cannot begin to imagine how much. And because you are, I want you to go – let me give you this. Consider it a belated wedding present.”

“Are you not ashamed of yourself, Ada? Using your position as King to excuse your son from his duty.”

Thranduil eyes twinkled, “There should be some perks to the job. Do you not think so? Besides, once you are there you can make yourself useful. It is time that we widen our net a little, try to ascertain whether these attacks are limited to Mirkwood alone or plague the humans as well. Perhaps these attacks are random, and not targeted on the Wood-elves. Who better to ask than King Elessar? And what better messenger than the Prince Legolas, who can also be our representative on this most momentous occasion?”

“I should have known that you would have an ulterior motive,” Legolas shook his head in mock despair.

“I have always preferred the term economical.”

Legolas was tempted to stick his tongue out as he once did when he was but a child. Every now and then, it was the only response to Thranduil. He was about to do exactly that – and forever ruin his princely image - when something struck him.

“Are you going to read your last letter? I am curious to hear what Lord Celeborn has to say to you.”

Legolas frowned as he opened the missive from Lothlórien, “It is not from Lord Celeborn.”

“Then – ah yes, Lady Galadriel.”

Dear Child,

I write to you of my hopes that you are well. I will not inquire about your father since he is incapable of being anything less than well.

“Yes. She sends her greetings, inquires about your health and mine.”

Thranduil snorted, knowing full well exactly how those greetings would have been phrased. For all her power and wisdom, Galadriel could be very predictable sometimes.

Legolas read on, knowing that this banter between Thranduil and Galadriel had started long before his birth and would not cease just because he disapproved of it. If Celeborn had been unable to change his wife, what hope had he of influencing his father? Though, Legolas thought that Celeborn secretly enjoyed the repartee between the two elves. How else to explain the faint shades of encouragement that crept into his voice when the two were around?

Events unfolding in Mirkwood give me pause but I am certain you and your Lady will overcome all odds together. I remember the concerns you once had regarding this union but I am certain that with time and patience you will come to see it as a new beginning. I have great hopes for you and this wife of yours.

She is truly a flame, but not as cold as one would think at first glance. Keep her close, little one. It will be beneficial for you – and her. She will be able to help keep you here in Arda. Let her ties to this land help strengthen yours, which will become ever weaker as time passes.

I know you did not heed me once, but hope you will do so now.

Stay away from the Sea, child. Its siren song and the promise of Valinor’s peace have ensnared many before you. Seek not to pit your strength against them. I have lost my own battle.

I will be sailing to Valinor by the end of the year.  

Legolas could almost feel Galadriel’s hesitation as she wrote the next sentence.

Celeborn will not come with me.

I tell you this because you must be prepared for what may be in your own future. You are strong and I know that you have given your word to Estel – my new grandson told me of it – but I would have you prepared.

Legolas sucked in his breath. He did not want to think about this. He especially did not want to think about what this would mean for his wife, his people – or his father. Thranduil would not leave with him – he would not leave for a very long time yet. Until all his people had left, he would stay in Arda. But at least Legolas took comfort in the fact that eventually Thranduil would sail – after putting the last Wood-elf onto his ship, kicking and screaming if need be.

But – Rhinure.

What about her? Would she come with him? Would she be willing to leave the only home she knew because he would not be there with her? Could he even ask her to do that?

Legolas was afraid he knew the answer.

He turned back to the letter, full of well-meaning advice and concern, but he could not concentrate. He read the words but they all seemed the same to him. His mind wandered, his eyes saw his past, present and future merge into one long life. A life that was going to end.

Legolas closed his eyes for a second, just to block out the images rushing through his head. Block out Galadriel’s words, his duty – Rhinure’s solemn little face.

Eyes closed, he allowed his mind to wander. Wander to clear blue water, sparkling like a precious jewel in the morning light. Water that ebbed, flowed, and beckoned to all who saw it.

Legolas trembled slightly. Sometimes, it was so hard. The smell of the salt in the air still burned his nostrils. The harsh cry, that he had only needed to hear once, still echoed in his ears. He had to concentrate very hard just to push it into the background. He could not silence it but he could put it to the back of his mind.

Some days were better than others were. Leaving Gondor and its proximity to the Sea had helped. Being home, amongst the familiar trees of his childhood, listening to their welcome, had made life just about bearable.

Even so the nights spent alone were horrible. At night, he did not have any worries to shield him from the Sea. Lying alone in his bed, his entire frame quivering, his guts twisting in pain – Legolas wondered if any vow was worth it. Then the morning came, bringing with it new challenges, new situations that needed his expertise and bringing with it his new wife.

For Rhinure was the newest worry of them all, a tempting puzzle that Legolas was fascinated by. He could understand what Galadriel meant when she said that Rhinure could help him. Having her near gave him one more thing to focus on.

But the Longing was eating him inside; he could feel it. Slowly but surely it was taking him over, until one day he would not be able to bear anymore. That day, he too would sail for the Undying Lands.

“Will I lose you, too?”

Legolas was jerked out his reverie by that soft, sad question. “Ada, I am not sure what you mean.”

“Am I going to lose you as well, son?”

“I do not know what you mean, Ada.”

“I presume that Galadriel told you of her intention to sail?”

Legolas blinked, “I did not realize that she wrote to you as well.”

“I will take that as a yes. And she did not – Celeborn informed me of his impending loss.”

Legolas lowered his eyes, unable to meet his father’s knowing gaze. He knew. Somehow, without being told, he knew what ailed his son. Legolas had hoped to keep his condition secret a little while longer. He had known that eventually Thranduil would have to be told, but Legolas was hoping for a little more time. A little more time to prepare himself, and a little more time he could spend with Adar pretending that everything was back to normal once more.

Now, like all hope, he realised that this one too had been futile.

“Ada, I am sorry.”

“For what?”

When Legolas was unable to answer, Thranduil answered for him. “You have the Sea Longing.”

Legolas nodded, not looking at the older elf, almost as if he was ashamed.

“Why did you not tell me, ion nín?”

“I did not think you would be happy with me if you found out,” Legolas whispered, afraid of the conversation that was sure to come.

“How can I be when I know that I will lose my son?”

“I did not mean for this to happen, Ada.”

“I know that.” Thranduil looked at the bowed golden head and asked, “Did you think I would blame you?”

“Do you not?”

“Come here, little one.” Thranduil stood up and opened his arms, giving Legolas the only comfort he had to offer.

Legolas gladly accepted his father’s embrace, clutching him as tightly as his arms would allow. Thranduil stroked his son’s hair, calming the younger elf and re-affirming his love for this only child of his. He had known that the Longing had plagued his son – how could he not after having seen the distraction in Legolas’ eyes and the haunted expression on his face? His son’s strength and will made Thranduil proud. When others were around Legolas acted as normal as possible – almost jolly. Most people would not be able to tell that Legolas had changed – let alone that he harboured such a secret.

But Thranduil was not most people. He knew that something made Legolas hurt as soon as he had held his son after the War. He had not needed to see the concerned looks his friends gave him when they thought no one was looking. When Legolas hurt, Thranduil hurt too. It was that simple.  Legolas was a part of him, an important part. The best part.

It had surprised him, and if he was honest, wounded him, when Legolas had not spoken to him about his disease. For disease it was. What else to call it? Something that tore apart families, that made one suffer and long to be away from home? But he had never imagined that Legolas had not come to him for fear of being blamed.

Did he strike even his son with so much fear?

“I love you, ion nín. I would never blame you for something you had no control over. The Longing is insidious – it can strike anyone at any time. You and I both know this. Did you really think I would hold such a thing against you?”

“I do not want to abandon you, Ada,” Legolas whispered into Thranduil’s shirtfront.

“You will not be. You would never abandon anyone.”

“How can Lady Galadriel leave, Ada? How can she not fight to stay with Lord Celeborn? I thought she loved him.”

“She does and you should not suggest otherwise,” Thranduil admonished gently. He understood the desperation that drove Legolas, but even so, such an accusation must be addressed. “Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have a unique relationship. They have overcome more obstacles together than I care to remember. If she could help it, Galadriel would never leave him behind.”

“But why does she have to leave, Ada?”

“Will you not have to one day as well?”

“But she does not have the Longing.”

“One does not yearn for Valinor only because of the Sea, child. There is peace there – rest that cannot be found in Arda. Some of our kind need it more than others. Beside, Valinor is her home. Her family is there, waiting for her.”

“And what about Lord Celeborn?”

“I do not know what he plans. He might sail after her eventually.”

“Do you think he will?”

“I cannot say. Celeborn is a rule onto himself. Most would sail with their wives. But his ties to Arda are very strong – too strong perhaps.”

“Would he not miss her?”

Thranduil smiled, that question was so naïve that it reminded him of how young Legolas really was. And how new his marriage was. If he loved Rhinure like Celeborn loved Galadriel then there would be no need to ask such a question. “What do you think?”

Legolas thought of his too brief stay in Lothlórien. He remembered the feeling of oneness that he got when he looked at the Lord and Lady. It was as if the two of them were so tightly meshed together that they were one person instead of two. Even though they were old and powerful, he could still identify the love that existed between them. It was like a perfume that wafted around them – subtle but present for those who cared to look.

What must it be like for them to lose the other?

“How can he let her go? How can she?”

“Because they love each other too much.” Thranduil’s voice throbbed with the remembered pain of his own experience. When Eruante had wanted to sail, he had found himself unable to stop her. Though all he had wanted to do was lock her in some room until she agreed to stay with him, he found himself bowing to her wishes. It would have been easier to cut off his arm. As it was, her departure had cut his heart.

Thranduil did not want to think about how Celeborn must be feeling right now. At least, Eruante’s departure had been somewhat unexpected. It had not poisoned the time they had together. Celeborn had known Galadriel would have to leave since she first put Nenya on her finger. He had spent an Age knowing that every day brought either death or her departure.

Thranduil was not sure which option Celeborn found more attractive.

“Ada, will you go and see Lord Celeborn?”

“What ever for?”

“You know – to console.”

Thranduil stepped back slightly, eyebrows shooting up. “Celeborn would not appreciate my interference. And I am not about to do something that would invite his displeasure. That is not a particularly sensible idea.”

Legolas smiled back, knowing that Thranduil wanted to help his Kinsman but also that he was probably correct. Some people preferred to grieve in private.

He knew Thranduil did – so did Rhinure come to think of it.

Legolas’ face became serious as he thought of his wife. “Ada? Do you think …?”

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think you will sail?”

“Eventually – now I have more reason than ever. With both my son and my wife in Valinor I will have very little reason to stay here.”

Legolas knew that was not exactly true but the white lie was comforting. Thranduil loved his forest and if ever he sailed, that loss would always remain in his heart.

“But that is not what you wanted to ask me, ion nín.”

Legolas shook his head and just about managed to stop from biting his lip in nervousness. “Do you think Rhinure would sail with me?”

“It is possible.”

“But is it likely?”

“I really cannot say. You know your wife better than I do.”

“Ada, you are avoiding the question.”

Thranduil sighed; he really did not want to answer this. The truth would only hurt Legolas. “Given what I know of her – if she had a choice, I do not think she would sail.”

Legolas had to swallow before he was able to speak. “Thank you for being honest.” Legolas stepped forward again, burying himself in Thranduil’s arms. “I do not think she will sail either.”

“We may both be wrong.”

“Perhaps – but I do not think so.”

“You do not know her that well. She might surprise you yet.”

Legolas nodded. Thranduil was right, Rhinure would probably surprise him, but he was afraid it would not be in the manner he wanted.

“I hope Lord Celeborn sails, Ada.”

“As do I.”

Legolas knew that if Celeborn sailed then there was hope for him as well.

For hope was all Legolas had.

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