THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  Legolas receives help from an unexpected source.

Disclaimer:  The characters and places of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I am merely borrowing them for a time, and gain nothing but the joy of writing about them.

Reviews:  PLEASE!  I treasure each and every little comment I get, and will see them as great encouragement  (I had my first experience hitting that great “wall” of writer’s…words fail me.  Nothing looked or sounded right for weeks!)   

A/N: I must apologize for the long delay between postings.  Between a family illness (my mom) and the beginning of school (this year I have a third grade class of “killer squirrels”), I have had very little time for much of anything.  Maybe things will improve, but with RL (and squirrels) in charge, I doubt it. L

*All characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 7: Out of Time and Mind

     Legolas fought grimly, trying to lift himself above the searing heat of the poison and the unrelenting pain of his injuries.  He could hear Estel’s voice from time to time, and struggled to reach him. 

     Estel!  I can hear you, mellon nin, but I cannot see you!  Help me!

     Gathering his fading strength, he made a desperate attempt to reach his friend.  Aragorn paused abruptly in sponging down the elf’s burning body, gray eyes locked on his friend’s face.  He saw a spasm of pain twist the pale features, and took Legolas’ hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. 

     “Legolas!  Awake now, my friend!” he called, stroking the sweaty blond hair and patting the hot cheek gently to rouse him further.  At the sound of his voice, the elf’s dark lashes fluttered, and Aragorn felt his heart quicken with sudden hope.

     “Come now, you have slept long enough, Thranduilion,” he cajoled.  “Wake, Legolas!  Please!  Legolas!”

     The limp fingers tightened for an instant, then relaxed.  Legolas remained still, his eyes closed.  Aragorn bowed his head over his friend’s hand for a moment.  

     Please, Legolas, do not give up.  Keep fighting this.  I will be with you every step of the way.  I will not leave you.

     He sighed and raised his eyes, scanning the trees overhead as if in search of a measure of comfort, allowing the gentle whisper of wind to cool his face and the peace of the forest to ease his disquiet.  Picking up the cloth again, he resolutely returned to cooling the fever-ravaged body. 

     Early the next day, the men left their impromptu camp, and returned through the forest to the others.  The golden mare followed, maintaining her distance but refusing to abandon the elf whom, it seemed, had captured her after all. 

     Once back in the relative safety and comfort of the main encampment, Aragorn and Aravir continued fighting the unseen enemies of shock, infection and poison that threatened the Prince’s life.  Eomer brought his son to visit them, and afterwards Elfwine went immediately to see Arod and tell him about his friend.  Sadly, there was not a great deal to report, and the boy ended up with his face buried in the dark silver mane, weeping bitterly.

     The day after their return, as the fever took its inevitable toll, Legolas weakened to the point that even those brief flashes of consciousness ceased, and he fell into a dark bottomless pit.  His last coherent thought was one of love and regret.

     It was several hours later that the tears began.  Aragorn and Aravir knelt beside the elf’s cot, staring at the wet trails streaming down Legolas’ cheeks.  Aravir wiped some away with his fingers.

     “He weeps, hir nin,” he whispered.  “What would possibly cause him to weep so?”  He turned stricken green eyes to the King.  “Is it the sea again?”  Aragorn shrugged helplessly, tossing a cloth to Aravir. 

     “I am not sure,” he replied.  “The only thing we can do now is see to his comfort, try to control this fever, and attempt to keep some of the medicines and fluids in him.”  Wordlessly, Aravir dampened the cloth and began gently sponging the arms and hands of his lord.  He hoped with time the effects of the poison would pass; he also hoped Legolas was strong enough to outlast those effects.

     The mysterious tears continued through the following days and nights as the battle for Legolas’ life raged.  Only after Aragorn declared him out of immediate danger did the tears begin to subside, although they never truly ceased.

                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~  

     With the gradual return of thought came the sensation of drifting. 

     How odd. 

     Legolas held himself very still, and slowly realized that he seemed suspended somehow in a dim, endless corridor.  He tried to determine where he was exactly, but nothing looked familiar.  The corridor was lined on both sides with closed doors.  The silence was complete, and his body seemed unreal and insubstantial.  Legolas considered panic, but dismissed that path as unproductive.  Panic would not likely remove him from this place, nor return him to the living.

     An attempt to raise his arm produced nothing, and he discovered the struggle to call out to someone – anyone – pointless.  In fact, the more he tried, the greater his disorientation became.  Finally, a great weariness overwhelmed him once more and he slept. 

     When he awakened, he was in the corridor again.  This time he remained quiet, allowing his senses to expand and explore this new place. He sensed no threat, but he could sense no way out either.  Still, with the passing of time and careful consideration, he decided that he rather liked the dim silence.  It demanded nothing from him, and kept the pain at bay.  And the doors – such a curiosity!  Whatever did they conceal?

     Perhaps it would be better to stay here after all.  Maybe I will discover the secrets behind these doors.   

     So he remained, quietly content to hover in the curious limbo rather than face what waited in that other place.  From time to time, he thought he could still hear Gimli or Estel calling him, but he now had neither the strength nor the inclination to answer them.

     Time passed, or so he believed.  Sometimes one of the doors would open, and to his surprise, he was “allowed” to see beyond it.  What he saw was often unsettling as he glimpsed past events in his life…a picnic with his mother in her garden when he was still a small elfling…his first experience in his father’s court…the first words between Estel and himself…Moria…

     But he never ventured into the rooms beyond, content to watch from a distance and remember.  After seeing Estel again in one of the “dream rooms”, as he had named them, he tried once more to reach the conscious world.

     This time, as he struggled up through layers of heat and pain, he could hear Gimli urging him to “fight, you stubborn elf…do not dare think to leave us like this.”   He could feel Gimli’s hand, rough with the calluses of his trade and battle, holding his hand firmly while a cool cloth gently blotted the sweat of illness from his face…but his strength proved incapable of pushing past the last veil and he slipped once more into the darkness… 

     Ah Gimli, I have tried.  I am sorry…but I am so tired.  This is really not such a bad place, though I doubt you would like it overmuch.  It is so quiet here…peaceful.  I had forgotten what complete peace feels like, and it seems I am to stay.  Forgive me, my friend…

     Legolas.  A soft, strange voice fell on his ears, calling him.

     His mind recoiled at this interruption by what was apparently the keeper of this place.  No!  Who are you?  Go away!  He turned, searching for the speaker.

     Thranduilion, hearken to me.  The voice’s tone remained gentle yet grew in its implacability.

     Legolas shook his head stubbornly.  No!

     Come now, Legolas, it is time to quit the darkness and leave the past; you cannot remain here forever.  If it is peace you seek, come and abide with me for a time.  You will find both peace and rest in my garden.

     A garden?  With trees?  That sounded pleasant.  He had missed the color and feel of living things in all this grayness.  He strained to see, but could not discern any other presence in the dimness.  However, at the far end of the hall, a glow of light caught his attention.  It grew, until the whole corridor shimmered with the soft, beckoning illumination.

     Legolas reached towards it.  If I could just touch the light…

     The sudden jolt from nothing to something shocked the elf.  He raised one hand to touch the smooth skin of his face to see if it…he…was really there.  This time, he was.

     I am real again!  Well, if I can raise my arm and actually feel my face, perhaps I will be able to move…

     Taking a deep breath, Legolas stepped forward uncertainly…and found himself in the promised garden.  It was a secret, green place of growing things bathed in gossamer, shifting fog.  He breathed deeply of the cool, moist air and looked around curiously.  He stood on a graveled path, which wound its way through clusters of trees and disappeared into the misty distance.

     “Am I dead, then?” he wondered aloud.

     No.  The same soft voice that had drawn him from the darkness whispered in his mind, accompanied by a faint suggestion of amusement.

     Not dead, Prince of Lasgalen, merely sleeping a deep sleep.

     That did not sound too bad.

     “A dream?”  He turned, searching for the owner of the voice.

     Of a kind.  Follow the path to your right, son of Thranduil.  It will lead you to me.

     All right.  Follow the path.  That seemed simple enough.  He began to walk slowly, his inquisitive eyes captured by crimson flowers blooming here, or a saffron butterfly drifting there.  His steps slowed when the trail curved, and his breath caught at the sight of a magnificent old oak growing close to the path.

     Leaving the walkway, he approached the tree, his awestruck gaze tracing the trunk up and up, following the graceful branching of limbs draped in a gray-green robe of leaves and mist.  He sang a soft, delighted melody of greeting as his outstretched hand reached to stroke the rough bark.

     The venerable old tree answered the elf’s song, its distinctive music releasing the smile that had threatened since Legolas had stepped into this enchanted place.  

     I recognize that song…or at least parts of it!  

     Legolas laid his cheek against the tree.  Eyes closed, he basked in the oak’s welcoming presence, soaking up the low thrumming life song like a dry sponge.  Unnumbered minutes later, he straightened slowly, feeling the urge to move on almost like a shove between his shoulders.  With a farewell pat and a silent promise to return, he reluctantly left the tree behind.

     Walking once more along the path, he left the wooded part of the garden.  Across a wide verdant lawn, he saw a towering beech growing on the bank of a swiftly flowing stream.  Beneath the tree stood a stone bench, and as he approached, a figure rose to greet him.

     Legolas studied the being awaiting him.  His eyes perceived a tall, slender maiden with hair the silver silk of starlight and wonderful sad eyes the deep crystal violet of amethyst.  She wore pale gray robes, the hem embroidered with delicate mithril thread and dusted with tiny shimmering jewels, and a deeper gray cloak, the hood draping her silver hair and shadowing her perfect features.

     Neither elf maiden nor woman, but much more than either, the power and light emanating from her person brought him to his knees.  It was the understanding sorrow in her own tear-glazed eyes, however, that released his own tears to course down his face.

     He bowed his head, one hand covering his eyes as he tried to swallow emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.  A slender, strong hand began stroking his golden hair gently, while an equally gentle voice instructed, “Do not resist, Legolas.  I will keep you safe.” 

     At those kind words, he felt some hidden wall of control inside shatter.

     Surely this will destroy me. 

     No, Legolas, it will not…you must trust me.

     He wept openly then…for love and loss and longing, wondering if his father had been right after all.

     Why do you doubt yourself, Greenleaf?

     “It is my ties to the mortals and to Ennor itself.  My father warned me against them, my Lady,” he whispered huskily. “He said they would bring me only pain and destruction.”

     Your father is wise in many ways, Legolas, and strong.  We admire him greatly, but he has ever guarded his heart more closely than you.  While it was necessary for him to do so, it has never been for you.  You have always kept your heart and mind open to the things and peoples of Ennor.  Yes, you experience hurt now…but what would your life have been without these ties of which you speak?

     “Empty,” he answered slowly.  “Empty of the joy I have found in my friends.”

     The Lady nodded approvingly, and waited patiently until his tears finally ceased, and he quieted.  Then she knelt beside him and tenderly dried his face with a soft linen cloth.  Brushing his disheveled hair back, she studied his face with calm, knowing eyes. 

     “Who are you?” he whispered.  “Where am I?”

     “I am Nienna,” she replied.  Legolas’ eyes widened, and he bowed his head respectfully.

     “My Lady, forgive me!” he pleaded.

     She placed a delicate finger under his chin and lifted his face to hers once more.

     “You have done nothing to warrant forgiveness, Thranduilion,” she admonished him.  “Grief is not an emotion that begs another’s pardon.”

       He flushed at the mild rebuke, causing a slight smile to lighten her sad eyes.  “As to where you are,” she continued, “you are in the garden near my home…on Aman.”

     Legolas sucked in a shocked breath.  “How came I here, Lady?”

     “Patience, young one, all in good time.  For now, we will talk of many things and I will try to answer some of your questions.” 

     She stood and, offering her hand, lifted Legolas to his feet.  Leading him to the stone bench, she invited him to sit beside her.  They rested silently, each watching the glint of light on the rippling water before them.

     Finally, she spoke in a distant, sorrowing voice.  “Always have I pitied greatly the marring of Arda, and the suffering caused when Melkor sought to destroy that which we had wrought through our song.  Long have I wept with, and comforted those who come to the Halls of my brother, Namo, and helped them understand their own sorrows in order that they might be made whole once more.”

     She turned her tear-filled eyes on him.  “Long have I taught them the lessons of endurance and hope through the understanding of pain.  But every now and again, it is my reward to help one of the living Eldar deal with grief too great to be borne.” 

     One slim, cool hand lifted to cup his cheek, and that small, sad smile graced her lips once more.  “Your plight has been brought to the notice of the Valar, and we would help you achieve your goal of remaining on Ennor with your friends.  True, loving friendship is so rare, Legolas.  It does not hesitate to sacrifice itself, just as you have not hesitated to suffer for your friends’ sakes.” Legolas closed his eyes as more tears threatened.

     “But who told you?” he whispered.  “Certainly I am no one of importance.”

     Nienna sighed, eyeing the elf with impatient fondness.  “Perhaps not in your eyes, Legolas, but we would honor you nonetheless.  It matters not whether you understand just now.  Will you accept this boon offered to you, son of Thranduil?”

     Legolas nodded slowly.  “I do not mean to seem ungrateful, My Lady,” he answered earnestly, “nor would I ever wish to seem presumptuous.”

     Her violet eyes softened again with approval.  “Have no fear of that, Legolas.”  She tilted her head, considering him before continuing.

     “Attend me now.  I have prevailed upon my brother, Lorien, to aid me in addressing the griefs that threaten to consume you.  It is he who weaves this dream that I might speak to you.  Later, his spouse, Este, will also help by giving you the rest you so desperately need.  All you learn and discover here, you are free to remember when you awaken.  It will be your choice…to remember your time here and learn from it…or to see it only as a fever-induced dream and discard it as such.”

     At his nod of understanding, she added, “We will speak of many things, you and I –foremost among them your mortal friends…and then later, the sea.” 

     She stood.  “Come.  Walk with me and we will talk of Aragorn, Gimli, and the rest.”

     For the remainder of the long afternoon, Legolas spoke of his friends and his fears.  And he wept.  Often.  To his great surprise, he did not weep alone.  Nienna shed her own bright tears for his future losses, which comforted him almost as much as the words she spoke. 

     “Mortal and frail they may be, Legolas, but never think them forgotten.  Iluvatar’s plan for men is unknown to us, but He cares for them in ways we cannot comprehend.  As for your fears of eternal separation from them…you must, in the end, trust that He will reunite all of you someday.”

     “Gimli, too?” he asked, his heart stumbling briefly in dismay. 

     Nienna placed a comforting hand on his arm.  “Especially Gimli.  Aule may have created the dwarfs, Legolas, but never forget that it was Iluvatar’s will that allowed them life.  We are well aware of your friend Gimli, and his special qualities.”  Wiping tears of relief from his eyes, Legolas laughed softly.  Special qualities, indeed!    

     At the conclusion of the first day, Nienna took him back to the old oak.  She bid him climb until he found a comfortable resting-place, and watched as he settled at the juncture of an immense branch and the trunk.  Leaning wearily against the massive bole, Legolas closed his eyes.

     Placing a delicate hand on the ancient tree, Nienna whispered to it quietly, then left the sorrowing elf in its care.  As she walked away, she summoned Este to her side.  The two turned and stood, silently regarding the huddled figure in the tree.  

     For one so young, his spirit is quite indomitable. 

     Nienna nodded.  Give him his rest now, Este.  He needs the healing of sleep to recover before I show him the sea.

     Este smiled gently, and began humming a sweetly comforting melody, which she sent to the elf on the wind.  Legolas finally found his rest in the song and the stars, sleeping soundly in the tree’s protective embrace throughout the night.

                                       ~~~~~*~~~~~

     Nienna called him from his perch the next morning, and led him up the path towards an immense, graceful structure at the top of a steep hill.  The Valie took him through the open, airy halls of her mansion and out the front doors.  There, she stopped.  At his questioning look, she indicated a fog-shrouded path that continued from the house into another wooded area.

     “Follow the path, Legolas,” she instructed.

     “Where will it lead, Lady?”

     She smiled slightly and replied softly, “It will lead you to many answers.  My hope is that you will LISTEN closely, pen-neth, and hear that which is not obvious.”

     Legolas walked a few steps forward, then hesitated and looked back at the bright form of Nienna.  She waved him on.

     “Go, Legolas…all will be well.”

     At those words, he turned back and slowly followed the path.  He had walked only a few steps before he noticed a low roaring sound that gradually grew louder the farther he advanced.

     He finally broke from the cover of the sheltering trees, and stopped abruptly.  The path, the land itself dropped away suddenly.  Before him, gilded to glittering silver by the newly risen sun, stretched the shifting expanse of the sea.

     His breath hitched painfully, his eyes glazing with new tears.  Here was his heartbeat.  Here was pure longing.  He closed his eyes against the majestic sight and stood there trembling. 

     I want to continue, but desire has paralyzed my legs and robbed me of my strength.  The elf drew a shuddering breath.  Ai, the sea! 

     A gentle breeze tasting of salt caressed his face as if in greeting, ruffling his fair hair with playful fingers.  Legolas opened his eyes and forced his shaking legs to carry him to the edge of the promontory of land overlooking the rocky coastline below.

     Glancing to his right, he spotted the garden’s stream tumbling over the edge in a rushing cataract of water.  The crags of large cliffs past the waterfall disappeared in the distance.  To his left more steep, inhospitable rocks loomed.

     Slate blue eyes returned to the sea and traced the swell of waves as they built higher and higher.  He marveled at their sheer power as the swells broke and cascaded downwards, shattering into innumerable droplets of sparkling water and foam against the unyielding rocks of the shore.  And always the compelling song of the sea throbbed around and through him.  Dazzled by mist and music and sunlight, Legolas watched as the cycle began again, the eternal ebb and flow of the waters oddly comforting him by virtue of their unchanging constancy.

     The elf sank to the ground, folding his long legs under him and settling on the carpet of grass.  Obviously the Lady had sent him to this place for a reason.  He turned back towards the woods and the path and found, to his surprise, they had vanished.  In their place remained a heavy mist, concealing all from his eyes.  He watched the shifting fog for a few moments, distantly amazed at his lack of alarm at being trapped here against the sea.  Then shrugging slightly, he returned his gaze to the power and wonder of the waters.

     His eyes drifted shut, and he opened himself to the sea and whatever it would tell him.  As he waited, different voices from throughout his life began to drift through his mind…

     “Listen, my little leaf, the trees are speaking to you…”

     “Prince Legolas, your Adar wishes you to learn this.  You must listen if that is to happen…”

     “You do not really want the horse, ion nin, you want the power the horse possesses.  Before you are gifted with that, you must first LISTEN…”

     “My hope, pen-neth, is that you will listen and hear that which is not obvious…”

     A small voice whispered in his mind. Listen and remember, Thranduilion.  Listen and understand…

     Then all was quiet.  Except the voice of the ocean.

  TRANSLATIONS:

pen-neth  -  young one

hir nin  -  my lord

mellon nin  -  my friend

Thranduilion  -  son of Thranduil