Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Dust (#4366)
Author: curiouswombat
Chapters: 9

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Tolkien tells us that, after the death of King Elessar, Legolas built a ship and sailed West, accompanied by Gimli. This is a story of that time, a time of mortal deaths, preparations... and The Key. Now Complete.
Published: 03 Aug 2011
Updated: 19 Sep 2011
Warnings: character death - obviously!
Type: General
Characters: Legolas; Arwen; Tindómë & Rumil


Chapter 1 - Prologue - Dust Will Turn the Seed Home

Author's note - the verses at the beginning of each chapter are from the songs of Scottish group Runrig.


Prologue - Dust Will Turn the Seed Home

Deep the faith and pure the light
That shines inside and guides your people
Oh I do believe
Dust will turn the seed
Home.

Dust. C. McDonald


When Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, died it sent a shiver through the heart of Legolas. When Boromir, Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor, followed his father beyond the circles of the world, having also attained a life-span that showed his Númenórean bloodline, it sent more than a shiver through the heart of the Lord of Eryn Ithil.

For almost a fortnight, after his return from the funeral, Legolas spent much of his time sitting, silently, amongst the topmost branches of his beloved trees in this land he had come to love as much as his forest of birth. In his head he heard the cry of the gulls – ugly, harsh, yet so enticing – the sound of the sea-longing deep in his fëa. How he had wished, through this past century and more, that he had filled his ears with beeswax ‘ere he had neared those accursed ships – that he had never heard the tuneless, heartless, love-call of the West.

But, as always, when the picture of a warrior, made deaf from choice, came to him he knew it was also the picture of a warrior who would not have survived the battle. And, though it would have been a quick way to the West, he knew he regretted nothing of the time spent since, fighting the longing to leave, fearing the time when he would no longer have reason to fight it.

Gimli was spending time in his second home, here in the heart of Eryn Ithil, planted solidly, foursquare, beneath the trees that sheltered Legolas’ own home. Yet not even the knowledge that the dwarf could not reach him here in the high canopy, but had to wait his return to the ground as a bird waiting for crumbs, could tempt Legolas’ down for long. In fact it made his heart ache more.

He had always said that he would stay here, would not sail, whilst Aragorn lived and reigned in Minas Tirith. And now Aragorn was reigning with his third Steward – his own grandson. Princess Gilraen, whose naming ceremony seemed, to the elf, to be hardly more than a season or two past, was widowed; sorrowing for ‘young’ Boromir who had loved her since her cradle days.

It made the idea of Aragorn’s death seem… more real. And Legolas was torn; he did not want to think of life without the man who had become a brother of the heart, nor did he want to leave these trees that he had nurtured. Yet, when Aragorn was gone, Legolas thought he would no longer have to resist the cry of the gulls.

But Gimli? How could he leave Gimli, if he still lived then? The dwarf as close a heart-brother as the man, if not closer. Yet how could he cope if Gimli died before Aragorn? Could he resist the gulls then? Each time the dwarf came to Eryn Ithil, or Legolas visited Gimli in his mine of Aglarond, the elf surreptitiously observed the dwarf for signs of aging. Now it was difficult to avoid them; the dark russet hair glinted with broad veins of silver when the moonlight caught it and, at the recent funeral, Gimli had complained that his knees ached now when he was above ground in the rain.

Even the trees could not bring any ease to the turmoil in Legolas heart and mind. He asked the Valar for their help – but he knew not if they heard the voices of Elves in Middle Earth any more.

When he had spent much of twelve days alone, unwelcoming, he heard the familiar sound of Tindómë approaching. The trees were not her natural habitat, as they were his, but they must think she was right to come as they were helping her, not hindering her, to reach him.

He did not turn as she felt her way carefully towards him. Perhaps she would take the hint and leave…

A hand touched his arm and then she was sitting beside him, her arm around his waist, and her head on his shoulder.

“Atheg,” she said, “I know what is frightening you. Every one who dies hurts us, even if they were not dear to our hearts. Every one reminds us that there will be others. But it isn’t going to make anything any better sitting up here and sulking like an elfling.”

He still did not acknowledge her words. He was not sulking like an elfling.

“You so are,” Tindómë said, even though he had said nothing.

“Anyway,” she continued, “it’s about time that you put your big boy pants on, got yourself down from here, and made the most of the time we still have with some of them – like, you know, Gimli who’s stuck down at ground-level harrumphing and worrying about you.”

“Big boy pants?” he couldn’t resist asking. She probably knew that – she knew him remarkably well, this ‘not-quite-an-elf’ who was a sister of his heart.

“Big boy pants. Stop behaving as if you should still be in diapers.

“I’ve got a coming-of-age celebration to finish organising,” she continued, “and you are both the Lord of Eryn Ithil, and my gwador. Ithilienne and I expect you to be down at ground level, ‘Lording’ for it, and carrying out your duties, and if you stay up here neither of us will ever, ever, speak to you again.”

Aye, thought Legolas, and ‘Lording’ at the coming-of-age party of his heart-sister’s daughter was going to have its own problems… Staying up the trees had its attractions for more reasons than the pull of the sea-longing.

……………………………..

He had come down from the trees and got on with life. The gulls faded into their usual faint echo heard only as he walked the dream-paths. Gimli said nothing – just clapped him on the back and nodded with satisfaction as Legolas played his part at the celebration. And if Rumil had looked at him slightly quizzically, the day after Ithilienne’s coming-of-age, he had said nothing…

As if in answer to his prayers to the Valar, or possibly as reward for coming down from the canopy and playing his part at Ithilienne’s celebration, within a week Legolas found his feet walking a very strange dream path. He was not surprised, when he returned to wakefulness, to find Tindómë seeking him out within the hour.

“We did walk together last night, didn’t we?” she asked with no preamble.

“Yes. If you remember too, then we most surely did,” he answered her as he felt a great weight lift from his heart.

“So, then,” she said, a smile lighting her features, “are you going to ask him on your own, or shall I come with?”

In the end he broached the subject to Gimli alone. The dwarf looked at him with frank disbelief when Legolas told him what both he and Tindómë had seen.

“Don’t be silly, elf; they would never let a ship into the Undying Lands carrying a dwarf!” Gimli declared.

“Well,” Legolas retorted, “not only have they let in ships bearing hobbits, but they could hardly keep out a ship that carried their Key!”

Gimli did not answer straight away but was clearly thinking. “And you both dreamed this?” he finally asked, still sounding suspicious.

“We both found ourselves, together, on an Elven ship,” Legolas confirmed. “We were sailing down the Anduin, we both recognised it, we were not sailing from the Havens and, as we stood together at the bow, you stood with us.”

“Harrumph!” Gimli sounded almost triumphant, “that only tells you that I might still be alive when you go – and I might sail a little way down the river with you. It doesn’t mean I’m going to make the whole journey!”

“Tindómë and I both knew we were sailing to Valinor,” Legolas said, for the second or third time. “We could hear the gulls, see the open sea ahead, feel the breeze behind us, and we knew where we were going. And we both saw you, with your keepsake of the Lady Galadriel held in your hand, as you looked with us towards the West. If you come with us, Elvellon, you would see her again…”

……………………………..

Within days of that conversation Legolas sent a long letter to Círdan the Shipwright. Before the year was out one of the Teleri arrived at Eryn Ithil and, in a quiet corner of the woodland, the elves began to put more wood to season.


……………………………..


Atheg – ‘something an elf might call their elder brother’.
Gwador – sworn brother
Elvellon – Elf-friend.

……………………………..
Disclaimer: Many of the characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien. (And Joss Whedon if he is at all bothered that Tindómë once spent a short time in his care...)

……………………………..


Chapter 2 - Chapter One - The Precious Years are Gone

But now I know and I don't want to believe it
Where does it leave you now
That the precious years are gone?

C&R McDonald.

Even by the standards of men the time was not long between Boromir and Gilraen’s son becoming Steward and the arrival of the summons to the King’s House that Legolas had been dreading. There was nothing special in the wording, nothing to give away the reason for the request that Prince Legolas, Lord of Ithilien, come to stay with his friend and comrade of old, Aragorn, King Elessar; but Legolas had felt a cold chill run through him as the messenger handed him the letter.

As if in confirmation, there was a letter, also, for Tindómë. This was written by Queen Arwen, with none of the usual questions about Rumil, Haldirin, or Ithilienne, or asides about news heard from her brothers. Instead it simply requested that Tindómë and Rumil come and visit her in Minas Tirith, in a fortnight’s time, accompanying Legolas; no mention of their children.

None of the three preparing for the visit were at all surprised when Gimli arrived in Eryn Ithil a few days later accompanied, as usual, by an escort of Rohirrim.

Tindómë was not party to the conversation between Gimli and Legolas, the first evening after the dwarf arrived, but she could make an educated guess – Legolas had said the same things to her at least three times since the arrival of those letters, and she had found herself agreeing, whilst trying to give the other side of the argument as well.

Yes, Aragorn was still physically fit – for a mortal man aged two hundred and ten, anyway. To be honest, Tindómë reckoned he was pretty fit for an average, non-Númenórean-type, man of about sixty-five or so, although she wasn’t really an expert; when she’d thought she was mortal herself everyone over thirty-five had been ‘old’ – and since she had lived amongst the elves she had actually schooled herself to be less aware of numerical age.

Yes, he would probably live a good few years more if he let nature take its course. Goodness knows how much longer as none of his forefathers for a good few generations had lived their full life-span and died in their beds.

Even yes, it was cruel to consider dying and taking Arwen with him beyond the Circles of the World; away from the brothers and grandfather who treasured their time with her.

But, Tindómë had argued, if they were right and Aragorn was calling for his friends because he wished to say his farewells, then he must have a reason to choose to use the gift of his line now. Perhaps, as a healer, he knew that he had some illness that would soon weaken him. Perhaps he feared he was going senile… uh… losing control of his memories.

They could only know, she had said, if they asked him; and even then he might not give an answer that they could easily accept.

As Legolas and Gimli talked in Gimli’s cottage, Tindómë sat quietly on the balcony of her own home with Rumil – but the possibility of Aragorn’s death was not far from their thoughts, either.

“I do not think Arwen would want me to record their deaths, meleth,” Rumil said thoughtfully, “could Legolas and Gimli be wrong?”

“I wondered about that, too,” his wife admitted, “but perhaps she wants you to record that they were both in good health and not failing or suffering?”

“You might well be right…” he sighed softly before speaking again. “It will bring many changes if you are right.”

She nestled into the curve where his arm held her against him and thought for a moment or two. It was still a wonder to her that she could remember so much – perhaps not a completely elven, total-recall, memory, but still so much better than she would have expected had she remained Dawn.

It did not take long for her to find the exactly the words she had ‘filed’ almost a century before.

“Rumil-nín, you said to me, when we passed through Lothlorien, ‘Our time in this place is over. But we are together and we are happy… In an Elf’s life there are many changes. You and I are young, this is the first time we have moved on – but it will not be the last… It is how it is.’”

She paused for a few seconds, and then added, “We are still young…”

She could feel Rumil smiling; she didn’t need to turn to see his face.

“We may be young; but you are very wise for your years, meleth. We have done what we set out to do here. These trees are happy and healthy, and the ground is fertile. I remember also saying, then, that there are other places in Middle Earth where Elves dwelt and dwell no more. I said that our time in that place was over, and I meant the Golden Wood. Soon our time in this place will be over, too.

“But it will take some time to build the ship, even if Legolas feels he must sail quickly… and we will take our most prized possessions with us. We will have Haldirin, and Ithilienne, and we will surely find a place in the West to make a home.”

Tindómë didn’t answer him. After a few minutes he spoke again.

“You are worried.”

She replied, slowly, “I am sure Ithilienne will sail with us. She would follow Legolas even if we chose not to.”

That touched on something of which they were both aware but they had never really discussed. Briefly they let their thoughts merge together – and they were, as Tindómë had expected, almost identical. She brought to mind, now, Haldirin. Haldirin walking hand in hand with an elleth, smiling at her, and then bending his head to kiss her…

Rhîwen. Daughter of Legolas’ brother. Princess of Eryn Lasgalen. Who had visited Eryn Ithil three times in the past fifteen years. Haldirin had managed to spend time in Eryn Lasgalen on a couple of occasions over the same period. It was beginning to look, young as they were, as if they were growing closer to each other than one might expect for elves living so far apart…

“He will come with us,” Rumil said firmly. “He is as loyal to Legolas as any warrior to his Lord even though he is still young. Not to mention how close he is to Ithilienne, and how close is his link to you, meleth.”

“He is so like you, husband-mine, that if you are sure, then I will stop worrying about it. Well,” she was honest, “I’ll try to stop worrying, anyway!”

“We may have many years before we need to think of sailing, yet,” Rumil said, but Tindómë could feel his emotions – he was not guarding them – and he didn’t really believe what he said.

……………………………..

It was a solemn party that left Eryn Ithil to travel to Minas Tirith. As always, Galanthir rode alongside Legolas, but there was no need for his ‘shield’ on this trip***, although Eriathwen had continued to accompany him for trips when there would be formal balls and dinners. Any questions as to why they had not wed, despite her being introduced over the years as Legolas’ ‘intended’, were met with the explanation that elven courtships could be very long.

When they reached the Citadel Gimli and Legolas went to their own suites, Galanthir slid into his usual role as Legolas’ ‘manservant’, and Tindómë and Rumil were shown to the rooms they usually used on such visits. Everything felt normal and yet… A maid arrived within a few minutes of their arrival to ask if both Rumil and Tindómë would attend her Majesty, and one look at Arwen was enough to convince Tindómë that they were right about the purpose of the visit.

Arwen had once admitted to Tindómë that she had expected that, once she had made her choice of mortality, she would begin to age as a woman would – her hair become grey over time and her skin lined. But such had not been her fate – her hair was still the colour of the darkest night, her skin smooth; and yet, today, she looked older. It was hard to define exactly how; there was a slight stoop as she stood, a dulling of her eyes, but more it was a loss of her inner glow.

For an elf, she came quickly to the point – Aragorn had, indeed, decided that it was time for him to hand over the Kingship to Eldarion and to take Iluvatar’s gift to mortals of an escape from their decaying body; he had decided to die. She had tried to persuade him that there was, as yet, no need but his mind was made up.

“Is he ill?” Tindómë asked.

“No,” Arwen said, sadly, “but he finds that he does not remember the name of every servant, and he fears the loss of his faculties. He needs to rise twice most nights to empty his bladder and he fears that he may lose control.”

‘M’kay,’ thought Tindómë, ‘maybe a bit more information than I needed there!’

“He has chosen. He says I should not try to hold him back, that I would see him unmanned. And so we make our preparations.”

Arwen spoke directly to Rumil, “I would have you make a last record to take to Father and Mother. I know Legolas has fought the cry of the sea throughout all the years since I came here and it is his love for Estel that holds him in Middle Earth. I do not think he will tarry much longer once we are gone.

“I know you,” she nodded at Tindómë, “have promised to sail with him. I would ask you to take the record of my life, our life here, with you for my parents.”

“It is a hard duty, my lady,” Rumil said, “but we will both do as you bid.”

“Thank you,” Arwen said softly, “I expected no less of one of my Grandparents’ warriors.”

……………………………..

*** See ‘The Right Kind of Shield.’

……………………………..

It was only two more days until the dinner that all those who had been invited knew to be the King’s farewell. The twins had arrived at much the same time as the group from Eryn Ithil, accompanied by Glorfindel and Lord Celeborn. Tindómë had never seen any of the four look as they did now; as if they carried the weight of Arda on their shoulders, as if none of them would ever laugh again.

She had known, always, that the ‘sister’ of her earliest memories would grow old and die. She knew, in fact, that Buffy was doing exactly that, in her own time, in her own dimension – last time Radagast’s ‘window’ had enabled them to communicate Buffy looked like someone’s Grandma and spoke of hip replacements and the damage so many years of martial arts had caused. But, for the elves, so little time had passed since they realised that Arwen had chosen death over immortality – chosen love over blood-kin.

Legolas and Gimli sat at the top table, beside Aragorn, and neither looked any happier than the Els. Tindómë had seen little of them since their arrival in Minas Tirith – they had spent most of their time alone together, or with Aragorn. The deaths of Pippin and Merry had been hard for them – this one would be worse.

Eldarion and his family took their places, as did The Steward with his family, his brothers and sisters, and his mother; Gilraen still in dark colours, mourning her husband. Aragorn’s two other daughters sat with their own families, including representatives of the Royal family of Rohan, and the Princes of Dol Amroth; even a great-grandson who was heir to the ruler of the Havens of Umbar.

As Rumil quietly sketched faces, and jotted notes, Tindómë looked at everyone and considered that there would be elven blood through the ruling houses of much of Middle Earth for a long time. Arwen and Aragorn, she thought, would be like Queen Victoria was to Europe back in the old dimension. Sometimes there would be a ruler who had them more than once in his family line and would achieve a great age that would make him (or possibly her) memorable for generations to come and so on.

Arwen and Aragorn would achieve a form of immortality; just not one recognised by elves.

……………………………..

Aragorn had made a speech. Tindómë had expected him to – but she had rather hoped he wouldn’t. Surely everyone knew how much he cared for them and that he had faith in them all for the future? It was a bit like watching The Oscars had been back in Sunnydale. She was certain he’d already said his personal farewells. But it was a kingly sort of thing to do – even if it probably made things even harder for Arwen, and their brothers, and everyone else.

Now she sat with Rumil in the room beside the library where he usually worked; it was not a day for being alone. She remembered Anarion, the librarian who had crushed on her… over a century ago. She did not know the name of the current librarian. It came to her that she, too, was withdrawing from the mortal world – it got harder to keep making friends only to lose them.

The Citadel was amazingly quiet. The whole place was already in mourning, she thought, even though the King probably still lived. Or maybe he didn’t. She wondered how long it took a Númenórian to die. Arwen had said her farewell to Tindómë, quietly, before the official dinner; but Tindómë didn’t know if the Queen intended lying beside her husband and dying at the same time, or whether she was going to wait to mourn him, or… well, it was really outside Tindómë’s experience, Arwen’s too. No-one seemed to know quite what the correct protocol was.

She was going to miss Arwen. More than she would Aragorn, to be honest. He was usually a bit busy being King; Arwen liked to sit and chat and, when you got to know her, she had the same sense of humour as her brothers. Legolas might feel bereft at the loss of Aragorn, and Tindómë would do her best to comfort him, but she wouldn’t really want to come back to Minas Tirith with no Arwen here. Perhaps it was time to leave Ithilien.

Before the sun reached its peak a bell broke the silence. It was followed by the sound of pigeons being released, close by, the soft sound of their wings easily audible in the stillness of the Citadel. The news of the King’s death was being taken to all his lands…

……………………………..



Character notes, etc. -
Galanthir – on of Legolas patrol from Mirkwood days – he travels as Legolas’ ‘servant’ whenever he goes, officially, to Minas Tirith.

Eriathwen – Tindómë’s friend who began to also accompany Legolas on such visits to ‘shield’ him from the constant attempts by the noblewomen of Gondor to marry him – or marry him off to their daughters.

Radagast’s ‘window’ – a magic item made by Radagast to enable occasional communication between Dawn/Tindómë and her ‘sister’ from California.
…………………………………………………………….

Disclaimer as the Prologue.


Chapter 3 - Chapter Two - Strangers of Time and Place

Chapter Two - Strangers of Time and Place




Sons and daughters of the dust
Strangers of time and place
For a while your limbs entwine
Holy marriage of the flesh
But I know your ways
Your ways are not mortal thought
Till the day breaks and shadows run
Run away.

Harvest Moon, C & R MacDonald.

There were three days of deep mourning for the King before his funeral procession. Arwen spent all three days kneeling at the side of her husband’s body, her head on his unmoving chest, some or all of her children and grandchildren with her at all times. Her brothers, Lord Celeborn, and Glorfindel stayed with her all the time, as well, but Legolas had found it impossible to remain in the dim, still, room so full of sorrow; he had gone out into Arwen’s garden after kissing both Aragorn and Arwen on their brows.

He sat now beside the pool and the waterfall that he had designed with her such a long time, and yet such a short time, ago; Gimli, who had made it all work, sat a little way off saying nothing. Legolas heard footsteps approaching – soft but unmistakable; Tindómë. He hoped she would not touch him – he did not think he could bear sympathy now, or he might… she touched him on the arm.

“Atheg,” she said.

He did not move a muscle. She sat down beside him. He should have retreated to one of the trees, rather than sitting here, but that would have left Gimli alone. Tindómë would have climbed after him, anyway. But even as he wished to be alone, to hug his sorrow to himself, yet still he was glad that she had come.

“There is nobody here but you and me,” she said softly. “And Gimli, of course, but he is as much your brother as you are mine.” Her arms came around him and she pulled him, unresisting, around and down until his head was on her shoulder. Her hand stroked down his hair and she said, “You have held me when I’ve wept, atheg…”

Then his tears came – he knew he could have held them back, showed no emotion, remained dignified – but it did not matter any more; he wept silently on Tindómë’s shoulder. Even when he heard heavy footsteps approach he did not move. Gimli’s arm came down onto his shoulder and, although Legolas kept his face turned away from the dwarf, he heard what could only be sniffles; Gimli, too wept for Aragorn.

……………………………..

Over a hundred and twenty years had passed since Tindómë had sat on a balcony of The King’s House, with Rumil and Orophin, and watched people make their way across the courtyard to the crowning of King Elessar of the House of Telcontar.

This was a different balcony, and Orophin was not with them, but the echoes were there. Many mourners were there because they were family; others were officials, foreign ambassadors, or members of the Gondorian aristocracy; they crossed the courtyard beneath the window where Tindómë and Rumil stood. So very much like the crowds who had criss-crossed the space before the coronation. And most of them no more familiar than those faces, then, had been.

But amongst them, unchanging and yet so very changed, she saw Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir just as they had been at the coronation. Her heart lurched as she saw Gimli, walking beside Legolas, each emotionally supporting the other; but there were no hobbits, no wizard.

Finally, dressed from head to toe in black, heavily veiled, supported by her grandfather and her son, came Arwen.

“Perhaps,” Rumil said, “she thought it best to remain alive to support Eldarion.”

“You think?” Tindómë asked. “She doesn’t look as if she’s supporting him so much as he’s supporting her…”

“Why else would she not have left the circles of the world in the same moments as Aragorn?” her husband asked her.

“I don’t really know – maybe she’ll wait until they are in the House of the Dead, and just lie down beside him, but that seems… horrible. Maybe she’ll come back, and have to put up with people all being sympathetic to her and saying things like how sad they are at her loss, and so on, just to be polite. Then go to her bed and choose to die there. But… I don’t know, I have a bad feeling about it, herven-nín.”

She could feel that Rumil was saddened to see both his current and his former Lord so sorrowful; but also worried, just as she was. As they stood back from the window he took her in his arms and they stood together, gaining support from each other.

There was a reception in the Great Hall of Feasts – but such a solemn and melancholy event, Tindómë thought, as she stood on the sidelines beside Rumil and, mostly, people-watched. So many joyous occasions they had attended in this place, over the years, as Rumil recorded naming ceremonies and, later, the marriages of Arwen and Aragorn’s children. Today he held no pen or pencil; this was not a scene to take to Arwen’s parents and grandmother.

Almost against her will she found her mind turning to the first time they had gone Starlight Bathing – and Rumil had worn black and dark grey relieved only by silver. Today he wore an almost identical outfit, in keeping with the traditions of Gondor, and his silver blond hair and pale skin glowed against the sombre colours; he was beautiful, this husband of hers.

Inside her head she heard his mental voice. “You are beautiful, too, meleth, even all in black. I would take comfort in sharing our bodies together later. It is a pity, perhaps, that Eriathwen did not come, for I think such comfort would help Legolas also. And he is one ellon that we most certainly could not offer such comfort to.”

It was unusual for a married couple to share their bodies with anyone else – but, for comfort, not totally unknown. But Rumil was right; she totally couldn’t have, not with Legolas. For a second her natural sense of humour shone through the heavy atmosphere of gloom and she found herself ‘saying’, “Well you could. I could go do something else…”

Actually Legolas did join them later, but certainly not in their bed. Whilst Arwen’s kin stayed with her, Legolas and Gimli sought Tindómë and Rumil out, Galanthir with them. No-one tonight cared whether he was supposed to be a servant or not. Anyway, Tindómë found herself thinking, there would probably be few more visits to the court of Minas Tirith now…

The party spent much of the evening listening as Legolas and Gimli reminisced about the first days of the Fellowship; not just the things Aragorn had done, but small moments with the hobbits, memories of Boromir, of Gandalf.

All the time, Galanthir kept topping up wine glasses and pouring mead into a large tankard that Gimli had brought out with him. Eventually, as Rumil joined in with an anecdote about the march to Helm’s Deep, Tindómë found her eye lids drooping but, just as she began to drowse against Rumil’s shoulder, Legolas stood up and signalled to Galanthir. Between them they manoeuvred Gimli to his feet and towards the door back into the building.

For the first time since they arrived in Minas Tirith, Tindómë saw her ‘big brother’ grin. “He never learns…!” he said. “He will sleep well tonight. Galanthir will keep me from melancholy, nethig, Rumil; I will see you at breakfast.”

For a fleeting second Tindómë thought of her comment to Rumil, and of Galanthir keeping Legolas from melancholy… but it was only a fleeting thought, followed by ‘and if so it would be nothing to do with me…’ before deciding that her husband looked very beautiful and he, too, might need comfort after mention of Helm’s Deep.

……………………………..

There was still a sense of unreality about the Citadel; usually Tindómë and Rumil had joined the royal family for breakfast, but it seemed wrong to intrude on Eldarion and his family now. The problem was solved by Galanthir knocking at their door.

“Legolas says to come and join him and Gimli for breakfast. We have asked a maid to bring it to Legolas’ suite. There is no word of the Lady Arwen, and we have not seen Lord Celeborn or Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Legolas tries to hide his grief, for he feels as if he has no right to grieve as they do, but we cannot leave this place, yet, either. Still, he is now occupied dealing with a dwarven hang-over…”

Sure enough, Legolas was plying Gimli with food, Gimli was insisting he was most certainly not hung-over and the gentle bickering was the most normal thing Tindómë had witnessed since the night of the ‘last supper’.

“Do we wait here until Eldarion’s coronation, atheg?” Tindómë asked.

“No. No. I do not think I could stay here that long. Already he has to start meetings with ambassadors, but I think it will be some time before he is crowned. He, too, awaits his mother’s passing as well as mourning his father.”

“Are we going home soon, then?” she ventured to ask.

“I… I think we will stay a little longer; to be here for Elladan and Elrohir when Arwen is forever lost to them. And… I do not think I can bear to be outdoors just today – I fear I might hear the cry of the gulls, nethig.”

She had been kinda expecting that.

“Yeah, well, just tell the gulls that you’ll put them on hold,” she said, reverting to her ‘Valley Sindarin’ partly through stress and, also, because she knew it not only amused Legolas but also made him think about what she’d said.

When the knock came on the door, the five were sitting in companionable silence; Rumil, as often, with paper and a pencil, Gimli likewise, sketching an intricate design for something, and occasionally muttering to himself. Legolas and Galanthir were sitting, heads together, over a piece of wood carving, and Tindómë, with fine wool and needles made by her husband, knitting.

Into this very picture of domesticity, Elladan’s entrance seemed almost alien.

They all turned, barely breathing, expecting him to announce Arwen’s death. Instead he turned weary looking eyes to Tindómë.

“Tithen maethor, would you come with me to Arwen’s chamber? She is asking for you.”

Well, that was pretty unexpected. And he obviously thought it was not going to be an easy visit, or he wouldn’t have called her ‘tithen maethor’…

……………………………..

Arwen was in her private withdrawing room; as Tindómë entered she waved to her to come and sit beside her, and then looked at her brothers. They ushered all the other family members out of the room until only Arwen and Tindómë remained. Arwen was still in black – somehow the black fabric looked darker than her hair – the raven black hair, that had never shown any sign of grey, still didn’t but it had lost all its sheen. Arwen seemed, somehow, smaller, diminished in some way, and the tracks of tears may not have been visible, but her red eyes and puffy cheeks showed clearly that she had shed many.

They sat in silence for a few moments as if neither knew how to begin a conversation where one of them had been expected, by the other, to already be dead. Then both began to speak together. Tindómë deferred to the... Dowager Queen, she realised. Eldarion’s wife might be very old, and frail, but she was, now, Queen of Gondor.

“Tindómë,” Arwen began, “Tinu, I... I need your help... your advice.”

She paused, leaving Tindómë touched by the use of the ‘pet name’, which the twins actually used for both of them, and baffled as to what advice she could be expected to give.

“I... I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to die! Estel did not tell me how, but it looked so simple when he did it. I thought, because you used to be mortal, or were at least brought up as a mortal, you could tell me how.”

‘Ai Elbereth! What in the name of all the Valar am I meant to say to that?’ Tindómë thought.

“Uh – to be honest, Arwen, most people I knew when I was part of a mortal family were trying very hard not to die. The way Aragorn did it was – well I don’t think ordinary people can do it like that.”

Arwen nodded slowly. “I have asked Eldarion, and Gilraen, already. Eldarion said he did not know – but expects that he will when the time comes. Gilraen said she will stay for her children and let nature take its course. But, much as I love my children, I do not know just how nature would take its course for me – perhaps I will stay to see not only my children but my grandchildren and great, great, great grandchildren die and Estel’s fëa will have flown far beyond me…”

She looked as if she was about to break into tears again.

This was not an easy subject to broach, Tindómë thought, but no-one else was going to do it, so…

“Most people die because they are ill, or else their body just gets worn out so that their heart simply can’t get the blood around any more and it stops beating. But when people really have had enough of life, and their body is still fit and well, then sometimes they just… kill themselves. Take poison, or,” she thought on her feet, shooting yourself or throwing yourself under a train were not options here, “ uh, cutting their wrists where the blood flows, or, even, throwing themselves from a very great height so that they break everything…”

“I am not sure which poison would work,” Arwen said, “and I am not sure what Eru, or the Valar, think of the other options – for an elf are they the same as kin-slaying?”

“Uh – I don’t think they would be – and you want to be treated like a mortal. But I can see your point; and it’s not good for whoever finds your body, anyway,” Tindómë answered.

She thought a little longer. “Sometimes, when people are so sad that they don’t want to go on, they just stop taking care of themselves. Stop eating, don’t do anything if they get ill, and, then, something that would usually just make them ill for a few days will make them die instead. Except that you wouldn’t get ill. But…”

“It would take me quite a long time,” Arwen said, slowly, “an elf can go for a long time on short rations. But the elfling that you found in Éowyn’s garden had just faded away from lack of food, and the cold weather…”

“And,” Tindómë was beginning to see a rather bleak path ahead, but a path no less, “even though you have chosen mortality perhaps, if you were to allow yourself, you would… well… fade. It would be very sad for your family, but it would surely mean that your fëa would join Aragorn’s.”

“I… I think it is the only way,” Arwen said, sounding, oddly, more positive than she had since Tindómë arrived in Minas Tirith before Aragorn had died. “But,” Arwen continued, “I would not want to stay here. It is not my home, now, and I do not know whether Estel’s fëa is still here waiting for me or has already fled.”

“When mortals choose to simply let themselves ‘fade’ they often do it somewhere where they’ve been happy,” Tindómë suggested, thinking all the time ‘the twins will murder me if they know I’m telling their sister to kill herself by self-neglect, especially when they know the next bit!’

“Perhaps you should go to Imladris… you were happy there together, and Aragorn’s fëa would surely know to look for you there.”

“No.” Arwen’s answer surprised Tindómë, but the Dowager Queen went on, “We spent little time together in Imladris – it was my home, it was his home, but rarely together. No – but there is somewhere that we were both so happy together. He would surely be willing to wait for me there.”

She didn’t say where, though. Instead she stood up and came over to Tindómë and hugged her tightly.

“We will not meet again, Tinu, in this world or beyond it until it is remade. But now I know the path I will take, and I thank you. Please tell my parents I loved them very much, when you meet them – but I loved Estel more.”

She stood back, and then added, “When you see my mother, I want you to hold her, tightly, for me. Promise me?”

‘Meep!’ Tindómë thought, ‘So not the thing to do to a high-ranking elven lady you’ve never met before! But I guess this is sort of a promise to a dying friend, even if she’s dying pretty slowly…’

“I promise,” she said.

“Thank you,” Arwen said. “Thank you for that; and for being willing to talk about dying. Please, ask Elladan and Elrohir to come back.”

And that was it – dismissed. Arwen already looked as if she had almost forgotten Tindómë was there. So she let herself out quietly and did, as requested, find the twins and send them to their sister.

……………………………..

Arwen was right. Neither Tindómë nor Rumil, Legolas, or Gimli saw her again. A little after dawn the next morning Elladan knocked on the door to Tindómë and Rumil’s suite; they were not asleep.

“Arwen has gone,” he said.

“Gone?” Tindómë asked.

“As the first light streaked the sky.”

That still wasn’t helping a lot… “Gone where Elladan?”

“Lothlorien.”

Well that certainly wasn’t what Tindómë had expected.

Rumil, who knew of his wife’s conversation with Arwen, nodded. “They were happy there,” he said, “it is the right place for her. The trees sleep now, but they will awake enough to support her.”

“She would not let us go with her…” Elladan said, his voice sad.

“But?” Tindómë now recognised the slight vocal nuances of all these elves she had come to regard as ‘family’.

“She told Elrohir and I not to follow and she rode out alone. But Grandfather said that she had not forbidden him from following and, even if she had, he is still her grandfather – and he was the Lord of Lothlorien for Ages.

“And then Glorfindel said that he would ride with Grandfather, unless we needed him more. Which,” Elladan finished, “of course we do not.”

He paused. Neither Tindómë nor Rumil spoke – it was difficult to know what to say.

Elladan continued, “Thank you, Tinu, for talking to her yesterday.”

Uh – that wasn’t exactly what Tindómë had expected, either.

“I do not want to know your conversation,” he went on, “but it lifted her from deep despair. Whatever you said helped her to find her way – even if it is a way that I know not, yet, whether I will ever follow.”

Tindómë felt as if he had kicked her in the stomach. And there was nothing she could say, even if she wanted to scream ‘No! Don’t you even think of not sailing! Don’t think for one moment of choosing mortality!’ Telling him to totally abandon all thoughts of even seeing Arwen in the afterlife, within hours of her heading off to die, was so not in the best possible taste.

Rumil knew, of course, how she felt. She could feel his love wrapping around her and hear his silent voice in her head. "They may not come when we sail, meleth, but surely they will come eventually.”

She hoped he was right.


……………………………..

‘tithen maethor’ - little warrior. The twins gave her this nickname not long after she ‘arrived’ in Middle Earth.
……………………………..

AUTHOR'S NOTE; If you want to know what Galanthir did to 'Keep Legolas from melancholy' you can read it HERE; http://www.tthfanfic.org/Story-23510-9/curiouslywombat+For+Small+Returns.htm


Disclaimer as chapter one.


Chapter 4 - Chapter Three - She Once Meant the World to Me.

Chapter Three – She Once Meant the World to Me


I saw her again last summer
Where the hard rains fall
The grass grew long around her feet
Where the years took their toll
She once meant the world to me
But we by-passed destiny
On the road not taken
The road unknown

C&R McDonald



It was good, Legolas thought, to be back amongst his trees. Even as he planned to leave them for ever, their gentle presence soothed him, strengthened him, helped him think straight and begin to make plans for what was to come.

He had tried to get the twins to agree to travel West with him, within the next couple of years, before they had left Minas Tirith; himself to return to Eryn Ithil and them to Imladris. But they could not be persuaded. ‘Not yet’, they had said. At least they had not said ‘not ever’. He thought that Tindómë would surely try to persuade them, too. His ‘little sister’ was very close to the sons of Elrond.

But, for now, the twins had ridden back to Imladris – their sorrow still wrapped, cloak-like, around them. Legolas wondered how long it might be before Glorfindel returned to his post in the hidden valley – how long it would take Arwen to fade away and join her Estel.

For the past few years Legolas had been able to see clearly only as far as the moment that Aragorn would breathe his last and his friend would be lost to the elf for ever. He had expected to be weighed down by sadness and loss, haunted by the gulls, expected to feel at least as heavy hearted as the twins had looked. And yet, now that he knew he would see Aragorn no more, that the time had come to move on, his mind was clearer than he had expected, even though his heart was heavy.

The pull of the sea was less acute now than it had been for a long time; as if the gulls knew that his decision was now made, and soon, soon, he would be theirs. As if they were happy for his trees to have him to themselves, for a little while, provided that he did not try to stay here for too long.

He remembered the trees of the Golden Woods; they slept now, they did not fret for the elves who had left them. And these trees of Ithilien were now healthy, their roots fast in healthy soil – they would not suffer when the elves departed. The memory of the sleeping mallyrn brought Arwen to his mind again. He could not envy her the slow fading – even though he knew that, if it was possible, Aragorn’s fëa would be with her as her hroar became less and less a part of her.

Valar be praised, he thought, that the deep, deep, friendships he had formed with mortals had not led him to find love in the way it had for Arwen. No, Legolas was sure his heart would be given to an elleth, already he was aware of a new note beginning to harmonise with the song of his soul. It was… it was, well ‘scary’ as Tindómë might say. Although, he thought shaking his head ruefully, she might also say quite a lot more… but not just yet.

The Telerin shipwright, who had come when he had asked Círdan for help, was still here. He had decided that he would like to sample life amongst trees and Wood Elves for a little; he seemed to be forming a bond with one of the ellyth, too. It was time, Legolas thought, to talk seriously to the shipwright, to find out how long it would take to build a suitable vessel – perhaps, first, it might be best to find out just how many elves that vessel would need to hold – along with one Dwarf and The Key.

Yes – first a meeting of everyone so that plans could be discussed openly not, as he was sure they were at present, only out of his hearing. Then decide on a time-scale. Gimli was not, yet, really old – a two or three year timetable should give everyone time to get organised, and the gulls would surely allow him to remain sane enough to do all that was required if they knew he would be theirs so soon.

He ran his hand lovingly down the bark of the tree, as one would down the flank of a favourite horse, and jumped down to the ground.

……………………………..

It was almost summer again. The leaves were all unfurled so that the trees provided shadow and shelter, quiet places to sit and contemplate, or simply sit and soak up the warm sunshine. Today Tindómë was curled up against the trunk of the tree near the practice ground, where she had ‘seen’ the young Ithilienne even before her conception. News had come that Arwen was no more. That she had spent the winter in the silent, snow covered, Golden Wood and had finally drifted away from ‘the husk of her hroar’ when the niphredil had begun to bloom on Cerin Amroth.

Her grandfather and Glorfindel – ever her protector – had remained near her over the winter. They made sure she knew they were there for her and had ensured that she was safe from predators. When she had finally died (or faded, who could tell?) they had buried what little was left of her there, under the circles of trees on the hill in the centre of the Golden Wood, where she had first pledged herself to Aragorn.

Tindómë hoped Aragorn’s spirit had been there with her; had welcomed her to him when she was finally able to shake off her body. Arwen and Tindómë had said their farewells in Minas Tirith and, although Tindómë knew that she would miss Arwen for a long time, she could not, really, be very sad that the elleth had finally achieved what she had wanted.

The twins would know by now, too. Suddenly Tindómë had a deep longing to see them again. Surely they must come to see Eldarion, now settled into his new role of king, soon? Surely they would come to see Legolas before he left for the west? Surely, for that matter, they would want to see her, too?

The keel was laid for the ship, now, and her ribs were beginning to be formed; the plan was for the boat to be built, fitted, and loaded by late summer in just over two years time. The Teleri shipwright was to sail with them, but he would also need to teach some of the others the basics of handling a sea-going vessel in that time; although he seemed confident that the Valar would guide the ship he also thought it sensible not to be totally unprepared. Wood elves should at least be good at handling the ropes and climbing the rigging… Tindómë hoped she wouldn’t be sea-sick.

Truth to tell, she would have put the voyage off for longer if it had been her choice. Suddenly two years seemed too short. But Legolas sometimes went down to the ‘boat-yard’ by the river at night, when he thought he would be alone, and gazed longingly as if he could see the ship there already. That he had not noticed Tindómë following him, at least once, spoke volumes for how deeply the sea-longing must affect him.

She thought again of the twins, finally being able to mourn their sister; they must have been mourning her ever since Aragorn died, as well as mourning the king who they thought of as a brother, and yet it would have been as if they mourned her in limbo, mourned the idea of her death rather than the reality. She would write them. Yes, she would go now and write. Post that reached people in a day or two was something she would happily have imported from that brief life in the other dimension.

The thought of the twins’ sorrow, and the memories from that other dimension, made her think of the girl who had been her sister during those few years in California. The last time the ‘window’ Radagast had made for her had ‘opened’ Buffy had looked very old. Her hair had still been pale gold – but now the colour hid white rather than the mid-brown of her youth, and she had been using a stick when she walked. Tindómë wondered whether Buffy was still alive. She hoped there would be another chance, or two, to see The Slayer. There was too much loss right now. Too much change.

……………………………..

Oddly, it was only a few days after she wrote to the twins that she was aware of the faint glow from her bedroom that meant Radagast’s window could be opened. Rumil and Haldirin were out working in the forest – there was still a need to harvest more wood, and to nurture young trees to make sure the forest would survive even if all the elves left. But right now it meant that Tindómë’s husband and their son would not be there to support her if she found that Buffy had died.

Ithilienne, however, was close at hand and understood.

“If she… if she has died, Naneth, what will you see?”

Good question, but not one that Tindómë had any real answer for.

They sat, mother and daughter, side by side on the settle in their cottage as Tindómë quietly chanted the words Radagast had taught her, as she had a dozen or more times before. Then a picture formed between Radagast’s window and the real one, hazy at first, but becoming clearer. As always, the first thing she saw was a sleeping figure – the window could only allow her to communicate with Buffy when she was asleep.

Tindómë gasped, the figure in the bed was white haired – it reminded her of the last time she had seen Éowyn only weeks before her death.

“Buffy? Buffy?” she called, as she always did.

In the past what had happened was that the sleeping figure became more indistinct and she would see, instead, Buffy standing or sitting talking to her. The ‘dreaming’ Buffy could move around, and even change her own surroundings to ‘show’ things to ‘Dawnie’. This time the only difference seemed to be that dreaming Buffy was propped up more in the bed than the sleeping form.

“Dawnie? Oh Dawn – you came.” The voice was soft, and sounded tired. “I’m so glad. I’m very tired, Dawn. Is that your daughter?”

“Yes, Buffy. This is Ithilienne. Rumil and Haldirin are out in the forest, working – I didn’t think they’d get back before the window would close.”

Ithilienne was simply sitting, quietly; she didn’t speak English, of course.

“So like you…” Buffy said.

She was right. Ithilienne was very like Tindómë – the same heart shaped face, the same wide eyes, even her body was a little curvier than the average elleth. Her hair was different from Tindómë’s, though; just as thick and wavy, but it was hard to describe the colour. Rumil said it owed much to her time and place of conception; rich brown that glowed red in sunlight (as Tindómë’s did sometimes), but flicked and threaded through with pale blonde that glowed in moonlight – the colours found in a newly shelled chestnut. Her mother had given up trying to work out the genetics and just accepted that Ithilienne had beautiful hair.

Tindómë passed on Buffy’s comment to Ithilienne, and then continued her conversation with Buffy for some time. She told her about the preparations to sail West; ‘You know – like Europeans did to come to America?’, but Buffy seemed almost too tired to listen.

Eventually Buffy spoke. “I’m dying, Dawnie. I am over ninety and my body is almost done for. It’s gonna be hard to leave Spike, but I’m no good to him like this anyway, and I’ll see Mom again.”

There was no point in trying to contradict her – it was clear that she was, indeed, pretty frail.

“I… I guess so,” Tindómë said, “tell Spike to take care of himself when… when you’ve gone. Uh – uh, give Mommy my love.”

Somehow these encounters with Buffy made her feel like an adolescent again, and this one especially.

“I will. I guess I’ll not see you again, Dawn. I’m glad you were my sister for a while there.”

“Me too, oh me too…” and suddenly Tindómë really meant it – more than she had for the past few years, to be honest. She could feel tears running down her cheeks, and Ithilienne put her arm around her and held her tight.

“I’m ready,” Buffy said, “I hate this stupid body!” For a moment she sounded like her old self, and then she finished, “I’m too tired to talk more.”

And the two ‘Buffys’ Tindómë could see became one again; a sleeping figure in a hospital bed. Both mother and daughter sat, waiting, but there was no more movement. Slowly the picture faded. Tindómë thought, again, that there was too much loss right now. Too much change.

That night Rumil held her close as she cried. Cried for Buffy, for Arwen, for all the people she had known that were gone. For the home she loved that would soon be gone. She knew that, because of their soul bond, he really felt her pain and she felt worse for inflicting it on him – but, as always, his love wrapped around her. Then he reminded her of the time, at Helm’s Deep, when he and Orophin had mourned their brother.

“You were there for me, meleth. Even though we were not yet bound you felt my sorrow and soothed me. Now, and until the end of time, I am here for you. I will always be here for you, no matter what.”

And that was something that would not change. She clung to that thought as he gently began to steer her down a happier dream path.

………………………………………………………..




Disclaimer as chapter one. Artwork by Ellynn Ithilwen.


Chapter 5 - Chapter Four - Pride of the Summer

Chapter Four – Pride of the Summer

Colours ablaze in the evening
The air was still
Down the stormy hill
It's good to be young and daring

Beat the drum
Beat the drum
Like a heartbeat
Lonely and strong
Beat the drum.

Pride of the Summer. C & R MacDonald.



Time was rushing past; if you thought of it as a river then it was now a river in full spate. The ship had a full hull, masts, and elves were laying her decks.

Word had come from Aglarond that Gimli had handed the leadership over to his nephew and would soon leave his Halls, for the last time, to journey to Ithilien. He would, he said, need little space on board for his possessions.

Although they would not sail until after next Midsummer, this one would be the last Midsummer that everyone would be here – by next year some would have already left. Most of the elves had now decided on the course they would take and some had already begun to pack up possessions to return to Eryn Lasgalen. A handful of others had decided that they would return there too – but not for some years. They would stay to nurture the trees and the land a little longer, and take down some of the dwellings in the trees, before leaving.

But most had decided to sail with Legolas. As Galanthir said, one evening, once the decision had been made to leave their forest and follow Legolas to this place, amongst men, then choosing to follow him West, to be amongst the Noldor, was very little worse!

The midsummer drums beat from the moment Legolas lit the bonfire until well after sunrise. Everyone seemed determined to dance as long and as hard as they could, with as many others as they could. Single ellyn seemed to have worked even more ribbons than usual into their hair – surely, Tindómë thought, most had as many as there were ellyth; including both unbound and bound.

As the night went on she gathered her fair share of them although, as was often the case at such celebrations, she spent a little time in a quiet, secluded, spot with Rumil when the dancing and kissing made hertoo hot and bothered.

Haldirin, his mother thought, might be drawn to Legolas’ niece but he was as happily competitive as any other single ellon when it came to getting rid of his ribbons. She commented on this to Rumil when they stood together beside the bonfire.

“It is a shame,” he answered, “that we did not celebrate the passing of the years in this way in Lothlorien. I would have enjoyed it greatly at his age, as well. I would enjoy the sport greatly now if I did not have you, meleth!”

“Orophin totally enjoyed the competition until he and Lithôniel were bound. I can just see the two of you with ongoing wagers from solstice to solstice… or would you have worked as a team?” Tindómë asked him.

“Both, of course!” he smiled. “And Haldir would have been determined to have more ribbons than anyone, and lose them fastest. Whilst being determined to also join with as many ellyth as possible and have each say, at the end of the night, that he was the ellon who had given them most pleasure.”

“You think?” Tindómë queried. “From what you and Orophin have always told me, I can’t really see him with his hair full of ribbons!”

“They would have been plain red silk… and every braid would have been exactly the same thickness. And had either of us beaten him he would first have insisted it was not possible, and sulked. But then he would insist that it was his tutelage that had enabled it to happen, and claim the credit.”

Rumil smiled again, and then added, “It will be good to see him in the West – for him to meet you, our children, and Lithôniel. To know what Orophin and I have done since Helm’s Deep. I hope he does not have to spend long in the Halls of Mandos.”

Tindómë decided she didn’t want to think of the ‘meet the in-laws’ aspect of sailing West just at that moment. She changed the subject.

……………………………..

Legolas felt a little as he did when commanding a patrol or an army. Try to predict the actions of your opponent and make your battle plan accordingly. Except that this was not a battle and she was not exactly an opponent.

The previous midsummer he had asked her to dance, early in the celebrations, and then kissed her politely before offering her a ribbon. Only to have it refused. She had informed him, with a flash of those wide eyes, that it had been a kiss for a child, not an adult elleth, and as such it could not be marked by the giving of a ribbon.

At midwinter she had positioned herself with three ellyth he had already danced with when he accompanied their friend back to them. It had then been impossible not to ask her to dance without insulting her. He had made the kiss more thorough that time – and she had solemnly accepted the ribbon. Solemnly, except for the twinkle in her eye; which had been almost wicked.

Third or fourth dance tonight, he decided, so that it was not the sort of dance that required close body contact for anything more than short periods. Granted, she was of age – but only just. There was one ellon who had personal experience of such circumstances and would be the obvious one to turn to for advice. But Legolas simply could not do it… as the elleth in question was Rumil’s daughter.

……………………………..

Perhaps he should have turned to Rumil – or to Rumil’s wife. Ithilienne’s parents were certainly aware of their daughter’s feelings about Legolas. The evening after the celebration they discussed it over a glass of wine whilst their daughter was out with friends.

“Legolas’ ribbon is not with the others on her mirror – it’s under her pillow. She has it badly, poor thing,” Tindómë said. “But she’ll probably outgrow it, she’s still young.”

“It seems to me that she is as determined about Legolas as you were about me when you came of age…”

“M’kay – I guess she’s not even quite as young as I was… But I had been forced into growing up real fast back on the Hellmouth – and I still thought like a Californian teenager. The Key is much older than that ‘Dawn’ bit of me anyway. But Ithilienne has plenty of time. Do you think she will outgrow it as she gets a little older?”

Rumil paused for a little, before he answered Tindómë’s question. “I thought, when I was less than a yén, that I was so much in love with one elleth – by the time I had lived nearly two yéni it was a different elleth, and by three yéni I realised I was not in love with anyone.

“Although,” he finished, “I knew very quickly just what love is once I met you.”

Tindómë smiled, thinking back to those first days in Minas Tirith and the journey to Lothlorien. “I fell in love with you in a few weeks – and then there was never anyone else. Well, not that touched my fëa…”

Rumil smiled back before saying “Perhaps she is like you – and she will remain on this course without deviation – at least of her fëa…

“I would speak to Legolas as a friend,” he went on. “I know well about the desires of such a determined young elleth – but I do not think he would find it comfortable under these particular circumstances…”

“Uh-huh. I guess he’d squirm if either of us asked him about his intentions towards our daughter, huh? Maybe I will anyway. I mean if she’s just annoying him it’s one thing, but perhaps he feels the way that you did. And if their fëar are going to sing together then they are going to sing together…”

“Ai, meleth, whatever it is, it is what it is.”

……………………………..

It was only a matter of days later that Tindómë got the chance to talk to Legolas about Ithilienne. She found him alone, on his favourite ‘perch’ in the small hall, after a meeting and asked if she could join him.

In answer he passed her a cushion before he spoke.

“Something bothers you, nethig.”

“Mmm…” she said, as she settled herself, “Ithilienne.”

She watched him closely for his reaction. He remained totally impassive; worthy of note in itself.

“Ithilienne?” was all he said.

“Uh-huh. Well, to be honest, it’s not so much that she bothers me as that I’m worried that she’s bothering you…”

No response.

“I mean the way her elfling habit of curling up on you and going to sleep seems to have become a full-blown crush.”

Still no response. And she knew he understood this meaning of ‘crush’ – she had explained it in the past.

She tried again. “I’m worried that you might be embarrassed by her,” she said, and then thought, ‘and that’s another statement that he can simply not respond to! Time to go for the yes/no answer type question and, even though I bet I still don’t get a straight answer, I might at least get a hint!’

“Are you?” she said out loud.

At least he did not prevaricate by asking ‘Am I what?’ for which she was grateful. Perhaps he realised it might have earned him not only a hard stare but a hard poke in the ribs as well.

“No, nethig,” he answered, causing her to lose her personal wager.

She waited.

M’kay. Probably the first time ever that an elf, asked a personal question, had given a straight answer – but in this case a bit of elaboration might have helped.

They sat looking at each other, the silence stretching further and further, and just as Tindómë knew she was either going to giggle or throw her cushion at him, Legolas spoke.

“I have some bread and cheese here, nethig. Would you like some?”

So – apparently he wasn’t embarrassed – and he wasn’t going to say any more on the subject; she could almost feel him thinking ‘So deal!’

……………………………………………………………..



Disclaimer as chapter one.


Chapter 6 - Chapter Five - Leaving One By One

Chapter Five - Leaving One by One



The old boys are leaving
Leaving one by one
Where young birds go flying
Spread your wings and run
But over the fields by the drystone walls
An eagle will come no more

The Old Boys, C&R MacDonald



‘We have reached the time of lasts,’ Tindómë thought.

The ship was almost finished now; the sails had been woven and the rigging… uh… rigged. She floated on the Anduin – both a promise and a cause for sadness. If they stuck to the original plans, and there was no clear reason why they shouldn’t, then they had now picked the last crop of elderberries, soon it would be the last of the apples, and so on, through the last crop of hazelnuts, chestnuts, and blackberries.

A whole timetable of ‘lasts’ spread out in front of them and suddenly the whole colony had a much more defined sense of ‘time’ than Tindómë had experienced since she first began to live amongst elves. Legolas didn’t actually have a chart on the wall of his ‘office’ showing what was due to happen every week – but Tindómë wouldn’t have been surprised to find one hidden in a drawer…

There were plans for quite a large group to set off, in early Firith*, to spend a last winter with family and friends in Eryn Lasgalen before returning to Eryn Ithil in spring. This group would include Orophin and Lithôniel, saying farewell to her parents – or trying to persuade them to follow quickly. Tindómë would miss her husband-brother and his wife at the final Mid-winter celebrations.

(*Firith – Elven season basically October & November)

Legolas was to follow them after spending his last Mid-winter in Eryn Ithil, to say his farewells to his own family; Galanthir would accompany him – and so would Haldirin. Legolas had asked especially for Haldirin and the young ellon had been very happy to agree to go; he would get a chance to spend a little more time with Princess Rhîwen. Tindómë wondered if this was Legolas’ intent – that Haldirin might persuade Rhîwen to increase the pressure on her grandfather to eventually leave Eryn Lasgalen and sail!

Legolas had particularly asked Tindómë and Rumil not to accompany Orophin and Lithôniel, or himself, to Eryn Lasgalen. Gimli was due to arrive, ready to sail, with the spring – and the ageing dwarf had a soft spot for Tindómë; if Gimli should arrive before Legolas returned, Tindómë would be the ideal substitute. As neither Tindómë nor Rumil had kin in Eryn Lasgalen it made a lot of sense. But Tindómë did wonder if Legolas was also ensuring that Ithilienne didn’t go. He had said he was not embarrassed by her obvious crush… but perhaps he had just been being polite.
……………………………..

Almost all the harvests were now past. The days were getting shorter and there was another, very big, ‘last’ for Tindómë to face; her last meeting with the Lords of Imladris. Her last meeting this side of the ocean, that is, she stressed to herself. Not, totally and absolutely not, her last ever meeting with them – they wouldn’t dare! At least she hoped they wouldn’t.

They had been to stay with Eldarion, over the summer, and were now heading back to Imladris before winter set in. And they would not be arriving there alone; Lord Celeborn was leaving East Lorien and going to live with them.

Like the trees of Eryn Ithil those of East Lorien had recovered well from the blight of Evil when nurtured by elves; however, within the past couple of years, more than half of those Galadhrim who lived there had felt the call of the West and sailed. Now those who remained were either leaving for the Grey Havens, moving to Eryn Lasgalen or, in the case of a very small number, accompanying their Lord to Imladris.

There would be plenty of room for them there; in that same two year period many of the elves of Imladris had also felt the call to sail West. It was as if the deaths of Aragorn and Arwen had been a trigger for changes throughout ‘Elvendom in Middle Earth’; as if everyone had been holding their breath, waiting for the moment to come. And not just Elvendom, of course – Gimli’s choice to sail with Legolas had caused changes within Dwarfdom too. Tindómë wondered whether Aragorn’s death had caused any major upheavals in The Shire as well… but she no longer knew any hobbits well enough to keep in touch.

Currently Rumil was deep in conversation with Lord Celeborn in the ‘guest accommodation’ that had been designed, well over a century ago, especially to suit both visiting elves, such as the twins or King Thranduil, and Aragorn and his family. Now his Lordship and his grandsons, their Lordships(!), would be the last guests to use it. Haldirin and Ithilienne were also out somewhere – Tindómë had the twins to herself, in her own home.

She poured out wine, offered them fruit and cake, and then got straight down to business.

“Promise me,” she said, “that you two will follow us, and sail. Maybe not this year or next year, but soon.”

“We cannot,” Elladan said. He sounded both determined and yet sad.

“Cannot what?” she asked. “Cannot promise to come so soon?”

“Cannot promise that we will sail,” Elrohir said, sounding just like his twin.

“You can,” Tindómë said, firmly. “Why would you not?”

“It is difficult to imagine leaving our home, our land… or Arwen’s family. We are like the trees, deeply rooted in our own soil.” Elladan sounded even sadder.

“You mean that you are frightened to sail? Honestly?” She was genuinely curious.

“I would not put it quite like that…” Elladan said.

But “Perhaps you are right,” Elrohir said, at almost the same time. “We know how we fit into life here. We are, after all, peredhel – and here we can still have contact with our mortal relatives, who are now more closely related to us than they have been for years.”

Somehow it had never occurred to Tindómë that they might worry about life in Valinor – well any more than the other elves who sailed. She felt a real mixture of emotions – she wanted to laugh, cry, possibly shake them… and to hug them closely, all at the same time.

She finally spoke to them from the heart. “I… I’m really frightened of sailing, Els. I’m getting more and more frightened. And you are the only ones I can talk to about it, now I know that you really understand.

“I mean, if you two are worried, because you are peredhel, then imagine how I feel. I won’t know anyonewhen I get there, apart from the others who’ll sail on the ship, and I’m certainly not exactly an elf – maybe no one there will speak to me.”

She paused for a minute and then went on, “I’m really, really, not sure how I’ll cope amongst the Noldor of Valinor. At least Gimli was one of the Fellowship and so, if it was all right for Frodo and even Sam to go to Aman, no-one can really object to him being there. But maybe no-one will have anything to do with me – or they’ll be nasty to Rumil, or Haldirin, or Ithilienne because of me…”

“But Tinu,” Elladan said, “You are The Key!”

“Well yeah, but it isn’t written on my face – and I don’t suppose the Valar are going to be putting up signs telling people to welcome me, or wandering around the streets making sure no-one is ignoring me or being mean to me or my family…

“You guys might be worried about leaving what you know, leaving Imladris and the rest of Middle Earth, but you know that if you do sail to Valinor you’ll have people there who love you. You’ve got your parents, and Her Ladyship, and hey! If they were going to be iffy about you two for not being totally all elven then I’m guessing their experience with your other grandparents, and your Adar, might have taught them a thing or two. I mean they’re all pretty major – your paternal grandparents are more or less legends.”

That did, at least, elicit two faint smiles. But now that Tindómë had spoken of her fears it was a relief to carry on. She found herself almost babbling.

“I’ve already done it before, of course. Faced a whole new place with all new people and nobody who knew me at all – and everyone’s been totally kind to me, well almost everyone has. But it was scary and if I’d known I was going to end up leaving everything and everyone I knew, by doing what I did back on the Hellmouth, I might not have had the courage to actually do it. I mean, it all turned out really well, and I was so worried and annoyed and… well everything, when they dragged me back. But I still think I might have chosen to stay with what I knew, rather than going to somewhere so totally new, if I’d had the option at the beginning.”

“But this is where you belong!” Elrohir said.

‘File that…’ Tindómë thought, before continuing with what she was saying.

“I know that now – but it was still all scary at the beginning. This time, though, I’ve had the option and I’m going to go because I promised Legolas that I would. But Rumil is coming because I promised I’d go; Orophin is coming because Rumil is; Lithôniel because of Orophin; and my children are leaving everything that they know too – all because of something that I promised – how can I tell them that I’m frightened? I try to hide it even from Rumil.”

“I am sure everything will go well for you, tithen maethor,” Elladan said.

Tindómë turned on him. “You think? So this is where I belong, but it’ll be fine there – because?”

She answered her own question. “Because Aman is just a different part of Arda – yes? And if everything will go well for me, then it would surely go well for you two, too.

“And I need you there – I don’t have much blood family, except Rumil and our children – I don’t want to think that I’d never see you two again, not have you for times like this, when you’d understand better than anyone else.

“And you two really shouldn’t find it all that hard to face arriving in Valinor – you’ll have so much family there.

“But how can I go and meet your Naneth, like Arwen told me too, and then say ‘Oh, and the Els may well never come because, you know, the house and the valley mean so much more to them than you do?”

“Ouch!” said Elrohir. “It’s not like that…” But he didn’t sound totally convincing.

Tindómë could see a small chink – she metaphorically stuck her finger in and wriggled it around.

“Talking of Arwen, she faced a whole new life in a new place – Minas Tirith was so totally different from Imladris or Lothlorien! Aragorn did it – look how much his life changed from being a child in Imladris, and then a ranger out in the wilds, before ending up as the King of the Reunited Kingdom. If they could do it then you two can do it, too. I guess you aren’t going to find yourselves as the King and Queen like they did but…”

A sudden thought hit her. “You’re not determined to stay, even when the elves everywhere else are gone, and Aragorn and Arwen’s descendants are five or six generations down and maybe don’t even see you as family, just because you don’t want to give up Lording do you?”

“No!” Both voices were in unison.

“We would have happily remained simply the sons of the Master of Imladris until the end of time,” Elladan said.

“We are relatives of the King of the Noldor in Aman, anyway!” Elrohir said.

“Uh-huh! Not all that much of a chance of people being nasty to you two because of your human blood really then, is there?” Tindómë felt the beginnings of a grin. She pressed on.

“And aren’t you even the tiniest bit interested in all those new relatives that’ll be there? The King of the Noldor is your maternal great-grandfather, Eärendil and Elwing are, like I said, totally legends, and you’ve never yet met them. C’mon, you’ve got an actual Maia in your ancestry – and you can meet her.”

“Perhaps they would not want to meet us,” Elladan said. “We have spent much of our lives as warriors, ridden with the Dúnedain, fought full of anger against yrch. All in the West is meant to be peaceful.”

“A life of calm and peace might not suit us…” Elrohir added.

“Do you really think it’s all peace and quiet and nothing but beauty?” Tindómë asked, genuinely interested. “’Cos, y’know, that’s almost exactly how outsiders see Imladris.”

She paused, but neither of them said anything, so she went on, “I so hope it’s not all like that – I am much, much, too young for the totally quiet life! If it’s like that in the cities of the Noldor then I can see the Wood Elves heading further west in search of forests. You two would be welcome wherever we end up, for sure!”

“Grandfather won’t leave…” Elladan said.

“He is too attached to this place,” Elrohir continued, “and we could not leave him.”

“Hang on – can I just process that thought?” There was, Tindómë thought, something wrong with their statement. It seemed logical – Celeborn had chosen not to sail with his wife but to stay, except…

“Have you asked him?” she asked. “Or Glorfindel, for that matter?”

Neither said they had, and so she pressed on in the assumption that they had not broached the subject with either ancient Lord.

“The first time Rumil and I went to visit Eryn Lasgalen we stopped for a little on the outskirts of the Golden Wood,” she began.

Both twins looked at her curiously, but did not interrupt.

“I thought Rumil would be sad, but he said that in an elf’s life there are many changes. We had moved on, and it would not be the only time in our lives this would happen. There are many places in Middle Earth, he pointed out, where Elves dwelt and now dwell no more.

“Your grandfather has moved on, and moved on, and moved on. He taught me history – in the first person, guys. I mean, I know you know all this – but he started in Doriath, and lived there for years and years, but then he moved on. He wasn’t so deeply attached to the trees of Region, or the stone halls of Menegroth, that he couldn’t settle in the trees of Lorien, was he?

“And he didn’t just sit in Lothlorien when he felt it was time for him, and the Galadhrim, to move on, either. Even though he’d been the Lord of Lothlorien for an age and a half before you two were even a tiny arrow in your Adar’s quiver, so to speak. Talk about being deeply rooted… And now he’s moving on again to come and live with you two in Imladris.

“Why, do you think?” she finished.

There was the silence that she recognised as the twins talking to each other’s minds.

“We had not thought of his reasons to stay in quite the light that you have just used,” Elladan admitted, at last.

“He stayed when Grandmother sailed because the Galadhrim needed him,” Elrohir said slowly, “but soon there will be no more Galadhrim – they are leaving, one by one, to sail West. They are following Grandmother, I suppose. Those who have chosen to go to King Thranduil’s forests will no longer be Galadhrim…”

“Well, they will, sort of, to be fair,” Tindómë interrupted, “like Rumil and Orophin – but they’ll be other things too.”

“Maybe,” she suggested, slightly wickedly, “Lord Celeborn is going to Imladris for the peace and quiet.” She paused, for a heartbeat, then went on, “Except he could, if you are right, get all of that he could possibly desire if he sails.”

“He is staying, now, for his family,” Elladan said. “He would not leave Eldarion without his counsel.”

“Uh- huh… so that’s why he is moving to Imladris, which is further away from Minas Tirith than East Lorien is? Not that he’s abandoning Eldarion, I’m sure, but exactly which bit of his family is he staying for?”

There was that silence again. This, Tindómë thought, was the time to let them consider whether they’d been looking at things backwards. She left them, for a minute or two, to get more wine and cake. Cake, she had found over the years, often helped the twins think!

She decided, though, to continue with her ‘discussion’ quickly once she returned. “Do you think your grandparents, your Lord Celeborn and Her Ladyship grandparents not the legendary ones, really love each other?” she asked. “I mean, I thought if you were soul bound it sort of went without saying. But do you think they only got married for convenience? Or that maybe the soul binding sort of unravelled over the years?”

They both looked at her expressionlessly. Elrohir spoke eventually. “I do not think it is your business.”

“But,” Elladan continued, “to be soul bound is for ever – you know that. And it is a much deeper tie than anything we understand of mortal ‘love’.”

“Yeah – that’s kinda what I understand too. Being soul-bound, as I am.”

She allowed a pause of two heartbeats. “And I know what it was like when Rumil and I were apart and could no longer feel each other. Part of my soul was missing, and so was part of his. I began to fade. Of course I am still only young; it might be different when people are older…”

Two more heartbeats. “I thought when the world was bent, and you couldn’t get from Middle Earth to Aman by any ordinary route any more, that the sundering messed up the bond. At least that’s what I understood from what His Lordship told me. He said your Adar was very brave to stay here for so long after your Naneth had to sail, when he knew that the bond would be restored once he sailed.”

She waited. They were bright guys; she shouldn’t have to spell it out in words of one syllable…

That familiar silence again.

“If Grandfather wanted to sail we are not stopping him,” Elladan said.

“No? But don’t you think he worries that, if he goes without you, you might never follow? And Glorfindel. Have you thought about Glorfindel?”

No answer – just slightly curious stares. Better than the totally blank ones, anyway.

“Surely he has relatives he would like to see this side of the Dagor Dagorlath*? But, if he is sworn to stay here to care for your family… if you two hang on for a couple of millennia and then fade, or whatever, there might not be any way back for him any more. And you’ve told me yourself that he thinks the right elleth could await him in the West – you two want to keep him from ever finding the elleth whose soul sings with his?”

They were silent. Tindómë hoped they were thinking seriously.

She pressed on. “And, before the two of you even think of going ‘ah but, Glorfindel is staying for Eldarion…’ don’t bother. If Glorfindel thought his role was to stay forever with Arwen’s line, not yours, he would have moved himself, his current Asfaloth, and all his belongings to Minas Tirith. Arwen chose for her children to be the descendants of Elros. Glorfindel clearly accepts that…”

She half turned away from them before continuing, “If you two dig your heels in and decide to stay past the time of the elves, never make the decision to sail, then don’t let yourself be swayed by me needing you there – but consider that you might be keeping your Grandfather and Glorfindel away from the people they love most.”

The silence stretched out. She hoped she hadn’t upset or insulted them too much this time.

“Little one,” Elrohir spoke, “I certainly spoke truth when I first called you little warrior. I do not think anyone but our parents and Arwen has ever spoken to us quite as bluntly, or with so little fear of our reactions, since we were elflings. I cannot say that you have convinced us to follow you quickly...”

Elladan picked up without a pause, “but you have given us much food for thought and…”

“We promise to seriously think over everything you have said,” Elrohir finished.

“That’s all I wanted, I guess,” Tindómë said, with relief. “I was a bit worried that you might never speak to me again.”

She decided it was probably safe to actually hug them, now – and did. Then spoke again.

“There is one more thing…”

Two pairs of eyes gazed at her from beneath raised eye-brows.

“The right ellyth for you two might be there, too. Can you imagine if I met a pair of identical female twins, or something, and there’s no way of letting you know? I’d probably explode and die of the frustration…”

“We will also bear that in mind,” Elladan said, deadpan. But Tindómë knew him well enough to know there was an underlying, silent, smile.

Maybe, just maybe, she might have made it more likely that they would sail. She really, really, hoped so.

……………………………..
*Dagor Dagalath – the battle at the end of the world – like Ragnarok.

…………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer as Chapter One.


Chapter 7 - Chapter Six - Going Home

Chapter Six – Going Home


Across the moorland, past the mountains
O’er the rivers beside the new stream
Something tells me that I’m going home

Going Home. C & R MacDonald.

Now it was the Winter Solstice – another of the ‘lasts’, as Tindómë called them.

It was like being two people, Legolas thought. The Lord of Ithilien grieved that this was his last Midwinter here, with his own people, in this land that was now almost fully recovered from the depredations of the forces of evil. Legolas the elf, though, Legolas the bowman, one of the Nine Walkers, one of the Three Hunters; he could feel the sea pulling, pulling, trying to force him to wait no longer; to sail West now, this very night.

In fact, he thought, there were not just two ‘people’ pulling him in different directions. There was also Legolas Thranduilion and he feared that he would only see his father for one more time – and also felt as though he was being pulled back into being the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen.

Tonight he would have to pull all three ‘selves’ together. Rather ruefully he decided that there might even be a fourth ellon vying for supremacy in this hroar at the moment – and that one might well be the hardest to reconcile with the other three… He thought about this for a few minutes longer before coming to the conclusion that he was wrong. This other, newer, aspect of himself was not really in competition; it would be here if he could stay, although he knew he could not; it would be part of him as he sailed; and it might even be advantageous to the wishes of Thranduilion…

No point in further contemplation. He put on his celebratory tunic and began to work the ribbons into his hair. Exactly as many ribbons as there were single ellyth left in Ithilien – he and Galanthir had a last winter wager before sailing. There would be a last summer one, too. But surely that could not be their last ever.

He knew the ribbons, the kisses, the wagers, were a Sylvan tradition, but some of his father’s people must have been released from Mandos’ Hall and be living in the West now. A few, he knew, had sailed in the past years in that very expectation. Very few felt any degree of the Sea-longing, that he had fought for so long, but they made their way to the Havens, and took ship, in the hope of reunion with loved ones who might already await them.

So many of the elves of Mirkwood had died over the years; two thirds of Oropher’s warriors had died in the War of the Last Alliance; and so many others had died in skirmishes and other battles since.

Thoughts of Oropher distracted him from his braiding for a few minutes. He hoped against hope that, in the West, he might see his mother again – but the possibility that his grandfather might also await him… or was it more likely that Oropher remained still in the domain of Lord Námo? His fëa might have been too badly damaged by the realisation of just how many of his own people had been killed by his decisions. But maybe not.

Perhaps Oropher would be there at the quayside to greet his grandson. Legolas was not sure whether that was something to look forward to, or not! But nothing now, not even thoughts of his grandfather, could sway him or change his mind. The sea was calling to him loudly again now; to resist would literally be the death of him, he knew.

Hair finally completed, he straightened his shoulders, and went out into the chill air ready to give gifts and to feast.

After the tables were cleared he lit the bonfire. Tonight everyone stood around it, without dancing, for a very long time. Finally someone began to beat out a rhythm on a drum and, as other instruments began to join it, all eyes turned to Legolas.

He had made sure, over these past years, to lead the dancing with many different ellyth – sometimes a bound one, sometimes a single one. On more than one occasion it had been with Eriathwen – the Shield** – and she was amongst those who stood in the crowd around the fire. But tonight it could only be one elleth; and if Ithilienne’s face dropped a little when she realised that he was heading not towards her but her mother, standing beside her, then so be it.

Tindómë wore a red velvet dress. Yes, it was the very dress Rumil had given her to wear that first midwinter they had visited Eryn Lasgalen – elves were better than mortals, Legolas thought in passing, in keeping their favourite clothes for a long time. As they danced he mentioned that he recognised the dress and Tindómë laughed.

“And do you remember what you did to me, when you danced with me that first time I wore this dress?”

Now that was a challenge. As the dance came to an end he grabbed her around the waist and then swung her around and around, high above his head until her laughter echoed off all the surrounding trees.

He saw her daughter watching, and remembered doing exactly the same thing with her when she was an elfling – but not tonight, he thought, no, not tonight…

……………………………..

Before he set off with Galanthir and Haldirin to go to Eryn Lasgalen, Legolas spent a last evening with Rumil and Tindómë. He explained to them just why he had asked Haldirin to accompany him on this journey.

He knew that if he had not asked, then it was very likely that Haldirin would have travelled with Orophin and Lithôniel anyway – it was clear that he would want to see Rhîwen again even if all there was between them was friendship. If he travelled with Legolas he would be in the same forest as the princess for less time – but he would be housed in the royal apartments, and so it would be easy for him to spend more time with her.

Partly Legolas wanted to give them as much time together as he could because he was fond of both. But he admitted that he also thought that if the young couple realised that their fëar were destined to sing together, and Haldirin was sailing West, then Rhîwen might well put pressure on her family to do likewise. And Legolas would use any means at his disposal to persuade his father, and other family members, to follow him.

Which brought him to the other reason he had for asking Haldirin to accompany him – rather than suggesting Rhîwen come to Eryn Ithil ‘to see them off’. Although he thought Rhîwen’s parents, and especially her grandfather, might have forbidden that anyway, in case she chose to board and sail when the time came. No – he wanted Haldirin there, in the royal apartments in Eryn Lasgalen, for another reason too.

But it would be best if he did not mention that second reason to Haldirin just yet; and Rumil and Tindómë agreed completely when he explained his idea. Sufficient, they said, that Haldirin was happy and honoured to travel with Legolas and Galanthir, and was looking forward to seeing Rhîwen again.

……………………………..

They were ready to leave. It was less than a fortnight since the Midwinter feast and there was a hint of frost in the early morning air as the three elves pulled on their fur lined cloaks and mounted up.

Haldirin had made the journey north to Eryn Lasgalen a number of times; sometimes in the spring, or summer, but also in winter. The main difference between those journeys and this one was that they had all been made in large groups. To be just one of three was unusual – Haldirin was enjoying it.

The other two had travelled together many times but they certainly did not make him feel like an outsider. They both treated him as an equal and all the tasks of making camp, whether collecting wood for a fire or fetching water, were shared evenly between them. All three also rested and watched in equal measure – Legolas and Galanthir clearly regarded him as a capable companion and warrior.

As they rode they attracted little attention. Close to Eryn Ithil elves were a fairly common sight and, as they got further away, no-one seemed to take much notice of three horsemen in hooded cloaks carrying only fairly small packs thrown across the backs of their mounts.

On their third day of riding, Legolas said, “I have a desire to travel through the Riddermark again – and we three will be less conspicuous than the larger party on our return. What say you to crossing the Anduin and riding through the East Emnet and The Wold?”

“It is always a pleasure to see something of the horses of Rohan,” Galanthir said easily, “although it would be best if we could avoid almost drowning…”

Haldirin knew the tales of his own first trip to Eryn Lasgalen, although his memories of that time were only vague. “At least,” he said, “I am tall enough now to wade over unaided!”

They crossed the river, as they had on that earlier trip, at Sarn Gebir. Now a family lived in the buildings on the Rohan side of the river with horses in paddocks and full barns. The elves paused for an hour or two and discussed the weather and, inevitably, horses, with the Rohirrim.

Haldirin was not sure whether these Rohirrim were well used to passing elves, or so unused to them that it did not occur to them that their visitors were anything other than men. Quite possibly the latter, he thought – long hair worn partly loose and fur lined cloaks were the norm amongst these people – and they spent much longer looking a the horses than the riders in any case!

Somehow, when it began to snow once they were in Rohan, it seemed both inevitable and right.

The snow did not really slow them down all that much; it was not heavy and did not lie thick on the ground. At least it did not slow them down until Galanthir’s horse slipped on something, unseen under the thin white blanket, and began to favour one foreleg.

Although it did not seem to be badly injured, they now walked with the horses until it was almost dark, and then camped. The snow had stopped, and they simply made a small fire, then pulled their cloaks around them, and sat watching clouds scudding past the part hidden face of Ithil. Hopefully the horse would have recovered by morning.

It hadn’t. Galanthir felt the leg carefully again, as he had the day before, and said it was not particularly serious – but there was still some swelling and he would walk again. They took it in turn to walk as the clouds became darker and the snow began again.

“If I am right about just where we are,” Legolas said, “there is a farmstead only half a league away – with stabling, of course. A night in warmer quarters might benefit Brannonarth, and the Rohirrim would never deny comfort to an injured mount.”

“I think you are right,” Galanthir answered, “and we would hardly need to alter course at all.”

And so it proved. A small group of buildings soon came into sight. Two or three seemed to be houses, others were outbuildings, and there were paddocks surrounding all.

Legolas called out a greeting as they approached the buildings. Haldirin recognised the words from lessons, as an elfling, in the stables with Éowyn and her two Rohir bodyguards. As they walked slowly closer he brought to mind the other few phrases – perhaps this might be the time to put them to use!

Two men appeared from one of the outbuildings and called back and then stood, waiting, for the three Elves to approach. Legolas called again, this time in the Common tongue, and the men looked a little puzzled.

“Stallion, leg lame,” Haldirin called in his remembered Rohirric. He recalled Éowyn saying that, whist the Rohirrim did have a word for ‘horse’, they would never use it when speaking of an individual; it was too vague – he was glad he’d remembered the correct etiquette and the word for stallion.

Legolas nodded and commented that Haldirin seemed to have a better grasp of the language than he did.

“Only in as far as it applies in a stable,” Haldirin admitted, “but hopefully they will speak enough of the Common tongue for us to muddle through.”

So it proved. The men had probably been more puzzled about being addressed in the Common tongue than by the actual words. Brannonarth was soon in a stable, being closely examined by two men as well as by Galanthir, and there was general agreement that a bandage steeped in warm comfrey oil and a good day or two of rest were all that the stallion required.

The two other elven horses were much admired, the elves spoke equally admiringly of the other horses in the stable, and Haldirin’s knowledge of horse-related Rohirric seemed to help settle any unease on behalf of the men. The three travellers were invited to stay for a day or two, until Brannonarth was ready to continue, and led into the warm kitchen of one of the houses.

There were others in the kitchen who nodded when a quick explanation of why there were strangers stopping by was given. It was not until Haldirin, who had not put his hood up to walk across the farmyard despite it snowing again, shook his head to get the melting flakes out of his hair that he realised, by the gasp and also by understanding the Rohirric for ‘ear’, that the men had not realised the travellers were Elves.

They seemed more surprised than anything else – the young women nudged each other, a small child ran to hide in its mother’s skirts, and over in a corner a man, who Haldirin could tell was very old, muttered what sounded like “Well, well, well – you see…”

Soon it seemed as if all the inhabitants of the three dwellings were crowded into this one but the mood remained friendly. The kitchen was very crowded, by now, and the old man rapped on the floor with a stick and issued what were clearly orders. The Elves found themselves being shown into another room, opening off from the kitchen, where there were more chairs and less of everything else. Haldirin remembered such a room in Céolfrith’s house from his elfling days – they called it the parlour – and he had been told it was a room for meeting with friends and sitting, talking, during the long winter nights.

Once everyone who could fit into the room was settled, with the old man in the chair nearest the newly kindled fire, he asked to be properly introduced. Each of the Elves gave their names.

No-one showed any recognition when Legolas gave his, but then the old man said, “Legolas eh? That’s a good name. There was a famous Elf called Legolas once, you know. Fought alongside the men of the Mark way back in the days of the Ring War – or so the bards tell us.”

Legolas shook his head so slightly that only Haldirin and Galanthir would have noticed. He obviously did not want them to say anything – but imagine the men thinking that this must be a different Elf!

A man who looked a little like a full grown elf, so probably in the first strength of manhood, asked Haldirin politely if he could look at his bow. Haldirin passed it over and the man looked closely at the shape and the patterns carved into it before speaking in rapid Rohirric. He seemed quite excited. Someone else appeared, carrying something in a cloth, and the old man gave a sort of barking laugh that somehow carried the sense of “I told you so!”

The younger man carefully unwrapped… a bow. A child’s bow.

“We were told it was made by Elves,” he said, “the plaything of an elf-child. But we didn’t really believe it… except that it does look almost exactly like yours.”

As Haldirin took the small bow he was aware of both Legolas and Galanthir watching him carefully. It most certainly did look almost exactly like his bow. Not surprising as his father had made the one he now carried… and he knew, straight away, that Rumil had also made the elfling-sized bow.

The memory came to him then; a mortal child giving him a carved wooden horse and of carefully handing over his own small bow and quiver in return. Before he could say anything he saw Legolas shake his head slightly again.

“Yes,” Legolas said. “Yes, it is most certainly an Elven bow, made for an elfling.”

“Ha!” said the old man from the corner. “My Da told me he was given it by an elf-child who visited one snowy winter when he was a young one. But when he told the same thing to his grandsons…” he waved towards two men with grey hair and well weathered faces, “THEY thought they knew better and that it was just a tale to amuse children. I knew my Da was right – I always said it was an elven bow!”

Haldirin could feel his head spin as he tried to work it out – this very old man was the son of the child he had played with? The time, that seemed quite short to him, had seen that small boy grow to adulthood, then to old age and, doubtless, dusty death – leaving a son… grandsons… great-grandsons and, looking at the number of small children, great-great-grandsons. It was harder to take in than the aging and death of people like Lady Éowyn, Boromir, or Aragorn.

Galanthir took the small bow as if to look at it more closely. In doing so he looked Haldirin in the eye and swiftly squeezed his arm; he clearly understood what the younger ellon was feeling. Now he was distracting the men by discussing the bow with them.

Then Haldirin heard the very old man say to Legolas, “And my cousin, my father-sister’s daughter, had a cloak pin from her mother that she gave to her own daughter. It had belonged to an Elven princess. Maybe her brood will believe that, too, when they hear of your visit.”

“I hope they do,” Legolas said, “for I am sure it is correct.”

And Haldirin suddenly remembered his mother giving a cloak pin to a woman, and even hugging her, before they had mounted their horses and ridden away.

Haldirin got a chance to talk freely with Legolas late at night – all three ellyn stood outside in the crisp, cold, air and spoke quietly after the mortals had all gone to their beds.

“It is easier,” Legolas said, “to simply agree that there was a ‘hero’ called Legolas, that it is, indeed, the bow of ‘an elfling long ago’, the cloak-pin of ‘an Elven princess from years gone by – right back in the days of Good King Éomer,’ than to explain that I fought in the ring War, that you were that elfling, that it was your mother’s gift. To them these events are so long ago that they cannot really imagine that length of time.”

He sounded sad, almost weary.

Galanthir, as Haldirin realised he often did, broke the mood. “Of course they thought Tindómë was some fabulous princess because she told them Legolas was her brother,” he said, “and he was still famous then… if only for his Royal blood making him too high and might to cavort in the hay with Rohirric warriors!”

Legolas rolled his eyes and smiled. “You are only jealous,” he said, “because no Rider ever tried to bed you…”

“Ah,” Galanthir retorted, “it was too late by the time I had finished defending the Greenwood – you had put them all off. Had I known of the Rohirrim, when I accompanied you to Imladris then, I might have insisted on staying with you rather than taking your letter back to His Majesty.”

Haldirin had overheard this conversation before – but never been part of it.

“Had you been there, Haldirin,” Legolas said, “they would have, in your mother’s words, ‘hit on you’ more than him anyway – they always seemed to prefer blonds…”

It felt very good to be included.

Then Legolas changed the subject slightly. “Of course it was not really Tindómë’s cloak pin anyway – she had lost hers in the river at Sarn Gebir – it was your father’s. He will be pleased to know that both his handiwork and his cloak pin are still treasured after what is, for mortals, a very long time.”

He paused for a moment or two, and then went on, “But do not tell your mother. Tindómë would be better not reminded that the young woman she befriended briefly, around the time she came of age, will have been dust since around the time she conceived Ithilienne. If we need to mention anything of today to her, best that she knows only that it was spent with some of the Rohirrim…”

Legolas’ voice tailed off and when Haldirin looked at him it was obvious that, although not asleep, his eyes looked into a far distance; he looked across time as well as across the plains of Rohan.

Haldirin thought of all those mortals that Legolas had held dear – much dearer than the years-dead woman had been to Naneth – all of them also turned to dust. Well, he corrected himself, Pippin, Merry, and King Elessar might take longer to turn to dust in the strange, cold, house of the dead in Minas Tirith… But, whatever, it was most certainly time that both his mother and her gwador left this place. This place of mortals who stole a little of their fëa each time they died.

It was certainly time for both to sail West.

…………………………………………………………………
Chapter notes - The events described in this chapter, when the bow and the cloak pin were given as gifts, can be found in ‘A Winter Tale’.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Disclaimer as Chapter One.


Chapter 8 - Chapter Seven - Don’t Tell Me That We’ll Never Meet Again

Chapter Seven – Don’t Tell Me That We’ll Never Meet Again


You can tell me flowers never bend
Or that this world's at an end
But don't tell me
That we'll never meet again

This Time of Year. C & R MacDonald.


The three horsemen approached the borders of Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas had chosen a route that had avoided both the sleeping mellyrn of Lothlorien and the recently deserted settlements of East Lorien. Haldirin was glad; he had made a number of visits to both Lothlorien and East Lorien, with his parents, and he not only found the places where elves had dwelt, but dwelt no more, sad; but any of the Houseless he encountered in such places always seemed so sad, too.

The border patrol greeted them, as ever, but their greetings were more restrained than usual; everyone must know this was their prince’s last visit. It seemed, as they made their way from village to village into the heart of the great forest, that everywhere was a little quieter, everyone’s welcome to them a little muted – even that of the trees. And in each village there were empty cottages, or signs that cottages had stood in places and did so no more. Even here, in The Great Greenwood, it seemed as if the Elves were becoming fewer, drawing into themselves.

As often happened on the last day’s ride to the King’s stronghold they were joined by Legolas’ brother. Prince Ardoron clasped his brother’s arm first, and then did the same to Galanthir and Haldirin. If he was surprised at Legolas choosing Haldirin as a travelling companion he did not show it. Just as Haldirin was wondering whether her father still approved of his – uh – ‘friendship’ with Rhîwen, as they both grew older, the Prince spoke to him again.

“Rhîwen is anxiously awaiting your arrival – she was sad that you were not here for the midwinter celebrations.”

M’kay – no sign of him being unhappy about it… so far.

When they did arrive at the Stronghold Rhîwen greeted him very formally before turning her attention to her uncle. But Haldirin had hardly had time to shake out his clothes, ready to hang them up, before there was a knock on the door and she dashed in and threw herself into his arms.

“Did you keep a ribbon for me?” she asked, after a moment or two.

“Of course,” Haldirin replied, “but I have not unpacked it yet – let alone had time to plait it into my hair – which would be only right and proper…”

She giggled. “I could wait whilst you do it now – or shall I come back later?”

“It depends,” he said, “on just what you are going to expect me to do before you accept it!”

Tilting her head to one side she looked at him from under her lashes, as if considering.

“A kiss now as down-payment, perhaps?”

It was some time before he could finish hanging his clothes and wash off the dust of the day.

At the evening meal that night Haldirin ate with the royal family. Galanthir had, of course, gone to his own parents’ home. Haldirin had eaten in this private dining room before but his parents had also been guests at that time. On the one occasion he had come to Eryn Lasgalen without them he had stayed with Lithôniel’s family. Of course the King, and Rhîwen’s parents, mainly wanted to talk to Legolas – but Rhîwen and her brother Cîrdoron shared a separate conversation with Haldirin and the evening was remarkably pleasant.

In fact the King chased ‘the three young ones’ off to enjoy themselves together later – occasioning Legolas to complain that it made him feel suddenly very old. Haldirin thought, to be truthful, that Legolas looked ‘old’ since his friend had died – there was a tiredness around his eyes and his mouth, in repose, was just a little down-turned as it had not been when Haldirin was an elfling – and he wondered if Legolas’ father had noticed. Actually, he thought, the King would not only have noticed it – he must feel it too. Poor King Thranduil.

He had no time to dwell on the thought as Cîrdoron, and Rhîwen, took him by an arm apiece and hurried him off to spend time with their friends. No time to think of it later, either, when it took the rest of the night to persuade Rhîwen to accept the ribbon he had kept for her back in Eryn Ithil at midwinter.

Over the next weeks Haldirin spent time with his uncle and aunt, visiting Galanthir’s family, and out riding with Legolas or Cîrdoron, but still found time to be alone with Rhîwen a good deal. She took him to the orchard her grandmother had planted, before Legolas was born, and that her own mother also loved dearly. It was a peaceful place, the trees made him feel welcome even though they were drowsy, and as the days lengthened he could feel them beginning to ready themselves for spring.

They had another quiet place, too; another place associated with the long-dead queen. Legolas had told them both that he could see no reason for them not to use the small garden within the stronghold that his father, the King, had created for his mother when the stronghold was built.

They were sitting there now – the first spring flowers, which had shown as points of pale yellow and white amongst the early green leaves, had all opened and now were fading to be replaced by the blue shades of Ethuil. Time, which usually seemed to pass quite slowly here, was hurrying by; just as Haldirin’s mother had been saying it was doing over the past years.

“They want me to ask you to stay longer…” Rhîwen said.

Haldirin was slightly taken aback. “Who? Why?” he asked.

“Naneth and Cîrdoron have mentioned it – but the idea with be that of my father and grandfather,” she said, quite confidently. “And as to why… if you ask to stay a little longer then Legolas will either stay here too, or have to try to explain to your Naneth that you have not returned with him… and then she would try to persuade him to stay in Middle Earth a little longer… and so on.

“If your mother had also come to visit this time I am sure both Naneth and Grandfather would have tried to talk her into staying longer. She is peredhel – will she feel happy in Valinor? Will she be accepted? Would it not be better to stay here? They would say these things because they would want her to ask Legolas to put off sailing.”

“It would not work, anyway,” Haldirin said. “If Naneth chose not to sail Legolas would go anyway. He hurts from staying here, Rhîwen. Surely Aran Thranduil must be able to see it?”

“I see it,” Rhîwen admitted. “And Grandfather only chooses to refuse to see it because he hurts so much, too, when he thinks he will never see Legolas again.”

“I am going to sail, too,” Haldirin said. “My naneth promised him she would go with him even before I was conceived – but I go, by my own choice, as one of his warriors. He will need his own people there, I think. I will not stay longer, Rhîwen, so there is no point in asking.”

“I know, warrior. I would have no right to ask you anyway. And I do not think we are likely to find that such a close bond develops between us in the coming weeks that we will fade by parting.”

She nestled into his shoulder a little more, and put a hand up to stroke his hair before going on. “You might find someone whose fëa sings with yours more loudly in the West… but I am not sure anyone such as that exists here on this side of the sea for me. There are few Elves here in Middle Earth that I have not had a chance to meet.”

He waited. That much can be discovered by silence was a lesson well learnt from his father.

After a few more minutes she spoke again. “Do you think we would reach that point in time, Haldirin?”

“I think we might…” he answered. “I do not expect to find a bride amongst the Noldor. Although I hope their ellyth find my hroar appealing!”

She laughed a little and then said, “I am bored.”

He was about to suggest that he could think of ways to distract her, when she continued “Not of you! No – I am bored with life here in my Grandfather’s Stronghold. Had you not all been sailing I think I would have come to live in Eryn Ithil, in time. Perhaps we would have bound, then.”

He thought that, in a yén or so, she might well be right – or perhaps a little longer. His father had been over nine yéni when he was bound, as had Orophin – and they had felt that was quite young, really.

Rhîwen spoke again. “What I am saying is that, if you find no-one in the West whose fëa sings with yours, do not be sad that the right fëa is mine and you will therefore be unbound for ever. But,” she suddenly sat up and away from him, “when I arrive in Valinor I would have you welcome me as a friend even if you have found a wife – will you promise me that?”

“You will sail without your family?” he asked, to be sure he understood.

“If I must – although I do not know how I would reach the Havens alone. Do you think there will be a time soon when there are no Elves at the Havens?”

The change of subject threw him slightly, “I do not know.” A sudden idea came. “But I can ask our shipwright and send you a letter by the next group who leave Eryn Ithil for Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Good,” she said, “but I do not want to sail alone – I would rather more of my family came too…” She looked straight into his eyes. “Your promise?”

“Of course!” he said. “I will welcome you whenever you arrive, whether I am bound or unbound and whether you are alone or with all your family. I will be there, and so will all my family – and Legolas will welcome you even more willingly.”

He thought, for a moment, and then added “Will you tell Legolas this yourself, or can I?”

“You,” she said. “I will simply tell Naneth that we spoke about you remaining here, but I could not persuade you!”

…………………………………………………………………

When Haldirin knocked on the door to his suite, Legolas welcomed him in. After Haldirin told him of his conversation with Rhîwen Legolas wanted to grin and, as Tindómë had taught him, make an imaginary line in the air to show the score Legolas 1; Thranduil 0. His father, he thought, had taught him well – both were making use of similar tactics. But this was not the time to go to the King’s study and point this out…

Haldirin was still speaking. He sounded slightly rueful. “I may be only young, but I am not stupid. Was the possibility of me persuading Rhîwen to choose to follow you the only reason you asked me to accompany you, rather than stay at home?”

No – he most certainly was not stupid – and Legolas told him so, adding, “With your parentage I would, most certainly, never take you for stupid! No – it was most surely not my only reason. But I must admit it was in my mind. The two of you are, so clearly, friends – and, given enough time, maybe it would become more – and you deserve to have as much time together to explore this as possible. If that makes it more likely that some of my family will follow us West then I will not deny this would please me greatly.”

This, though, was the time to explain to Haldirin his other reason, apart from friendship, for asking him to accompany him here. “I asked you because, ever since you were an elfling, I have enjoyed your company,” he began, “but I must admit to another motive, too. One I thought it best not to explain in advance in case the explanation altered how you behaved whilst you were here.

“I have a very simple question for you, my friend. When you have spent time in my mother’s garden, or in her orchard, have you had any sense of there being anyone there but you and Rhîwen?”

“You mean like Tharhîwon, or Lord Denethor, or the Houseless Elves I have seen?”

“Yes…”

“No-one, Legolas. I have spent time in both places with you, with Rhîwen, and alone – and there has been no sign of any other fëa there.”

“Thank you, Haldirin,” Legolas said, with an overwhelming sense of relief. “You cannot believe how happy that makes me – even if a little sad at the same time.”

The young ellon deserved an explanation, Legolas thought. He poured them each out a glass of wine before giving it – finishing with “I will tell my father – he may well wish to ask you more.”

…………………………………………………………………

As well to tackle his father as soon as possible now, Legolas thought, as he is clearly also trying to pull strings. Next morning, therefore, he knocked on the door to his father’s study and walked in.

“Adar,” he began, “I want our last few weeks together, here, to be as happy as possible. I… I need hope.”

His father sighed softly, “Sit down, son,” he said, “and say whatever you have come to say.”

“Adar – I love you very much. I had never thought, before I went to Imladris and joined the Fellowship, to ever do anything to hurt you. But I cannot deny the pull of the sea any longer. I have tried; you cannot imagine how hard I have tried. I do not think anyone can imagine how hard I have tried to deny it. I love these trees – and now I love the trees of Ithilien, every one of them, every small bush or flowering plant that blooms there again as we cleanse the land. I do not want to leave and never see them again.”

His father opened his mouth, as if to speak, but one look from Legolas and he said nothing. Legolas went on.

“If I knew that I would not only never see the places I love again, but never see you again either… then I have thought that I might be facing the choice of fading in Ithilien, fading here, or fading in the West.”

“Have thought?”

‘Ah – my Lord Adar is never slow on the uptake,’ Legolas thought.

“I think I have a reason to resist fading, now. But I cannot resist the urge to sail and hope to not fade, so sail I must. And I would still dread having no hope of ever seeing you again. But now I have a reason to give you for no longer fearing leaving, and one to give you that might make you want to follow me.”

His father simply raised an eyebrow, and stayed silent.

“I know that you have often wondered whether my Nana’s fëa remained in the Greenwood when she was killed. I used to wonder if she was there with me when I sat in her garden, and I know you thought the same thing. Sometimes the thought comforted me – but neither of us had any proof, one way or the other.”

The king nodded slightly.

“Looking back,” Legolas continued, “I think we both had such strong bonds to her, then, that if she had remained we really should have felt something. But now I am absolutely sure that her houseless fëa does not remain here.”

“Absolutely sure?”

“Yes. Ever since The Key within Haldirin was awoken by Radagast, to help us recover Tindómë from that other place, he has often seen the fëar of the dead. We have told you of the Winter Elfling; and his comments, as a slightly older elfling, about Lord Denethor. He has also seen the fëa of Houseless elves who died in Lothlorien, when he passed that way a few years ago – and of some of your own warriors who died in the south, many years ago, when he visited Lord Celeborn.

“What he has not seen, or felt, is any presence of Nana – even when he has been in her private garden, or her orchard, with either me or her only granddaughter…”

He paused, to let his father absorb that, and then went on “And I think, if she had not heard the call from Lord Namo, that those places that we so associate with her are where she would be – especially when any of her family were there. Do you not agree?”

His father said nothing for a long while. Then, “You are sure? Haldirin is sure?”

“Haldirin is sure. And I think if she was there he would have known – and she might well have been able to use him to pass a message to us. No, Adar, I am certain, now, that I am not abandoning the fëa of my Naneth if I sail West. Nor would you be.

“And, if she heard Lord Namo and followed him, then the only chance of either of us being reunited with her is there – in Valinor. If you stay here and eventually fade, as we have been told will happen, then you may find your fëa trapped here whilst Nana awaits you, always with part of her soul missing, in the West.”

Thinking of what he had learnt from Tindómë of her conversation with the twins, he finished “And how could I face her? Telling her that, in the end, the Greenwood meant more to you than she did?”

Thranduil’s face remained calm but Legolas knew that he had certainly given his father much food for thought. Now, to add more.

“Adar – there is something else I would discuss with you – I find myself in a position I have never been in before.”

His father looked directly at him, and waited.

“You have tried more than once, over these past three or four yéni, to push… um, to ensure that I meet eligible ellyth.”

A very slight smile played about the King’s mouth.

“Well I think I may have met someone whose fëa will sing with mine – without your aid. This is why I think I can resist fading, even if I cannot resist the call of the sea.”

The King said nothing – but once more raised that questioning eyebrow.

“But she is very young, yet. And there are… complications.”

“Legolas, you are only young – and however young this elleth she will grow quickly – but if she is not intending to sail West I can see it would be a big complication.”

‘Poor Adar,’ Legolas thought, ‘to immediately see an advantage to his own wishes – an advantage that is not there.’

“She will sail; and she has now come of age. But in my position as her Lord I feel I should not take advantage.”

“A worthy thought, son. Do you feel she is aware of your attraction?”

Legolas laughed. His father looked questioningly at him again.

“Oh Adar! She is most certainly aware that she finds me attractive – I think she has done so since within days of her birth! I have tried not to let her see that I find her especially so, just yet.”

“She sounds like a lively young elleth. Very like you have told me Tindómë was before, and just after, she came of age. I think, when you told me about taking her as kin, you said that Rumil found her ‘a beautiful temptation’; at the very same time that you reassured me that you did not.”

Legolas was serious again. “Therein lies the problem, Adar. I think my fëa is very ready to sing with Ithilienne’s...”

He was not sure what reaction he expected, but it was certainly not the one he got – his father laughed loudly, and for a long time, before speaking.

“Oh son! Have you not said that Tindómë has a degree of foresight? You will always be Lord of Ithilien, always have Ithilien with you – or at least Ithilienne! Tindómë and Rumil gave their daughter the perfect name for your wife!”

Somehow Legolas had never quite seen it like that – perhaps his Adar was right…

“And,” Thranduil continued, “there is absolutely no reason for you not to bind with her – there is no blood tie. And think what pleasure it would give you to point that out to any jumped up Noldorin lordling who said just one word about it. You will, I expect, meet Mithrandir when you… get there… and he would most surely be able to tell any such complainant that, firmly. And, son, if she is so sure in herself then I do not think you need wait too many years, or feel too guilty, if you give in to her as temptation…”

His father was not only smiling – he winked!

Then he became serious again. “What do her parents think? They were bound within years of Tindómë’s coming of age but what you do yourself, and what you think of what your children do, is very different – I know.”

“I… it is difficult. Were she any other elleth I would have turned to Rumil for advice… or to Tindómë. I think they worry that her obvious infatuation with me is embarrassing to me – although I have told Tindómë that it is not. But I have not spoken to them of the possibility that it is not purely infatuation – nor that I think I might well… um… reciprocate.”

“Well don’t tell them – until you’ve spoken to Ithilienne rather than just avoiding her.”

Legolas wondered how his father knew he had been avoiding her. But Adar knew many things…

“And as soon as you have spoken to her – speak to them,” his father continued. “Not that you would normally need to discuss such things with her parents for many, many, years yet – but under these circumstances…”

Actually, Legolas thought, his father was quite relishing this whole thing – it was a new puzzle for him, a new thing he could advise about. He decided to turn the conversation back to an earlier point.

“I really am glad to have finally spoken to you about it, Adar. I worried that you might try to persuade me to resist harder – to deny any possibility that I might be drawn to this particular elleth.

“That you are happy pleases me no end. But, Adar, even though it means you can guess at least something of my life over the sea – surely you would want to be there for my binding? I would want you there. And I would have my children know you…

“Please, Adar. It does not have to be soon. As you have pointed out I will probably not bind, even if Ithilienne is destined to be my wife, for many, many years – but please, at least, agree that you will not refuse to consider taking ship, eventually.”

There was a long, long silence, a total stillness.

And then his father came to Legolas, wrapped his arms around him and said, “I do not promise to follow you – I still feel I must stay with my people, in my own land… yet. But I do promise that I will no longer refuse to consider it. That I will think of your needs and of the possibility of being reunited with your naneth there, if Haldirin is right.”

He paused, and then added “I shall ask Haldirin to discuss what you have told me… at least about your naneth. Perhaps better not to discuss what you have told me about his sister!”

…………………………………………………………………

Chapter notes; Ardoron is the Crown Prince, Legolas’ only sibling. He is married to Vaniel and they have two children – Cîrdoron and Rhîwen.

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Disclaimer as chapter one.


Chapter 9 - Chapter Eight - Sail Away. Sail Away...

And the ship's come round
And she's waiting at the harbour
Be prepared to get on board
Be prepared
I never knew that the light of ages
Breaks the way before us
Sail away. Sail away…

The Ship. C & R MacDonald.





‘It is the last spring,’ Tindómë thought. ‘Well, the last here. And who knows – maybe it’s always summer in the Undying Lands…’

Actually Glorfindel, when closely questioned one day in Imladris, had said that there were seasons there, and things weren’t really completely undying. Trees grew and fell, crops grew and withered if not harvested, and animals were born and died… unless, he had added, things had changed since his youth. Tindómë had tried not to imagine how long ago that must have been as such things still gave her headaches!

This spring could not be stopped, or even slowed down; trees were unfurling new leaves and, in the glades beneath them where the Elves had slowly healed the earth, bluebells were now in flower. It was, Tindómë thought, the very weather in which an aging dwarf might set out from Aglarond hoping that it wouldn’t rain, and the sunshine would stop his knees hurting.

She had, therefore, set herself the task of preparing Gimli’s cottage for his last stay. Much though she still wished for vacuum cleaners, and the Laundromat, clearing out all the dust that had blown in over the winter, and putting bedding and linen out to air, at least kept her busy. And, somehow, being busy was better than simply enjoying the sunshine.

Others seemed to agree with her. Heavy winter cloaks were being washed prior to packing them, shutters thrown open, cottages cleaned… even though the occupants would soon be leaving.

The ship was complete. Cabin space and storage space were being sorted out, and the name Legolas had chosen was carved into her stern; ‘Heart of Eryn Ithil’, as she was made from the forest and carried its people. The Telerin shipwright had been joined by a couple of sailors from The Havens, sent by Círdan who clearly did not want there to be any possibility of two of the Nine Walkers getting lost at sea.

Tindómë wondered what they would do with the ship when they got there – but even the sailors seemed a bit unsure. She imagined it becoming a sort of floating hotel like the Queen Mary– or maybe it would be, like, Legolas’ private yacht. It amused her, and kept her mind from any more serious worries.

Anyway, Legolas had left plans to show what, and who, would go where on board; and Tindómë was quite glad to find that her small family of four had a cabin to themselves, with lots of room for all the trunks containing folios of paintings, and drawings, that were to be given to Arwen’s family. All Tindómë could hope now was that Rumil was right, and Haldirin would return from Eryn Lasgalen to take up his place in their cabin.

…………………………………………………………………

It was another two weeks before Gimli arrived with all his possessions contained in two small trunks. Very heavy trunks.

“Tools,” he said, waving at one. “I’m not old enough, yet, to live out my years without ever working metal again.”

Next he nodded towards the other one. “Clean clothes…” he said, and then grinned at Tindómë before continuing “and mithril and gems. That’s what they’d expect a dwarf to carry – why disappoint them, eh, lass? There may well be things that the lad or I, or you and yours, will need to finance there – and mithril and gems should be a fairly well understood currency…”

She smiled – he was right about the expectations, she thought – and right, too, that some sort of financing might be required, if only to enable them to build the dwarf a forge of his own.

Once settled into his cottage Gimli went to have a look at the ship. He was to share Legolas’ cabin; there was a low bunk that he might easily get into. He walked all around the vessel, Tindómë and Ithilienne at hand, muttering about wood, and fragility, and foolishness when they didn’t know how far the trip was… Tindómë recognised that he was simply worrying about the whole enterprise in general. To be honest, so was she – the whole ‘not knowing what to expect at all once they left the mouth of the Anduin’ thing was… scary.

Ithilienne, however, was whispering to her mother, “Naneth – do you really think Gimli thinks it would work to build a ship of metal? It would sink!”

And it occurred to Tindómë, not for the first time, how different was her daughter’s upbringing from her own. Easiest, too, not to explain ships like the Queen Mary, or the USS Nimitz, but she would tell Gimli about them; he would understand, and enjoy the possibilities of building a metal ship. It might help distract both of them.

…………………………………………………………………

The bluebells had faded and the columbine was in flower before the message came that those who were returning from Eryn Lasgalen had been sighted. Only when Rumil reassured his wife that he could see both his brother and his son did Tindómë feel something un-knot in her chest.

She hadn’t really thought that Lithôniel’s family would persuade their daughter and daughter-husband to stay, or that Rhîwen would persuade Haldirin to let her uncle sail without him, but she had not been sure.

This would be the last time Tindómë would welcome family home to Eryn Ithil, too. She remembered the first time – when Legolas had led the archers back from war with the Haradrim. That had been a formal welcome; this would not be.

She hugged them all, Haldirin first, then Orophin, Lithôniel, and Legolas last. He looked as if he needed a hug. His skin seemed tauter over his cheek bones, and his eyes looked sad and tired. It was hurting him to leave – but it would kill him, she thought, to stay.

‘Huitho! If I ever meet any of the Valar I might be inclined to tell them it was a real shitty trick to pull on him, considering he’s one of their big heroes,’ she thought, not for the first time. But now the time when she might get the chance was getting closer and closer…

It was the next evening before Tindómë got Legolas to herself. Haldirin had already told her that Rhîwen planned to sail sometime in the next century or two – which must have been a relief to Legolas – at least one member of his family planned to follow him. Probably, Tindómë acknowledged, it was something of a relief to Haldirin, too – there was certainly friendship, if nothing more serious, between the two. Her son had also told her of Legolas’ question about houseless fëar; it confirmed the reasons he had given to herself and Rumil when they wondered why he had asked for Haldirin’s companionship on the trip.

“How are you, atheg?” she asked Legolas. “Really?”

“Not as bad as I had expected, nethig,” he answered – and he really did sound as if he meant it. “I have now at least some hope that Adar might, eventually, decide to sail.”

“Rhîwen? Will she be enough to make him want to come? I know Haldirin seems to have convinced him that your mother’s fëa is not still there. That must help.”

“Yes… he need have no guilt that he leaves her behind; and he has the possibility of being reunited with her. If she is not houseless in the Greenwood then she must, surely, have gone to Mandos’ Halls and could, already, await us in Aman. Adar and I spoke about many things and he promised me that he no longer refused to consider, eventually, sailing.”

Tindómë had the vague feeling that there was something he wasn’t saying – but he changed the subject, discussing how Gimli looked, and she knew there would be no more conversation about his father - the subject was closed.

…………………………………………………………………

Mid-summer. There would be feasting, singing, and dancing. There was little need to keep food back for the winter… There would be a bonfire to jump and everyone, ellyn, ellyth, the settlement’s two elflings, all would jump because all wanted blessings for what they were doing next; be it sailing or remaining. But there would be no ribbons.

Legolas had put it to his people that, for this last celebration in Middle Earth for those who were sailing, it would be good for all to dance with friends and neighbours whether bound or unbound. And they had all agreed, although he would not be surprised if there were still one or two wagers being made tonight – they were, after all, Wood Elves.

Now he was dressed in his celebratory clothing, ready to go amongst these Elves who had followed him here and accepted him as their lord, many of whom were ready to follow him along the straight way – the way of no return no matter what life held there.

He straightened his shoulders. He was their Lord – he would ensure that life there would be good for them. Time, as Tindómë had once told him, to put on his big boy pants! In more ways than one, he added.

He moved from group to group, as they ate, taking a morsel here, another there, and sipping now and again from the glass he carried with him. Time, eventually, to light the bonfire.

Before he did so he spoke, very briefly. “Wherever we are next midsummer, I promise that I will have a bonfire to light – and I would have as many who want to, to dance around it with me.”

There were cheers and shouts of agreement. He lit the fire.

At mid-winter they had all stood as if they had not wanted to break the spell by dancing – but tonight the music began within minutes of the first flame.

Now, he thought, to start the dancing. He walked purposefully towards Tindómë’s family, but this time he went to Ithilienne.

“For my last celebration in Ithilien it is only right that my partner is the elleth who will carry the name into the West,” he said clearly, before holding out his hand.

Then, as he drew her towards himself, he added quietly “Although I would have asked you no matter what your parents had called you.”

Her smile lit up her whole being, as she moved into the clearing with him. This time, as the dance came to an end, he leant towards her and, rather than kissing her and offering her a ribbon, touched his forehead to hers and stood like that for a little.

It felt very right, he thought, as others began to dance around them.

As the night went on he danced with every elleth left – even the youngest elfling. As the first light of day tinged the sky he sought out Ithilienne and asked her to dance again. As they walked, fingers just touching, to the middle of the dancers, Legolas let himself simply be – no attempt to hold himself back from her as he had done these past ten or fifteen years.

He remembered Tindómë saying she had been very conscious of where Rumil’s skin touched hers, right from the first, but much less so with Orophin, or with Legolas himself. He had understood the theory. Now that he allowed himself to, he could feel that slight tingle. Ithilienne said nothing, and neither did he, but as they danced her hroar fitted itself to his easily. There was, he thought, a definite hint of the desires of the body; but this was not the night to consider doing anything more about those desires than enjoy them for themselves.

As the dance ended, however, Ithilienne reached up and brought his head down the four or five inches to hers so that their lips met. It was a sweet kiss, a gentle kiss, and Legolas could feel it from the soles of his feet. It was not a long kiss. Ithilienne placed her hand on his arm and they walked towards Gimli. Nothing had happened between them that had not happened at the last few solstice celebrations – and yet there was a sense of promise.

Legolas wondered how to acknowledge what he was sure she had felt, too. Fine for Adar to say “Talk to the elleth…” but he had not given Legolas any clue as to what to say! Then, just before they were within Gimli’s earshot, Ithilienne spoke almost as if she was answering a question he had not been able to form.

“I would like to go starlight bathing with you, Legolas Thranduilion, but not just yet. I wonder if the Elves of the West bathe in the sea by starlight?”

…………………………………………………………………

A week later Legolas was still wondering about his father’s advice to ‘talk to her parents’. There was nothing tangible to talk about. He had kissed their daughter. He had done the same thing at midsummer before, and at midwinter, just as he had kissed many other ellyth in his life – and more than one mortal. It was not as if he had asked Ithilienne to go starlight bathing with him; after all, he thought with a slight smile, he already knew what her answer would be. He had not even asked her to walk in the quiet forest with him; his only conversation with her, since the solstice celebration, had been to accept some breakfast from her when he had called to talk to her father.

He sought out Gimli to take his mind off this puzzle.

The dwarf was sitting in the sunshine outside his cottage, deep in thought. “Ah, lad,” he welcomed Legolas, “I was just thinking of you.”

Legolas sat down and waited. After a minute or two his friend continued talking.

“I don’t think I will need a large forge where we are going.”

‘Well,’ thought Legolas, ‘if that is a thought about me the connection is not immediately obvious!’

“No,” Gimli went on, “I think more a workshop for small craftings like your betrothal rings – and your wedding rings, if you would honour me by letting me craft them for you. Even though, with the lass being so young, I don’t suppose I’ll live to see the day. But I would like to think of you having them ready – and thinking of me.”

Legolas tried hard to stop his jaw dropping. Gimli laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle, and then spoke again.

“Mithril wedding rings are most prized amongst my own folk. Would they suit?”

“Uh… wedding rings?” Legolas finally stuttered.

“And jewellery for her,” Gimli continued calmly, looking as if he was greatly enjoying the conversation. “Emeralds would be very suitable, with you being a prince of wood elves, and they would suit her colouring very well, wouldn’t you say?”

They certainly would, but… “Am I that obvious, old friend?” Legolas asked.

“To me, anyway. But then I know you well; and I was watching you, rather than dancing. The two of you had ‘that look’.” Gimli nodded gently and then went on. “It is a pity I hadn’t realised before I left Aglarond. I wonder if I can get moonstones easily when we get over there, or should I take one last trip to Minas Tirith…?”

…………………………………………………………………

As it turned out, Legolas did not have to make any decision about his father’s advice to ‘talk to her parents’.

Only one more day had passed after the unexpected conversation with Gimli. A summer storm sprung up, and the wind through the trees reminded him of the sea. He could not stay outdoors – even now, so close to the time when he would finally sail to the West, he thought he could hear the gulls, wanted to start walking, or grab a small boat and let the current take him down river… As the rain began he escaped to his favourite spot in the Small Hall; he closed the shutters and sat, with his knees drawn up, cradled by the branch and trunk of one of the trees that supported the building.

He had not been there long when the door opened and Tindómë came in, throwing her rain speckled cloak-hood back from her hair, and then, as she took the cloak off, uncovering a small basket.

“Is it bad?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I thought that, if my heart knew I was going to go, it would not ache so any more. But, perhaps this will be the last time…”

She sat beside him, and then passed him bread, cheese, and wine.

“Thank you, nethig,” he said.

“Should you still call me that?” Tindómë asked, to Legolas surprise.

“You would want me to stop?” he asked.

“Well… I thought it might be easier, when we get to the West, if there was no chance of any misunderstanding. No chance anyone would think we were blood relatives. I thought, perhaps, I should go back to calling you gwador.” Her voice was very calm, almost expressionless.

Legolas had a sinking feeling. He was pretty sure where this was leading, and he had not really wanted to go there, not just yet.

“If you insist, nethig – I will try to remember to call you by your given name – but I would be very sad to think you no longer wanted to be my small sister. I will have little enough family when we get to Valinor – but if you no longer want to be family to me…”

He was surprised to feel tears forming. She must have noticed, as she placed a finger under his chin and turned his face towards hers before she spoke again.

“You have been the best brother I can imagine. But it seems to Rumil and me that perhaps you might not wish anyone to see you as an uncle to Ithilienne.”

“I… I… I do not know what to say, neth… Tindómë.”

“Legolas – I have known you long enough to recognise that your relationship with Ithilienne is not like your relationship with me, or with any of the other ellyth. It’s not like your relationship with Merilwen, or Nilariel, or any of the others who have been born here either. I thought you might be embarrassed by her attempts to flirt with you – but you said not. And you did not look embarrassed to be dancing with her at midsummer…”

Legolas looked at his knees. He felt rather like an elfling caught sneaking cakes off the table before the guests arrived. He was supposed to be Tindómë’s big brother – he should not be giving her worries about her daughter.

The finger under his chin tipped his face upwards so that it became impossible to study the weave of his leggings.

“Don’t worry,” she said, with a slight smile, “I’m not going to shout at you – especially when you are feeling rotten with sea-longing. I might have wanted to shout at you when it first occurred to me that the ‘thing’ between the two of you might not just be all one-sided – but I have a very composed husband… and I’ve calmed down in the two or three years I’ve had to think about it.”

“Two or three years?” he could not prevent himself from asking, surprised.

“More – but Rumil and I only really spoke about it seriously when… when Aragorn died and you began to plan the ship.”

Had it been that obvious? He had tried so hard to avoid any sign of being attracted to Ithilienne!

“I have not done anything… anything… um…” he could not really think of the right words.

“Atheg! You don’t need to apologise. Ithilienne is an adult and so, even if you had joined with her out on the middle of the dance floor last week, there would have been nothing wrong in it.”

She suddenly stopped and for a second her eyes lost focus, then she laughed – “And at least we’d still have been able to reach the food…” **

Then “Oops! I said ‘atheg’...”

“I would not have you stop calling me your brother in that way,” Legolas said. “I do not want our relationship to change – unless you are very angry with me about Ithilienne.”

“There’s no point in being angry, is there?” Tindómë spoke quietly, almost sadly. “It’s not as if I ever wanted you that way myself – that was never ever part of things, was it? And, as my beloved says, it is what it is. If you and Ithilienne are meant to be, you’re meant to be. And,” she added, “whatever happened between the two of you, during the dancing last week, she is much happier – and it reminded me of how I felt when Rumil avoided me when we were in Minas Tirith back when I first… arrived.”

Legolas remembered – although, to be honest, it had only occurred to him whilst he was in Eryn Lasgalen that his behaviour might be affecting Ithilienne the same way. Then he had felt torn between upsetting the mother or the daughter.

“So, yeah,” the mother in question continued, “and when I thought about it, it’s not as if you’re absolutely ancient or anything – it’s not like it was Glorfindel – you’ve not had to wait as long for her, if the two of you do end up together, as Rumil did for me or Lithôniel did for Orophin – Rumil and I – we’ll deal. No – it was more that I thought it might be difficult for you, because of Ithilienne, if people in the west thought you and I were blood kin.”

Legolas felt as if he was suddenly lighter – he had not realised just what a weight there had been on his fëa worrying that Tindómë might be unhappy that he was attracted to her daughter. He sat up straight and smiled at her, remembering his father’s words.

“Nethig, everyone who knows us knows our relationship – and the most important beings of all know exactly how unrelated we are. And if any jumped-up Noldorin lordling wants to make a fool of himself over something which is not his affair…”

“Go us!” Tindómë said. “We’ll just confuse them all totally and then laugh at them. If we can deal, they can. There is so an up-side too, you know. Rumil pointed out to me that, if you and Ithilienne do find your fëar winding together in the music, then at least your wife will be someone I like, not the daughter of ‘some jumped up Noldorin lordling’!”

…………………………………………………………………

(**In “Starlight Bathing” – Tindómë says “I’d have been ready if you’d stripped my dress off of me and joined with me in the middle of the dance floor at my party!”

And Rumil answers “Ah, but then people would have had to step over us to reach the food, meleth…”)

…………………………………………………………………


It was the last night. Tomorrow the ship would slip her moorings and they would be on their way.

Tindómë and Rumil lay together bodies as closely entwined as it was possible to be – drawing strength and comfort from each other. Outside others were sitting in the warm night air, singing, but the occasional soft giggle or cry of passion drifted in through the open windows. Tindómë let her mind drift into sleep but she knew Rumil would stay awake, remembering every minute.

The last morning. Orophin arrived almost as soon as Tindómë and Rumil left their bed, and the brothers carefully took the bed apart – then went to Orophin’s home to do the same thing. They had worked together to carve the beds for their binding nights, and would take them with them.

The last of the personal belongings were being packed, only those things already gifted to those who would not leave just yet would be left behind.

Now came the last time she would climb down the stairs from their home – the home where they had made those binding vows, the home where Haldirin and Ithilienne had been born… Tindómë straightened her shoulders and held her head up – she tried not to cry – it would upset Rumil who walked beside her, and Legolas who waited below.

She could not hold the tears back – but she was not the only one – even Galanthir’s eyes were suspiciously bright as he joined them on the walk down to the river and helped put everything into their cabins.

And then it was a first. The first time Tindómë had been on the ship as the gangplank was pulled up and the mooring ropes were untied. There was a slight breeze blowing down the river – the Valar seemed to be helping them on their way. The Telerin sailors, and their able Silvan assistants, slowly raised the sails and, as they did so, Legolas went to the ship’s stern. As everyone watched he unfolded the silk he had been carrying; it caught the wind and unfurled.

Anyone on the banks of the Anduin as the ship glided past would have had seen that each of the great white sails was decorated with a great tree below a silver moon – the device of Ithilien. And there would be no doubt, when they reached their destination, who this ship bore into the west; at her stern flew a banner of rich green, embroidered with gold oak leaves – the mark of the Royal house of Eryn Lasgalen.

Then Legolas waved Gimli over and took from his friend another silken banner – dark grey, embroidered with dwarven runes in threads of mithril, it was the banner of the Lord of the Glittering Caves.

‘Yes!’ thought Tindómë, ‘We are totally not going to sidle in and hope nobody notices, for sure!’

Voices began to sing around her. Rumil stood behind her and held her to him. Somewhere she could make out Haldirin’s voice, and Ithilienne came and stood beside her, resting her head on Tindómë’s shoulder. No-one looked back.

There was the first meal on board, and then the first night. Most of the elves stayed on the decks; the soft singing went on all through the hours of darkness, as the ship continued on down the river.

No sign was seen of Gimli above deck after he had added his banner to his friend’s – and Legolas said he had asked for no-one to come to him in their cabin – he was embarrassed by infirmity. Another first, Tindómë commented to her family – the first dwarf ever to be sea-sick. Well, except that they were still on the river. But in the second evening Legolas took a small bowl of soup into the cabin, and Rumil said there were no more sounds of retching…

On the third morning Gimli joined Tindómë as she sat up on deck. He looked pale.

“How long do you think this journey is going to take, lass?” he asked.

“I think we might get to the sea today, and then… well I just don’t know. I’m kind of expecting weeks rather than an hour or two, though.”

“I don’t think I’ll live that long,” Gimli muttered.

Legolas joined them – his hair catching the breeze his eyes shining – he looked as glowing with health as Gimli looked ill.

“I have been up the rigging,” he began.

‘You and every elf on the ship, atheg,’ Tindómë thought. In fact it was a good thing there was plenty of stuff in the holds to act as ballast or the weight of elves in the rigging might have overturned the ship. Probably best, though, not to say so in front of Gimli in case it made him even more worried!

Legolas was still speaking. “We are coming to the mouth of the river soon – the sea is before us.”

“Oh good,” said Gimli, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Yet, somehow, by the time the mouth of the river was visible even at deck level Legolas had persuaded Gimli to come forward, to the bow, because the salt-air would be good for his constitution, and helped him to his feet. Tindómë took the dwarf’s other arm, to help balance him, and was aware of both Haldirin and Ithilienne hovering somewhere behind in case further assistance was required.

As they reached the bow gulls circled above them and the movement of the ship changed as the first wave of an incoming tide lifted her. Almost automatically Gimli’s hand reached for the crystal that he wore around his neck…

And when, later, Legolas and Tindómë saw Rumil’s picture of the moment both remembered that shared dream that had set them off on this journey; “We could hear the gulls, see the open sea ahead, feel the breeze behind us, and we knew where we were going. And we both saw you, with your keepsake of the Lady Galadriel held in your hand, as you looked with us towards the West…”



The roll of the wind
As we sail across the water
The roll of the sea
As we're taken through the night
The dimming lamp of day
Leaves the crimson foam and spray
Across the face of the mighty Atlantic

In this cradle we found love
In our lifetimes we were broken
By the spirit we were turned
Here we touched the hope divine
And in the rapture and the charm
Came the tranquil and the calm
On the rage of the mighty Atlantic

The brightness of the lights
As they stretch across the water
The excitement of the night
As we're carried through the seas
There's a welcome lies in store
The strongest arms I've ever known
In the homes of the mighty Atlantic

For the roll it is gentle
As the waves, they guide you over
Full new moon across the stern flag
Our different worlds in constant motion

The Mighty Atlantic. C & R McDonald.
…………………………………………………………………………………………



The End


The moments when they first reach the shores of the West are described in the Epilogue to In The Winter Garden.




Disclaimer: Many of the characters in this story do not belong to me, but are being used for amusement only, and all rights remain with the estate of JRR Tolkien. (And Joss Whedon if he is at all bothered that Tindómë once spent a short time in his care...)
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