I owe thanks to many, especially Ithilien for kindly beta-reading, but I’ll not make you wait a second longer! Without further ado, here it is!

*****

Chapter Eleven: Immortality

*****

In the Hall of Kings…

With Gimli finally out of the way and most of Legolas’s more impatient well-wishers settled down, Aragorn and Faramir could at last get down to some of the recently-neglected business of Gondor. Alas, they had barely had the chance to receive the scrolls of messages, petitions, and orders from the councilors before a ruckus reached their ears from outside the door.

“My lord!” the herald was calling to an arrival. “You must wait while I announce you--”

“--Out of my way!” growled a deep, angry, and all-too-familiar elven voice, followed by the herald’s shout of protest and a thud.

The guards at once moved to bar the door against the intruder, but Aragorn heaved an exaggerated sigh and motioned them back. He cast a wry grimace around the room, for there was no question in the minds of anyone present of who the irate visitor was. Then the King of Gondor took up a random scroll from the pile awaiting his approval and casually began to sign it. Faramir caught on, making a little sound in his throat, and turned hurriedly to engage in conversation with one of the guard captains. Arwen casually leaned forward in her seat, feigning interest in Aragorn’s work.

The doors were flung wide open. Aragorn met his wife’s gaze over the document and saw the mirth in her eyes. It was not as if they had not been warned. Hurried footsteps behind the intruder indicated Eomer and Gandalf’s rapid arrival, but still Aragorn gazed at the scroll.

“Elessar!” barked King Thranduil, his voice betraying more anger than Aragorn had ever heard, “what is the meaning of this?!”

Casually, almost lazily, Aragorn turned his face from his work to the enraged elven king. From the corner of his eye, he could see the apprehensive faces of the other elves, alarm from the hobbits, and outrage from the men at the discourtesy to their king. Indeed, Aragorn supposed, he probably should have been affronted, but he was not--though he did not envy Legolas having been reared by such a temperamental father. All the same, there were better ways of dealing with the discourtesy of his fellow ruler than simply shouting back.

In a deliberately bored tone, he asked, “Is there a problem, Lord Thranduil?”

Whether Thranduil’s behavior had been a deliberate provocation or the elf’s temper had simply been pushed over the edge by yet another encounter with Gimli, Aragorn could not be sure (and would put neither past Thranduil.) Fortunately, the King of Gondor’s indifferent reaction had the desired effect of giving the elven king pause. Thranduil’s eyes betrayed the barest hint of confusion before he rallied again and said with a tiny shade more courtesy, “There is indeed a ‘problem,’ my lord, when you permit…visitors to continuously harry my son.”

Clearing his throat delicately, Aragorn replied, “I believe Legolas has only one visitor under my permission at the moment.”

Perhaps nonchalance was the wrong card to play, for the ire in Thranduil’s eyes clearly increased. “I wish for my son to rest undisturbed by that dwarf,” he hissed.

Aragorn eyed him thoughtfully, and wondered if Gimli had somehow provoked Legolas’s father further. Under normal circumstances, it might have been likely, but at this moment Aragorn rather doubted that the dwarf would commit such a breach of trust. Gimli knew how to be diplomatic when the need arose--it was just that most often he did not see the need. But today, if diplomacy had promised Gimli a path to Legolas’s side…no, the dwarf would not risk a fight with Thranduil. More likely this eruption was merely the product of prolonged exposure to Gimli’s presence around his son. *They have been forced to be civil to each other in Legolas’s presence, but the proximity has undoubtedly worn on them, given what I heard of their dealings with each other when we thought Legolas was dead.*

Nonetheless, whatever Thranduil’s personal grievances with Gimli, Aragorn knew Legolas well enough to guess what his friend would desire. Dropping the casual tone, but remaining calm, he said aloud, “I permitted the son of Glóin to see Legolas on condition that he not create a disturbance. I have no reason to believe Gimli would violate that promise.”

Thranduil’s response was predictable, though the sheer venom in his voice startled even Aragorn, “That dwarf’s very presence is a disturbance!”

Forcing himself to remain calm against the first flickers of anger, Aragorn answered, “I do not believe Legolas will see it so. Since his…return, he has asked for Gimli above all of us.”

Something dark and savage flashed in the elven king’s eyes, making the mortal king flinch mentally. *This shall be unpleasant.*

“My son’s judgment is impaired in his illness,” Thranduil fired back, “though he has always been blind where you mortals are concerned. Were he not ailing, he might have realized by now that the very cause of his hurts lies in his foolish trust of your puny lesser race and all those fools mad enough to ally themselves to you!”

Shouts of outrage erupted from around the room. Elves, men, and hobbits all sprang to their feet, their cries ranging from protest to outright challenge. “You forget yourself, Thranduil!” snapped Elladan as Merry’s hand went to his sword-hilt while Pippin cried, “You take that back, Master Elf, or there’ll be trouble!” and any number of men roared, “How dare you?!”

Aragorn cursed mentally as the situation threatened to escalate into violence but remained seated, roaring for order. The voices of the men and the hobbits did subside, to his relief, but a flurry of movement to his left indicated that the elves intended to say more on the subject. Arwen abruptly rose, her grey eyes hard as steel, and Eowyn came swiftly to her side. “Lord Thranduil,” Arwen said in a tone that froze her husband’s blood, “you find fault in elves who would unite themselves to men?”

There was no mistaking the Queen of Gondor’s meaning, and Eowyn’s hand went at once to her own sword. “Eowyn!” whispered Faramir in alarm, but Arwen’s hand came up so swiftly that the Steward actually stepped backward.

“I require an answer, Thranduil of Greenwood,” her voice was low and hard.

Aragorn held his breath. The Evenstar had claimed insult, and if Thranduil did not recant, there was not a doubt in his mind that Eowyn would step forth as the Queen’s champion then and there in avenging it. *And then Elladan and Elrohir shall claim rights to whatever is left!* thought the King of Gondor rather hysterically, for the former shield maiden’s stance was enough to intimidate even him at the moment.

Thranduil and Arwen locked eyes as the room fell dead silent. Merry and Pippin were open-mouthed and Frodo was biting his lip. Faramir’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and Eomer was white-faced. Not a breath could be heard.

Then, miraculously, the elven king’s eyes dropped, and he bowed low. “My lady,” he said tonelessly. “If I have offended you, I offer my most humble apology to you and all your kin.”

More than one person let their breath out suddenly. Arwen’s shoulders loosened, and Eowyn stepped back. “That is well, son of Oropher,” said the Queen of Gondor. “But I would caution you to have a care with your words in the future.”

Thranduil bowed again. He did not seem particularly humble to Aragorn, but the King supposed he had best be grateful the crisis had passed without bloodshed. Thranduil’s opinion of mortals (and of elves who dealt with them as friends) was well-known, and recent events had not helped matters. It did not truly surprise Aragorn that such thoughts had been brought to light in the heat of anger. All the same…it was bound to happen again if it was not dealt with, for the underlying reasons were far from resolved.

Apparently, the elven king was thinking similar thoughts. “Lord Elessar, since tempers appear to be running short, perhaps we had best continue this conversation in private.”

A tight, angry voice behind the elf growled, “Perhaps if you had shown the King and his guests some courtesy, you might have received a private audience from the start.”

“Eomer!” Aragorn said sharply, but the King of the Mark’s patience had evidently worn out.

“With your permission, my lord, I would stay and speak for Gimli.”

*Elbereth, Eomer do not turn violent on me now!* thought Aragorn, and he began, “Eomer, perhaps--”

“I have no objection,” said Thranduil in mocking cordiality.

*Valar help us, now they are both spoiling for a fight!* Aragorn thought in frustrated despair as Eomer’s chin went up. Nevertheless, he nodded and turned to the assembly. “Leave us.”

The hobbits scrambled, the men went shooting dark glances at Thranduil, and the elves lingered doubtfully before going. Arwen did not rise at first, but Aragorn touched her hand and shot her an entreating glance. *Let me deal with this, Undómiel,* he pleaded silently. At length, she nodded and departed with Eowyn and Faramir. The sons of Elrond also looked inclined to protest, but Galadriel quietly spoke to them, and they went away with her and Lord Celeborn.

The guards bowed, closing the doors behind themselves and the guests, and then the three kings were alone. Aragorn rose. “My lord, I think it best that the grievance that appears to exist between us be solved here and now.”

The elven king’s eyes, so like Legolas’s at first glance, gleamed with a cold anger that Aragorn had never seen in Legolas. “My grievance with you, son of Arathorn, is your continued disruption to my son’s life and well-being.”

“Disruption?” asked Aragorn with mock-incredulity. It felt marvelously liberating to have all other parties absent; now he could be as free with his words as Thranduil was. “Legolas has never referred to his friends as such.”

Judging by the sheer fury raging like wildfire in Thranduil’s eyes, the elven king was feeling similarly unhindered by the usual discretions. “Nay, because he is in many ways still a child blinded by mistaken loyalty. Otherwise he would surely see that his associations with mortals such as you have brought him nothing but sorrow. But for you none of this would have happened! He would not have been caught alone in the city streets by yet another of your filthy kin--”

Eomer surged forward. “Do not dare to compare Aragorn’s people or mine to that leeching filth that preyed upon the innocent!” he thundered. “Lest I venture to compare you to the most unsavory of your kindred--those who slew each other for the possession of jewels!”

Aragorn snapped at Eomer to calm himself, but Thranduil fired back, “Then I would remind you that the murder of your own kind is so commonplace that you consider it not even worthy of the laments we sing! For all the shortness of your lives you care naught for the wanton destruction you wreak, upon your own kind and everyone unfortunate enough to stand in your way! And yet you wonder why I liked not my son’s associations with you! You poison everything you touch!”

Hot fury rose within Aragorn. Thranduil’s opinions of mortals had never borne much resemblance to reality, and he wearied of hearing them. In a low, cold voice, he spoke slowly, “I deny not that the history of my race, short that it be, is marked by many failings. Yet I would remind you, son of Oropher, that it was not in Eryn Lasgalen that Legolas chose to settle his colony. Nor was it in the woods of Lothlórien or Mirkwood that the deciding battles against the Dark Lord were fought. Armies of elves did not do battle against the Nazgul and the forces of Saruman. Legolas has fought by the sides of men, dwarves, and hobbits, and seen all that our supposedly lesser races gave in the war for Middle Earth. Perhaps in fighting with us Legolas came to believe that there were things in Middle Earth still worth fighting for! Perhaps Legolas sees mortal races in a different light than yourself because unlike you and yours, Legolas is not fading! Legolas has not given up on the world!”

The way that Thranduil’s face turned white with rage betrayed that a nerve had been struck. “How DARE you--”

“I DARE!” Aragorn roared so wrathfully that Eomer took a startled step back. “How do you ask me what I dare, elven lord? It is YOU who have presumed too much these past days. In my grief for Legolas, and out of understanding for your pain at his loss, I allowed you much liberty, King of Eryn Lasgalen. I have tolerated discourtesies that would see any other cast from within the walls of my city! I REMIND you,” he thundered as Thranduil attempted to retort, “that you are in Gondor. Minas Tirith! MY realm, elven king! You rule nothing here, not my people, not my halls, and not Legolas! I will accept this behavior no longer! If I grant Gimli leave to visit Legolas, who is his FRIEND, in my Houses of Healing, then by the graves of my forefathers, HE SHALL! You have no authority here, Thranduil, over Legolas or over me!”

There was the faintest of smiles upon Eomer’s face, for he had stepped quietly out of the way of the other two raging kings. Thranduil’s eyes were smoldering with anger, but Aragorn allowed himself the satisfaction of having quelled the elven king at least a little. Without breaking eye contact from Aragorn, Thranduil said coldly, “Lord Eomer, I should like to speak with the King of Gondor alone, if you would be good enough to leave us.”

Eomer looked at Aragorn, who nodded, then gave a rather mocking bow. “In that case, my lords, I take my leave.” There was a distinct smugness in his steps as he departed the room, as if to say, “My work here is done.”

No sooner had the door closed behind the King of the Mark than Thranduil said in a tight voice, “You claim to love him. Why then will you not permit him to depart Middle Earth with his people? You know the sea longing burns within him, yet you are so cruel as to hold him here?”

Forcing his temper back down, Aragorn tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. “Now, as always, your words are misdirected. You speak of the friendship between Legolas and myself--and other mortals--as though it be some chain from which Legolas cannot free himself, nor bears willingly. You are wrong. His love for us is equaled only by ours for him, and though it grieves us, we too would see his longing eased. We hold him back no more than you do.”

Thranduil’s voice had grown more quiet, and Aragorn detected something in it aside from the ever-present anger. “I am his father.”

*Yet it was us with whom Legolas chose to build his future. He is a grown elf and seasoned warrior, yet still this decision troubles you. Could your resentment be naught more than jealousy, elven king?* “We are his friends. There is not a one of us who would not have given ourselves to prevent what befell him.”

Anger flashed back to life in the elven king’s eyes. “You have known him for but a few decades! For over a millennium I have raised him! How can you, a mortal with your weak bodies and weaker hearts, speak of knowing an elf, of forging any bond of true depth?” There was bitter resentment in Thranduil’s voice, indicating that although the elf questioned how such bonds could be possible, he no longer denied that they existed. The words seemed to grind their way from between the elven king’s teeth as he hissed, “What proof can a mortal show of his worth to an elf that would draw him away from his people? What right have you to claim his love?”

*By the Valar, it is so! He knows Legolas has chosen us over his kindred with whom to build a future. He had thought to remove his son from us by proving us false somehow, but now he sees that it is not so. And that is the root of his rage.* Quietly, Aragorn said, “If our mortality affects our judgment in friendship, it is only that we cherish the friends we make all the more in our shorter lives.” In an effort to make their shared love for Legolas a source of understanding rather than strife, Aragorn met Thranduil’s eyes and held them. “You know it to be true, son of Oropher. Though it pains me to recall my lack of sense, you saw my grief that night in the prison.” *If all my well-thought deeds have not proven me worthy, did my madness that night not speak for my heart?*

Thranduil actually winced. He made a valiant attempt to remain hardened. “You would have thrown away your realm and your Queen’s life. An ill-considered decision.”

Aragorn smiled wryly, “I do not deny it. My life--short though it be--” he added dryly, “has been dogged by many ill-considered choices, but few so plagued with madness as that. When Legolas finds out, I suspect I shall be hard-pressed to avoid having my ears boxed.”

The elven king did not laugh. He seemed more possessed now by his own thoughts, his gaze focused on nothing. “You should not have gone there that night.”

“Because you would have given your life to him if I had not interrupted?” Aragorn asked pointedly. Thranduil’s eyes jerked back to his. “Aye, son of Oropher, mad I may have been at the time, but my eyes worked. There can be only one reason why you would have been lurking in the shadows of that room before my arrival. Can you claim such a choice was any better than mine?” Thranduil did not answer, but a spark flashed in his eyes. Aragorn pressed his advantage, hoping that, even if he could not win a concession, at least the still-grieving elven king would at last acknowledge Aragorn’s right to claim Legolas as a friend.

“What is to become of him now?” Thranduil murmured.

Aragorn sighed, his heart conflicted by relief that the quarrel seemed at an end along with fear of his own inability to answer the question. “I know not.”

The confrontational pose had not quite left the elven lord. “Think you he will be better off recovering in your city of stone?”

*And still he pushes!* Irritation flared in the King of Gondor, but he forced it down. Thranduil still feared for Legolas, after all. *Amazing how all who love Legolas can be driven to such bitter strife over how best to see to his well-being.*

Aloud, he replied mildly, “I think the question of where he recovers should best be put to Legolas.” *In other words, my lord king, you might find more peace of mind if you were to try regarding Legolas as the grown elf he is, rather than as a stray elfling.*

He did not say so aloud, but it must have shown in his face, for Thranduil looked as if he wanted to spit. Aragorn quashed a smile. *Legolas, you shall be quite shocked if ever you learn the outcome of this conversation.* “My lord, I think we have well established our mutual concern for your son. Given that, is it not best that we set aside our differences and end this quarrel? We aid him not in continuing it.”

The elven king’s jaw set stubbornly in a fashion that reminded the mortal king of Legolas. Thranduil was not one for surrendering. *Neither is his son, for that matter. I only hope Legolas retains this long-taught stubbornness in facing his own inner demons.* Aragorn waited and held his breath. At length, Legolas’s father said curtly, “I do not pretend that I shall ever be easy with my son’s association with you, son of Arathorn, or your other mortal friends. I shall always believe him better off among his own kind. But if it is indeed for his sake that you speak now, then let it be so. I shall contest it no more.”

Aragorn pondered this and decided Thranduil was conceding as much as his pride and his beliefs would allow, and sealed the uneasy truce by stepping back and offering the king of Eryn Lasgalen a slight bow. “Shall we each return to our duties then?”

***

Outside the Halls of the Kings…

King Elessar found King Eomer outside the stables. “Is Thranduil still among the living?” the horse lord asked slyly.

“I fear so,” replied Aragorn. Eomer chuckled. “How fare your men?”

A shadow of regret crossed the younger king’s face. “Their thoughts turn toward home. I confess mine do so as well. We have lingered long in your hospitality, but the time of our departure shall soon be at hand. Matters of my own realm demand my presence in Edoras.”

Aragorn sighed, “I fear this reunion was everything save the one we had planned.”

“How fares Legolas?”

“The strength of his body returns,” said the former Ranger quietly. He turned bleakly from Eomer. “But his spirit wanes.”

A hand calloused from riding came to rest upon his shoulder. “It is as you and I both know, Wingfoot. None can free him from this shadow save himself.”

Aragorn smiled at hearing the old name Eomer had bestowed upon him at their first meeting. “There are times when I wonder if you do not possess more wisdom than I, Horse Master.”

Eomer laughed aloud. “Just as I wonder at times if you possess no sense of humor, Strider of the Dunedain!”

Aragorn laughed in turn, but his next words were spoken gravely, forcing Eomer to meet his gaze. “Yet I say in truth, son of Eomund, on more occasions than I care to account these late days, your wisdom has prevailed where mine hath deserted me. No, let me finish,” he said as Eomer looked about to protest. “Where my grief for Legolas had all but driven me mad, you honored my trust in the care of my city; where my wits failed, you kept yours, and thus have I kept my kingship and dignity in this trial.” He gripped the Eomer’s shoulder firmly. “Gondor shall be forever in your debt, King of Rohan. As shall I. And it shall be written and sworn by me at the soonest date possible that all the strengths and resources of Gondor shall ever be prepared to move to the assistance of Rohan, for all time, if ever her Kings request it, and that Gondor shall require naught in return. For the King of the Mark has shown a friendship so true to Gondor that none in this realm may ever fail to honor it.”

Eomer’s mouth had fallen slightly open. Such a vow by one king to another was not to be made lightly. “Have a care; you make a heavy pledge, King Elessar.”

“And so shall it seal the bond between us, King Eomer,” replied Aragorn firmly, “and my sons and theirs shall be bound to it; Gondor shall ever be a friend of Rohan, and to any faithful request from her people, ours shall be bound to answer.”

Deeply moved, the King of the Mark, raised his own hand to cover Aragorn’s, before saying, “I thank you, my lord, but know that if you would seal such a bond between us, than it shall be a promise of aid to Gondor from Rohan as well, for I would not see all your descendents bound to mine without the assurance of mutual assistance if ever your realm should request it.”

Feeling a little of the tension that had twisted his insides for many days finally beginning to release, Aragorn grinned. “Done,” he replied as though sealing a well-haggled bargain. Then he laughed aloud as Eomer caught onto the jest, and added to it by spitting into his palm and holding it out like a trader. Aragorn pumped his wrist firmly without hesitation, and they both returned to the Halls of the Kings, chuckling earnestly.

***

A few days later…

Legolas had slipped away from the company before the departing riders of Rohan, King Eomer at their head, had vanished from sight. Gimli had lingered beside the Lady Eowyn, who Legolas knew was more grieved than she let on at seeing her brother depart again, and Legolas had taken the opportunity to escape.

Since learning of Legolas’s intention to depart for the Undying Lands and escape his torment, Gimli had attached himself to the elf’s side as though welded there hip-to-helm. Not that Legolas ever minded the dwarf’s company, but Gimli stayed so close to his friend that the elf had more than once been in the embarrassing position of nearly tripping over his stunted companion. At least Legolas’s father had at last ceased his objections to Gimli’s presence--though he often scowled and muttered uncomplimentary things about dwarves under his breath when Gimli was about.

Strength had returned at last to the elf’s limbs; as old as he felt, his body was young yet, and healed quickly. This had at least allowed him to escape the nagging and prodding of Lord Elrond, his sons, and Mithrandir in the Houses of Healing, and led him on long, silent walks over the rooftops and walls of the White City. Walks that ended prematurely when Gimli would spot him and harangue the elf furiously until he came down again.

Today he settled himself on a balcony overlooking the marketplace, loud and bustling even from this distance with farmers and craftsmen selling their wares for the coming winter. Watching them gesturing and haggling over brightly-colored fruits and great bales of grain and bolts of cloth, Legolas felt a smile come unbidden to his face, the expression feeling strange and alien after so much sorrow. He would miss Middle Earth, there was no doubt in his mind of that. Until the sea longing had struck, Legolas unlike most of his kindred did not feel weary of the land at all, and indeed, even until…this…had happened, he had enjoyed the sights and sounds of the realms of Middle Earth, even those not inhabited by his own kindred. Now he felt detached from it, too hopelessly sundered to ever feel easy among these people again.

*I am of no use to any in Middle Earth in this state. What a wretch the Black Hunter has made of me.*

Someone cleared their throat from the balcony doorway. Legolas nearly jumped off the railing. “I’m sorry!” exclaimed a contrite voice. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Catching his breath, Legolas mustered a smile as he turned to face the visitor. “That is all right, Frodo.”

The Ringbearer solemnly came onto the balcony beside Legolas, peering down at the busy throngs below them. “I came to get away from Sam and the others. I do love them, Legolas, but their hovering can be frightfully trying at times.”

Legolas chuckled, settling upon his knees next to Frodo. “You speak for me, Master Hobbit. It would seem that none have ever bothered to explain to our friends that injuries do not necessarily make us invalids. My body is well-recovered, but they badger me still.”

A little sigh reached his ears. Frodo murmured, “I wish that I could say I have recovered in body.”

The remark caused Legolas to look sharply at the hobbit beside him. “Your old wounds still ail you, Frodo?”

Frodo nodded. “I am sure Sam has told you and the others. Old pains do trouble me still.”

“Have you spoken to Aragorn of them?”

“Not since we returned here, but he knows. Sam and I consulted both Strider and Lord Elrond when last we departed Minas Tirith for the Shire.” Frodo shook his head. “The wounds of Morgul blade and venomous sting heal not completely. All that can be done has been.” Legolas noticed as Frodo spoke that he clutched at something beneath his clothing. It reminded the elf of when Frodo had carried the Ring, but of course, it could not be that. It was probably some ornament gifted from one of their friends. “Legolas, I have told none of the others this, not even Sam, but I think I must tell you. I shall not be long remaining in the Shire after Sam and Rosie’s babe is born. I would not miss the occasion for all the world, but after, very soon after, I must depart.”

“What?!” all thought of his own troubles vanished as Legolas stared at Frodo. “Of what do you speak? Where shall you go then, for I know you have loved no land greater than the Shire.”

Frodo looked nervously about, as if fearful of prying ears, then said softly. “To the Havens, Legolas.”

“The Havens?” Legolas breathed, stunned. “To Valinor?” Frodo nodded. “But…how? How is such a thing possible?”

“You think I should not?”

“I, no, I…” Legolas faltered, confused by the thoughts running through his mind. At last, he spoke. “After all you have done, Ringbearer, and all you have suffered in the quest, I should say you are well deserving of the peace of the Undying Lands, and hope that they would impart such relief to a suffering mortal as they are known to give an elf. But such a choice is not in my hands. I wonder only what good and wise fortune has gained you admittance.”

“Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel are certain that the Valar would consent to receive me,” said Frodo, his voice filled with wonder as though he himself could not readily explain the honor. “They shall be taking old Bilbo as well. We Ringbearers shall go together on one last journey. I’m only sorry Sam won’t be able to come. You mustn’t say anything!” he added hastily to Legolas. “For he’d be in a terrible state if he knew of the plans we’re making. I think he may already suspect something; that’s why he arranged this little trip.” Frodo shook his head ruefully. “It was to remind me of all the good things about life, and all the friends we made in spite of such a bitter journey.” He looked remorsefully at Legolas. “I think now it would be better had we never come.”

“Do not speak so, Frodo,” said Legolas softly, meeting the hobbit’s sad eyes. “The Abomination’s strike upon Gondor would have happened regardless, and it is perhaps well that all the greatest and cleverest of the War of the Ring were present when he arrived, or he might yet live, leeching the lives of the people of Middle Earth.” Not quite able to suppress a shudder, he murmured, “Perhaps my fate was a small price to pay that his terror upon this land is ended.”

“Now I tell you not to speak so, Legolas,” said Frodo, folding his arms. “No one deserved that.”

“You mistake my meaning,” Legolas replied. “I said only that I am glad he is at last destroyed, even if it had to be the result of his attack upon me.” For the first time, he realized that he meant it. *The leech is dead. If nothing else…I was the last. There shall be no more tears, no more cruel and lonely deaths at his hand, no more fearful nights. His hunt is ended.*

“Legolas?” Frodo’s voice brought him back to the present.

The elf smiled sadly at Frodo, “I wonder if you might accept another companion when you depart, Ringbearer.”

“Of course,” said Frodo, sounding pleased. “Whatever peace awaits us in the Undying Lands, it shall be a wrench to say goodbye. You would accompany us to the Havens?”

“Much further than that, my friend,” said Legolas softly. Frodo merely smiled. “You seem less than surprised.”

“If my wounds have not fully healed, I am hale nonetheless,” said Frodo matter-of-factly. “Most of the time, anyway. But it is not those old hurts that drive me from these shores, friend Legolas, as you well know. I wondered soon if you would not go for the sea-longing, and now…nay, I am not surprised. I think you have well earned your rest.”

Legolas found himself laughing quietly. “My thanks for the vote of confidence, Master Hobbit. And be sure, if you and your party would consent to have me, that I shall add my voice to those who plead to the Valar for your admittance.”

“My thanks,” said Frodo with a smile. They sat in companionable silence on the balcony as the sun began to set, their eyes turned westward, until Frodo murmured, “Though…you do know…Gimli will miss you terribly.”

“Aye, I know.”

“And Aragorn.”

“And I him.”

“And Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn.”

“I shall be sorry to bid them farewell. I shall miss all of them.” Legolas eyed Frodo. “Will you not miss Merry and Pippin? And Sam and his young family, and all your folk in the Shire?”

“I shall very much miss them, but they’ll get on fine without me.” Frodo turned back to Legolas, “But I wonder that--”

The hobbit’s words were cut off by the sudden blaring of more than one horn of Gondor, and the distant clanging of the alarm bells near the city gates. Frodo and Legolas sprang to their feet as the market below them erupted from orderly high-spirited bustle to complete chaos. Gondorrhim soldiers raced down the street as the crowd parted for them, running full-tilt toward the gates to hear the source of the alarm. For a few moments, elf and hobbit could only watch the scene, paralyzed, and then Legolas sprang up onto the balcony rail and climbed to the roof. “Wait here!” he ordered Frodo.

Upon the roof, he saw the alarm flares raising into the night sky from somewhere beyond the White City’s eastern gate. Many torches and lanterns were being raised to light the flags being set to wave as warning to the people of Minas Tirith: not warning of attack upon the city itself, Legolas translated, but rather an attack without that required Gondor’s soldiers.

*By the Valar, it has been but hours since Eomer’s company left!* Legolas wasted no time, but slipped swiftly down to the balcony again. “There is an attack somewhere beyond the gates,” he told Frodo, ushering the hobbit inside. “To the Halls of the Kings, quickly!”

“But you said it was beyond the city,” Frodo protested, but hurried nonetheless.

“For now it is outside the city, but I suspect the Gondorrhim muster is an effort to keep it that way, and I shall go to learn more of the trouble. But I cannot until I see you safely to the others.”

As it happened, though Legolas was anxious to learn what was taking place beyond the city, he did not have to take Frodo all the way to the Halls of the Kings. They had gone only a ways through the crowded streets before they were beset by three frantic hobbits. “Mr. Frodo! Where by thunder have you be--oh, Mr. Legolas, praise be. I was afraid he was out alone in this mob after running off like that,” Sam babbled, with a protective hand now on Frodo’s shoulder. Merry and Pippin both had their swords out, glaring about them for any enemies who might spring from the lengthening shadows.

Legolas nodded briskly to them, “Take Sam and Frodo in hand, Master Knights, if you would. I must join the muster, if you are able to see them safely back to the Halls of the Kings.”

Merry nodded, raising his chin, and Pippin brandished his sword, “We’ll handle it, Legolas. Go and take care!”

With a final nod, Legolas turned and raced away toward the city gates. There was a rush of soldiers heading now for the stables, and he joined them, sensing from their snatches of chatter and shouted orders that there was an orc attack taking place without, upon some group of travelers or soldiers, perhaps. Their words heightened his anxiety for Eomer’s company, though he reasoned that were the men of Rohan under attack, surely it would already have been said outright. Or perhaps in the growing darkness it was not yet known.

Their responses automatic with training despite all that had occurred, not a soldier questioned the only recently-recovered elf as he pushed through the stables to Arod, seizing the horse and his weapons, and leading him hastily toward the gates. He had not got far before a shout broke through the noise of girding armor and bellowed commands. “Legolas! Where have you been, Elf?!”

“Gimli!” Legolas mounted his harried horse and rode swiftly to the dwarf’s side. “What have you heard?”

“Hardly anything! I was looking for you, you stupid elf! Now that you’ve finally managed to appear, let’s be off!”

Faramir appeared out of the throng as Legolas gave Gimli an arm up onto Arod’s back. “Legolas! A scout has just arrived from Eomer’s company.”

“The Rohirrim are under attack?” cried the elf, his fears rising.

“Nay, but their southern flank spotted a large company of orcs across the Anduin. Their course takes them directly toward South Ithilien!”

Legolas felt his heart freeze within him. Many of his elves were still in Minas Tirith, having come the previous week for what would have been his funeral. Among them were a good number of his warriors! Those who remained…*No!* “Where are my warriors?” he asked, astonished at how calm his voice sounded.

“They await you outside the gate. They are mounted,” Faramir assured him. “Eomer leads his guard south as we speak, but you and the men of Gondor can yet join them before they intercept the enemy if you ride hard.”

“Are you not coming?” asked Gimli as Legolas urged Arod forward.

“Nay, Aragorn leads the Gondorrhim!” came Faramir’s shouted reply as they made for the gates. “Take care and be well!”

“Keep a close watch on your walls, Faramir!” shouted Legolas back as he urged Arod past the scrambling Gondorrhim and out of the gates.

***

Aragorn was mounted with his almost-assembled company of Gondorrhim soldiers when he spotted a familiar horse with two equally-familiar riders upon its back. He felt some trepidation at the idea of Legolas riding into battle barely two weeks after his almost-funeral, but had known even before he spotted the elf that there would be no stopping him once he learned his colony was at risk. Eomer and Aragorn’s own soldiers would serve as sufficient reinforcement for the elven warriors currently awaiting their lord. Not to mention Gandalf, who was mounted upon Shadowfax close to the sons of Elrond, as well as Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin. King Thranduil waited at the head of the elven warriors.

Another horse burst from the gate accompanied by a guard of White Company men, and Aragorn caught a flash of golden hair. “My lady!” he shouted to the fully-armed and armored shield maiden. “Whither goest thou?!”

“Emyn Arnen, by your leave, my lord!” Eowyn called back, wheeling her horse around. “My brother’s remaining men shall wait there to protect the princedom, and we shall receive any casualties of the battle.”

Aragorn nodded and waved her on, “Take care, my lady!” She waved farewell and kicked her mount into a gallop, as Legolas rode up to Aragorn. “Are you ready, Legolas?” The elf nodded, and Aragorn’s heart leapt within him at the sight of his friend’s eyes. Within them, there was a ghost of the brilliance returning; not Legolas’s usual high spirit perhaps, but the fire of battle. A start, to be sure. “Then give the word. It is your colony under attack; we shall follow your lead.”

“As you will, my lord!” Legolas rode swiftly to the head of his warriors, beckoning Aragorn and his father to his side.

The charge of men and elves crossed the newly-rebuilt bridge to Osgiliath and swiftly overtook the Lady Eowyn’s company on its way to Emyn Arnen, then raced south in a great thunder of hooves as the light of the first stars came out. Aragorn felt his blood racing as they galloped over the darkening landscape with the hulking shadow of the Ephel Duath looming like a great lurking dragon to the east. Before long, they heard shouts ahead and could see torches bobbing above the shadows of many more riders--Eomer’s soldiers.

The King of the Mark beckoned them up as they overtook the riders of Rohan. Aragorn saluted swiftly, and was gratified that Eomer at once noticed the relative positions of the riders in front of the group. Pulling his mount up level with Aragorn and King Thranduil’s, he cried, “Lead on, Lord of Ithilien! The riders of Rohan follow!”

“Gondor!” Aragorn cried in affirmation.

Legolas saluted them, taking the lead, his eyes flashing in the light of the torches and lanterns. “To South Ithilien!”

*****

To Be Continued…

*****