80: Prince Legolas Decides

In the end, and in spite of Elladan waxing poetic about the fun of having the wedding on the Fourth — “You can even do a Star Wars theme for the reception,” he said laughingly. “Finrod can entertain us with his Elven Jedi mind tricks.”— Serindë decided that a Saturday wedding would be safest, and so, Elrohir contacted Mr. Sadowski to tell him, assuring the Mortal that, no, he was quite sure he did not wish to purchase tickets to the spring musical.

“I am afraid I’ll be out of town that weekend,” he lied and then as he shut down his phone, he was heard to mutter, “Way out of town.”

Serindë giggled and kissed him and he kissed her back while Elladan, Glorfindel, Daeron and Finrod looked on with indulgent smiles.

Later, while they were having dinner, Elrohir explained the change in plans. As he feared, some of the Elves, most notably those from Valinor, voiced their dismay that the wedding had been postponed simply because of some mortal holiday or other, and none of the Wiseman Elves would explain the significance of either Easter or Passover and why they were considered such a big deal with the Mortals.

“Suffice to say that they are,” Glorfindel said at the end. “The three days leading up to Easter Sunday are considered the holiest days of the year by the Christians, and while the High Holy Days of the Jews are not until the Autumn, Passover is equally important to them and we will respect that. End of discussion.”

But, of course, it wasn’t and more than one person willingly expressed their opinions on the matter, some of them wondering if the wedding simply couldn’t take place at Edhellond among the Elves and then have a reception for the Mortals sometime afterwards, but both Elrohir and Serindë nixed that idea, saying, quite truthfully, that they wanted their Mortal friends to be at the wedding.

“People you have known for only two years,” Legolas of Gondolin pointed out dismissively.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Elrohir retorted somewhat hotly. “I’ve only known you for two months but I’m still inviting you to the wedding.”

Immediately the room exploded with shock and anger at that statement.

“Farn!” Finrod shouted over the hubbub of voices and such was his power that they fell silent almost at once. Finrod glanced down the table at Glorfindel who had sat there in stony silence during the argument, giving his gwador a knowing look. “Do you have anything to say, Brother?”

Glorfindel did not answer immediately but picked up his wine glass and took a sip. Then he placed the glass carefully on the table, not looking at anyone in particular. When he spoke, it was in a soft, almost negligent voice. “I said, ‘end of discussion’. What part of that did any of you fail to understand?”

There was an uneasy silence as several people stole glances at one another.

“But—” Aldarion started to say.

“Aidan, I said, end of discussion,” Glorfindel reiterated more firmly. “Roy and Sarah are in their rights to choose whatever day they wish for their wedding and they need neither your approval nor your input. And that goes for you all. The matter is closed. The wedding will take place at seven in the evening on the fifth day of May. Attend or not. That is your decision. Now, let us turn to other topics of concern while we try to enjoy this lovely meal that some of us slaved all afternoon over.”

“At least you didn’t have to clean the oven,” Finrod couldn’t help saying, giving Glorfindel a sly smile.

“No,” Glorfindel said with a smirk. “I’ve saved that job for you.” He lifted his wine glass in salute and Finrod followed suit and then they both drank. Then, Finrod said, “So, someone at the bookstore mentioned painting the town green soon. Why would you do that?”

Several of the Wiseman Elves, including Glorfindel, started laughing and the rest of the meal was taken up with an explanation about St. Patrick’s Day and what the customs of the day were and wedding plans were forgotten for a time.

****

The sky was brilliant with stars and the aurora was shimmering in shades of forest green. Prince Legolas watched his breath come out in steamy wisps as he purposely left footprints in the snow while walking across the field to the woods. He stopped to gaze up at the Coll Elbereth, what the Mortals called the Milky Way. Until he had come to Wiseman he had never seen the aurora and the shimmering curtains of light mesmerized him and he stood there in awe and wonder. He recalled Finrod and Glorfindel telling him how they had seen these same lights while crossing the Helcaraxë and how some of the Exiles had believed them to be manifestations of Maiar watching them. Now he knew differently, but they were no less awesome to behold.

What was he doing here? he wondered suddenly as he continued gazing upward. Surely he had been allowed to return to Middle-earth for a reason. Others had offered to come but had been refused a place on Vingilot. Since their arrival, though, he had been keeping mostly to himself, standing back, observing the others, especially the sons of Elrond and Lord Glorfindel.

They had changed very little since he had last seen them and yet they had changed much. In one thing, though, they had not changed: they were still respectful of Mortals and their ways.

There had been times, like this evening, for instance, when he had been tempted to speak out against those who disparaged the Mortals, but he had kept silent, knowing that few would truly understand, even those who had once resided in Middle-earth and had interacted with the Mortals to one extent or another. Finrod obviously understood, and perhaps the healers who were working side-by-side with their mortal counterparts, but the others? Tonight’s argument over the change in the wedding date proved to him that there was still a gap between knowledge and acceptance for some if not all of those who had come from Valinor.

Should he offer his own insights of the Mortals? he wondered as he continued on toward the woods. His ruminations took him back into the far past, memories of joy and loss as, one-by-one, his Mortal friends slipped away, victims to Time: Faramir, Éomer, Meriadoc and Peregrin, Aragorn and finally, the last and the most painful parting with Gimli. He remembered the grief and his inability to find acceptance for his loss for some time afterwards. Many had sorrowed to see him in such despair; few really understood what he was going through.

Could he do it again? Could he risk his heart once more, seeking acquaintance and friendship among the Mortals of Wiseman, to become a part of their lives, just as the Twins and Glorfindel and Vorondur and the other Wiseman Elves had done?

He paused again at the edge of the woods to look back at the lights of Edhellond, idly noticing that in his ruminations he had ceased to leave his footprints. He shook his head and turned to climb the nearest tree, offering it a silent greeting which the tree echoed sleepily as it dreamt of summer and endless light.

What should he do? He thought about the plans some were making to set up the training camp. Zombie hunter. What an absurd concept. Now, if they wanted to learn to fight monstrous spiders, he was their Elf. He chuckled mirthlessly at the memories of those dark times, battling the spiders and other evils that had besieged Eryn Lasgalen, forcing them to change its name to Taur-en-Daedhelos, Forest of Great Fear, Mirkwood.

Some of the Elves, most notably, Thandir, Haldir and Mithlas, all of whom had been scouts and marchwardens in earlier ages, were even considering joining the Rangers. Paul Pettingill had admitted that they did not have the numbers they needed to safeguard the national parks and wilderness and he, at least, would welcome the additional help from the Elves. Legolas was sorely tempted to join with the others. Mithlas had even suggested the possibility of claiming some part of the wilderness for themselves and setting up their own Silvan kingdom.

Legolas shook his head. A lovely dream but rather impractical given that the wilderness was considered federal land owned by the mortal government that ruled this land. He did not think it would be so easy to lay claim to it, not in the way he had laid claim to that part of Ithilien that had become an enclave of the Elves after the Ring War under his rule.

Nor did he find the idea of becoming a Ranger all that attractive, which was ironic considering who and what he was, but there you have it. Even Elves changed, if incrementally, and the ages in Valinor had… softened him.

He grimaced at that thought, however true it might be. Certainly, even though he had lived these past millennia in the southern reaches of Valinor away from the courts of the High Kings and all, helping his adar in establishing a kingdom in the wilderness, life had been soft, or at least softer, than it had been here in Ennor. There were no giant spiders or orcs or wargs or any of the real dangers he had fought against here. The Valar and their Maiar had cleared the southern reaches of the evil creatures that had haunted the land, making it safe for Elves to colonize. There had been only the normal dangers one faced when one was carving out a kingdom from scratch.

No, he had to admit that he had grown soft and complacent and he enjoyed not having to camp out in inclement weather while on patrol. Those days were far behind him. Time to move on and do something different.

Yet, what could he do? What could he honestly contribute to the society in which he found himself? He had agreed to offer classes in making bows and arrows and helping the Twins to teach the Mortals archery, but such activities were make work for him. He craved something more stimulating and meaningful.

Shifting his position slightly to be more comfortable, he stared up at the heavens through the branches of the tree. From this angle the aurora was not visible, but the stars shown with scintillating brilliance and their high, cold song bathed his fae, bringing with it a sense of peace.

He recalled the last conversation he’d had with his adar before he left to join the others who were also traveling to Ennor with Finrod. Thranduil had not been pleased by his son’s inclusion but he had not forbidden him to go, only offering him a warning….

“You have more experience in dealing with the Secondborn than most, my son,” Thranduil said, “but that does not mean you understand them or their ways and these Mortals will not be the same as the ones you remember. They will not have the same history or the same language and, if what we have been told is true, most do not even believe in our existence anymore.”

“Save that we go to a place where our people are known,” Legolas pointed out.

“Known, perhaps, but understood? That may be debatable,” Thranduil retorted. “I do not think it wise for any of us to go, but the Belain did not consult me on the matter so I could not express my own views.”

Legolas forced himself not to react to his adar’s words, spoken with such drollness and obvious contempt for the Powers. It had been a long-standing point of contention between father and son. Thranduil did not trust the Belain while Legolas trusted them too much, or so his adar claimed. Perhaps there was some truth to that, but he had a unique perspective on the Valar that Thranduil could never have, never having actually died and spent time in Mandos, however short that time was.

Thranduil continued speaking. “Be that as it may, I want you to remember one thing, Legolas, if you remember nothing else of what I say to you: do not give your heart to the Mortals again. The last time nearly destroyed you.”

“Or made me the stronger,” Legolas couldn’t help retorting. “I will give my heart where and to whom I please, Adar, but I promise to guard it better.”

Thranduil only shook his head. “You cannot have it both ways, Legolas. Either you give your heart fully and completely or you do not. There is no in-between.”

“I will remember that, Adar,” Legolas said, giving his adar and his king proper obeisance before leaving Thranduil’s presence to go pack….

Legolas sighed, the conversation between him and his adar reverberating through his mind. Should he give his heart fully and completely to the Mortals once again or should he spare himself the pain he knew would be inevitable if he allowed his heart free rein? Yet, he was here, wasn’t he? How could he do whatever it was he needed to do if he held his heart back? No, the risk was worth it. He saw it with Lord Glorfindel. He saw it with the Twins and the other Wiseman Elves. They had given their hearts to the Mortals and they were the better for it. He knew it and he believed it. The same had to be true for him, for all of them.

Yet, what could he do? In what way could he enter into the lives of the people of Wiseman that would be meaningful for him?

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, recalling images of his impressions of Middle-earth from the moment he had arrived on Vingilot: Alex and Derek, the first two Mortals he had met, admiring their abilities and their… what was that word someone had used? Gumption. Yes, admiring their gumption. His thoughts drifted to other images, to the confrontation with the Mortal Farrell and the court Finrod had held. The celebrations of the last month and the interrupted New Year’s Eve party, and now recently, Lord Glorfindel nearly dying at the hands of the Mortals…

He opened his eyes. He had so wanted to hunt down the ones responsible and make them pay for what they had done, still wished to do so, in fact, and yet, at the same time, he was fascinated by the way the mortal police had dealt with the situation, especially the way they calmly and efficiently examined the crime scene. He had crouched on a nearby roof watching with clinical interest as the forensics team gathered evidence, speaking arcanely, using words he barely understood and indeed had importuned Daeron later for an explanation of what they meant.

It had all been so fascinating. He recalled the few times he had helped Aragorn solve a criminal case which had been brought to the king’s attention. He had had to use his common sense and gut feelings more than instruments such as those wielded by the mortal police of Wiseman and yet…

Could he do it? Could he become a policeman, a peacekeeper, perhaps a detective solving crime? Would they allow him to? And if they refused him, what then? Well, he would cross that bridge if and when he needed to. In the meantime, all he could do was ask. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would go into Wiseman to the police station and speak to David Michaelson. Tomorrow he would give his heart to the Mortals of Wiseman and hold nothing back. Tomorrow he would begin finding his purpose in being here and with the Belain’s help, he would succeed.

Having made the decision, he leapt down from the tree, barely making a dent in the snow, feeling lighter and freer. He gazed upward once more at the stars before heading back to Edhellond, making sure to leave footprints this time. He needed the practice.

****

Words are Sindarin:

Farn!: Enough!

Coll Elbereth: Elbereth’s Cloak. The term is non-canonical.

Ennor: Middle-earth.

Fae: Equivalent of the Quenya fëa: spirit, soul.

Belain: Plural of Balan: Vala.

Author’s Note: This chapter and what follows was inspired by Dreamflower’s character study of Legolas, What the Heart Knows, found on this site at Dreamflower’s Mathoms III, which in turn was inspired by Christmas at Edhellond. Parts of Dreamflower’s character study have been incorporated into this chapter with her kind permission.