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The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 28 – Written In Sand

Legolas rode in silence along with his new companions, as they made the day’s journey to the edge of Fangorn. He didn’t much care for having the dwarf ride with him. Gimli squirmed too much and it upset Arod, making him a bit irritable. He also grunted, moaned and complained under his breath in a language that Legolas did not know. He could only imagine the things the dwarf was saying about him. Better if he didn’t know the language, Legolas thought.
Aragorn had slowed his pace, and now rode alongside Legolas. He seemed to be waiting for the elf to speak, but Legolas was in no mood for conversation. He should have been with Eomer making their way back to Edoras, not with these two.
“So, Legolas,” Aragorn started, “how is it that an elf came to be a citizen of Rohan?”
“I escaped the burning of Mirkwood along with my uncle. From there, he saw us safely to the Woodsmen. We made that our home until the orcs attacked the village and killed him. Fearing for my safety, the Woodsmen brought me to Rohan, where Théoden took me under his roof and gave me a home. I have sworn an oath to my adopted country, to protect its King and its people … and I should be with them now.” The last part he whispered to himself.
Aragorn nodded and looked off in the distance, “Gimli and I know all about keeping oaths, for we have sworn to protect the people we traveled with.”
“And how has that gone for you,” said Legolas dryly as he noticed there was only the man and the dwarf left from his party.
Gimli shifted again, groaning his disapproval, “You do not know the perils we have been put through, Master Elf. Some of our company perished trying to protect the others. Some we had to let go so that they could find their own way, and some were stolen from our safe keeping.”
“You do not need to lecture me about pitfalls and separations, Master Dwarf, for I have survived under those conditions since I was born,” Legolas retaliated.
Sensing an argument arising, Aragorn interrupted the conversation, “Eomer mentioned your king was ailing. I am a healer of sorts. Perhaps when we’ve found our friends, I can come to Edoras as be of some help.”
Legolas knew that Eomer carefully worded Théoden’s situation. It would not be good for strangers to know that the king’s mind had been bewitched. Yet, Legolas sensed Aragorn’s concern. “Do you know my king?”
“Yes, I know Théoden, and I also knew his father, King Thengel, whom I served during his reign.”
Legolas was surprised by this. He had heard Aragorn tell Eomer that he was the heir of Isildur, but he hadn’t thought he held the same traits. “You have the longevity of the Númenóreans then?”
“Yes,” Aragorn answered.
“Good to know,” said Legolas.
They rode on quietly for a while longer. Legolas considered telling Aragorn the true nature of Théoden’s ailment. There was no reason not to trust this man. He was the heir to the throne of Gondor. He held the sword of his ancestors who reigned before him. Perhaps it was in the best interest of Rohan to tell him what ill omens had fallen upon the Riddermark.
“You asked about Théoden. He is not ailing from age or from illness. He has been locked in a spell, one cast upon him by Saruman the White, but he does not work alone. He has recruited the King’s advisor and turned his mind to evil. Together, they keep Théoden in a poisonous haze.”
“Then the King’s son must rule in his stead,” Aragorn inquired, “Why has he not cast this man from the city?”
Legolas sighed, “The King’s son is dead.”
“Dead?” Gimli said from behind. He had been silent until this point.
Aragorn glanced to the dwarf, “It is far worse than we thought.”
“What do mean?” Legolas asked.
“We have had dealings with Saruman also, before my company was split by death and kidnapping,” Aragorn explained, “We were making our way across the mountains when an unexplainably violent storm arose. Gandalf was with us and heard a voice in the wind … Saruman. He threw the mountain down around us, obstructing our path. We were forced to find an alternate route, and chose to pass through Moria. That’s where we lost Gandalf.”
Legolas could see that the old grey wizard was a dear friend of Aragorn’s, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“I am sorry for yours too,” Aragorn replied.
“Well,” Gimli chimed in, “it seems we all have a desire to confront Saruman.”
They did indeed have a lot more in common than Legolas might have thought upon first meeting these strangers. He began to feel better about his decision to come along with them. Perhaps they could help each other.
* * *
They reached the edge of Fangorn to find the pile of orcs still smoldering. “Is this where the battle took place?” Aragorn asked eagerly.
“Yes,” Legolas replied as he dismounted, “Eomer and his men happened upon this particular group and rushed them, hoping to take them by surprise.” He turned to help Gimli down, but was met with hostile opposition.
“I can manage it myself,” grumbled Gimli, as he struggled to get down from the horse.
Arod complained and stomped his feet, but Legolas laid his hands upon his horses head, and whispered softly in Sindarin to calm him. Gimli landed with a thud, and dusted his travels from his heavy coat. He looked at the pile of orc ashes, then further on to the burial mound surrounded by the spears of the men who laid there. Gimli shook his head, “The race of Men, always rushing into a fight. Perhaps if they had planned their strategy better, that mound would be smaller.”
Legolas took offence to this statement and rounded on Gimli, “Those men were my friends. They were honorable men. They died protecting their country, their King, and their loved ones. ‘Tis the way of the Rohirrim, and I’ll not have you speak of them in such a manner.”
Gimli shuffled from one leg to the other, and then walked off, “Come, Aragorn, let’s see if we can find any evidence of Merry and Pippin having been here.”
Aragorn went towards the turned up grass, where the battle had been fought while Gimli poked around in the burnt ashes. Legolas decided to follow Aragorn. He watched the man search the ground, intent on his purpose. “These friends of yours must be very much admired by you both,” said Legolas.
“I’d never abandon anyone I considered a friend, would you?” said Aragorn, as he picked up a stone and examined it. “I’m afraid that they are in more danger than just being taken by orcs. The enemy believes that they carry something of great importance with them. The fact that they were kidnapped and not killed tells me that the enemy has other plans for them, and I will not leave them to suffer at the hands of my foe.”
“Such was my indecision to come with you and the dwarf. Eomer will be in trouble once he reaches Edoras, and I cannot help but feel that I should be with him. Maybe if I had been with Théodred, he would not be dead now. Both are like brothers to me, and my heart pains me to think I will never see one of them again,” Legolas confessed.
“Aragorn!” Gimli called, “I’ve found one of their belts.”
Aragorn and Legolas rushed over to the smoldering pile. Gimli held his ax out, a small leather belt dangling from it. Aragorn stared at it and shook his head, “No,” he whispered in disbelief.
The belt dropped from the head of Gimli’s ax. He lifted his weapon in his hands and plodded towards Legolas, “You better think quick and hard, Elf, and try to remember seeing the hobbits that night, or I’ll pound the memory from your thick skull with the side of my ax.”
Legolas raised his bow and reached for an arrow from his quiver, prepared to defend himself if the dwarf was serious, “You’d be a fool to try.”
“Gimli!” Aragorn yelled, “That will be enough.” Gimli lowered his ax, but he did not step back. Neither did Legolas for that matter. Aragorn walked between them and regarded them both, “We all have a common goal, but it will do us no good to quarrel with each other.”
Gimli and Legolas stood down, and the dwarf looked again at the burnt bodies, “Do you suppose this was their fate?”
“If it was, their deaths will not be in vain,” said Aragorn, and he turned his attention to Legolas, “And neither will Théodred’s.”
Legolas bowed his head and closed his eyes, “Savo hîdh nen gurth, Théodred.” Have peace in death.
Aragorn nudged Gimli and both bowed their heads, but as they did, Aragorn saw something half buried in the dirt. He dropped to his knees and wiped his hand over the ground.
“What is it?” Gimli asked. Legolas opened his eyes and watched as Aragorn pulled a piece of rope out of the ground.
“It has been cut,” said Aragorn, “There is still a possibility that they escaped.”
“To where?” Gimli asked warily.
“Fangorn Forest,” said Legolas, “I’ll show you the way in. The trees know me.”
“Aragorn?” pleaded Gimli, obviously not too keen on going into the woods.
“Worry not, Master Dwarf,” Legolas smiled, “You have an elf for a guide. I suggest you put away your weapons though. The trees will see it as a threat, especially your ax.” He nodded to Aragorn, “Leave the horses here.”
“Bah,” Gimli complained, but he did as Legolas said and attached the ax to his back. Then he followed Legolas and Aragorn into the forest.
* * *
After following Aragorn and his tracking abilities, they still hadn’t found the hobbits, only broken branches, crushed foliage and a smearing of orc blood here or there. Legolas paid close attention to the creaks and moans of the trees.
“The trees are not happy about our presence,” Legolas informed them, “But they will tolerate us.” Then he turned to Gimli, “Unless they sense a threat.”
Gimli exaggeratedly stomped up a slight incline, “What kind of threat could a Dwarf pose to a tree? We prefer the solidness of stone rather than these termite ridden—”
Just then there was a loud rumbling as one of the trees became agitated with the strangers. Gimli released his ax, holding it defensively in front of him.
“Put that away before you get us all killed,” Aragorn demanded.
Legolas glared at the dwarf, “If he is more of a burden than a help to you, Aragorn, one word and I’ll have him thrashed by a tree.”
Gimli turned to Legolas, “Why you pointy-eared, no good, rotten, son of a goblin’s—”
Aragorn once again intervened, tired of being the adjudicator for these two. As he was reprimanding them, a noise caught Legolas’ attention. He shushed everyone, telling them to listen.
“Someone approaches,” Aragorn stated.
“Could it be the hobbits?” Gimli asked excitedly at a whisper.
Legolas closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds of the forest, detecting anything that was out of place, “It is just one person. He moves like an elf, quiet footsteps, slow and sure. I do not think it is your friends.” He thought of Calariel, but the sound of the person’s strides were too long to be female.
Remembering a warning from Eomer about strange sightings in the area, Aragorn had an idea of who it might be. “This could be Saruman. These woods border Isengard, and if he knows about the hobbits and his destroyed army, he could very well be looking for Merry and Pippin himself.”
Legolas eased his bow from his back and took an arrow from his quiver, “I have seen the kind of magic that he casts. One word, and we could all be put under his influence as he did with Théoden.”
Aragorn partially unsheathed his sword while Gimli brought out too smaller hatchets, good for throwing. Legolas stood between them, and while holding his bow at his side, he nocked an arrow, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
“We cannot let Saruman speak first. As soon as he appears to us, we must strike,” Aragorn instructed.
Legolas looked down at Gimli without turning his head, “I hope you are as good at throwing those as you are at throwing insults.” To his surprise, Gimli gave a short chuckle.
“I’d be willing to challenge you any day, Master Elf … my axes against your arrows,” Gimli said in answer.
“You may yet get your wish, Master Dwarf,” Legolas commented.
The trees beyond them glowed with soft white light. The stranger approached. Just as soon as he was within firing distance, Aragorn shouted, “Now!” and pulled his sword all the way from its sheath.
Gimli threw his hatchets, but the glowing figure deflected them with his staff. Legolas fired his bow, but the arrow curved strangely to the right, away from its target. Aragorn started to charge, sword in hand, but the hilt glowed red, burning him and making him drop his weapon. They were defenseless against this being’s power.
“Who dares to strike out against me?” said a low angered voice. The glow intensified, blinding the three travelers.
“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, and I will not succumb to your black magic, Saruman! Now, you will tell me where the hobbits are, and if any harm has come to them—”
The being laughed, “Saruman you say? Why, I am not him, but I do know what happened to your hobbit friends. I came upon them just a day or so ago. They are safe and in the company of the Ents.”
Gimli, without taking his eyes from the glowing being, asked Legolas, “These Ents, they are not dangerous are they?”
“Not usually,” Legolas answered, “But if what he says is true, your friends are in no danger.” Legolas quietly wondered which Ent it might have been and whether it was Beechbone.
“I demand that you show yourself.” Aragorn was obviously through with these games.
The man before them stepped forward, and seemed to emerge from the light that hid his identity. Cloaked all in white, hair and beard as silvery as fresh fallen snow, stood Gandalf.
Aragorn and Gimli gasped, dropping to a knee. Legolas looked left and then right, watching their sudden movements. Then he too thought it best to take a knee before the wizard. Gandalf walked to Aragorn, and taking him by the elbow, made the man rise to his feet. Legolas and Gimli stood once again and watched the interaction between the others.
Aragorn was in shock and disbelief at the sight that stood before him, “How can this be? I saw you on the bridge with the Balrog. I saw you fall into that fiery abyss as he caught you by the leg and pulled you down. I mourned for you. We all did.”
“It is true, Aragorn, I did fall, and fought and killed my foe as we plummeted to the ends of the earth. And then I relinquished my life, but my duties have not been fulfilled yet. The Valar sent me back to complete my mission, and blessed me with a new name, for I am Gandalf the White.”
“Like Saruman?” Gimli asked.
“No, Gimli, I am nothing like him. He uses his power out of selfishness. I am here to reverse that, as well as other things,” Gandalf smiled. As he finished, he looked to Legolas, and his eyes lit up suddenly. “I remember you, Legolas, elf of Rohan … very peculiar thing to me, even now.”
“I do not remember meeting you,” Legolas said.
“No, we did not meet, but Théoden told me about you last I had visited Rohan.”
“You are a friend of the King, are you not?”
“Why yes, I have counseled Théoden on many occasions.”
“If you are indeed who and what you say you are, then you may be the only one who can save the King.” Legolas went on to tell Gandalf about Saruman, Grima and the control that they held over Théoden.
“Then this is our first order of business. Rohan will need its King,” Gandalf said, and he turned to leave, “Come along, I know a faster way out of the forest.”
They had walked along for some time when the terrain became familiar to Legolas. “I have been here before. Up ahead is the home of Beechbone. Just through that grouping of trees is a glade.”
“You have met one of the Ents?” Aragorn questioned.
“Yes, I made Fangorn my home for a short while.”
“Fangorn? But I thought you lived in Rohan,” Gimli added.
“I had to … depart from my adoptive home for a while,” Legolas said, carefully choosing his words.
“Couldn’t play well with the others, was it?” Gimli jostled, “You have a sharp tongue, Master Elf, which will always get you in trouble.”
“I do not understand why you have such animosity towards me. If I remember correctly, it was you who verbally attacked me first, and I having done nothing to you,” Legolas argued.
“Dwarves have never been very accepting of your kind, least of all the Mirkwood elves.”
“And just what did Mirkwood do to your kind, Master Dwarf?”
Gimli stopped walking and rounded on Legolas. This was obviously a sore subject, “It was your own king who stood by and watched my people get slaughtered. It was because of Mirkwood that the Dwarves were chased out of Erebor. We lost our home, our King and all that we held dear to us, and your precious Mirkwood did nothing.”
“That cannot be true. The elves arrived but it was too late,” Legolas said as he remembered the stories from long ago.
“Oh, the elves arrived alright, and they turned from us. Cowards, all of you!”
“Mirkwood would never have let anyone suffer as they watched at a distance.”
“Were you there, Master Elf?” Gimli asked, voice raised in anger.
Legolas met Gimli’s eyes and saw the pain that still dwelled there. “Were you?”
Gimli grumbled and then went on, “It does not matter. My grandfather was there and witnessed first-hand the destruction, and the cries for help. He remembered the smell of his kinsmen’s blood, and of the smoke from the dragon’s breath. He told us many times how he watched as your king shook his head and left the dwarves to suffer. Brought it upon ourselves, they said, but when people are under attack, that is no time to teach a lesson.”
“And I suppose you think Mirkwood deserved what happened to it, the burning, the destruction, the death of all but one,” Legolas said heatedly.
Gimli took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “There you are wrong, Master Elf.” The edge of anger had dropped from his voice. “What my grandfather witnessed that day in Erebor, what he told us in detail so that we would not forget, I would not wish upon my worst enemy. Did the elves deserve it? No, but they might have helped to bring it upon themselves.”
Legolas was at a loss for words. He hadn’t known this side of the story, only what was written by the elves, that it was the greed of the dwarves that brought the dragon out of hiding and in search of the wealth of Erebor. Still, he found it hard to believe that his king would not help, “Mirkwood must have had its reasons not to intervene.”
“It might have, but we will never get the chance to ask, now will we? What happened at Erebor is stamped on the mind of every dwarf, and Mirkwood will never have the opportunity to rectify itself, and the rift between my people and yours will never be mended.”
Legolas walked on, sadness for both their situations heavy in his heart. He looked over his shoulder and back to Gimli who followed behind, “Then the rift you speak of is between the dwarves and myself, for my people are gone. I am all that is left, and the burden is mine now. So be it, Master Dwarf.”
The company approached the edge of the glade and entered into the sunlit clearing. Legolas rushed in first, hoping to find Calariel still there, but he had been gone for days now. He called out to her, but there was no answer, no sign of either Calariel or Beechbone, the Ent whose home this was.
“Who do you call for, Legolas?” Gandalf asked.
“An elf, one of the Galadhrim,” Legolas said as he continued to scan the area. “I thought she might have waited until I returned, but I guess she went back to Lothlórien.”
“She?” asked Aragorn.
“She’d been injured and I helped heal her. Then Beechbone came for me, and told me about Eomer and the fight with the orcs. I hated leaving her, but I had no choice. I had to go to Eomer.”
“You are quite loyal to Rohan, aren’t you?” Gimli asked, surprised at Legolas’ concern for these humans.
“Of course I am. They are my people, my family. I owe them that much for taking me in and making me one of them,” Legolas answered. Then he walked the perimeter of the glade, searching for any sign of Calariel or where she might have gone, though he was sure she’d gone back to Lothlórien.
He had almost forgotten, with everything that had happened recently, and was about to walk through it when he looked down at the sandy spot where his next footstep would have fallen. Legolas stopped and shuffled backwards before he ruined the message in the sand. There he stood, unmoving, staring at the patch of dirt in front of him, shocked by the name written there, the name that no one had used since he was an elfling. He could still hear his father’s voice calling to him, see the warmth of his smile, feel the love in his embrace. Only his father and Elhadron had called him by this name, and now, here it was written plainly in the sand at his feet.
“Laiqalassë, come to Lothlórien,” it read … his name in Quenya.
Legolas did not hear the other’s calling to him, asking him what he saw. They came and stood next to him, following his line of vision.
“Laiqalassë,” Aragorn read aloud in a soft whisper, and then he looked to Gandalf with complete befuddlement.
Gandalf seemed confused too, and he took a step closer to Legolas, looking the elf over more closely. Gimli, unaware of anything that transpired between the wizard and the man, bent low and read the name, “Gandalf, isn’t that the name of the young elvish Prin—”
“Gimli,” Aragorn interrupted abruptly, “Perhaps we should see if we can find the horses. The edge of the forest isn’t far. Perhaps they came this way.” Upon entering Fangorn Forest, the horses became spooked and ran off.
“Very well then, but I wish someone would explain to me what is going on,” Gimli grumbled, allowing Aragorn to lead him away.
Legolas was so focused on the name written in the sand that he hadn’t noticed the other two leave the glade. Gandalf, however, stayed where he was, standing next to Legolas.
“You know this name?” the wizard asked quietly.
“It is the name my father used to call me, a name I have not seen or heard in a very long time,” Legolas answered as if he was in a trance. “It is my begetting name.”
“Who was your father, Legolas?” Gandalf carefully asked his questions.
“My father was a soldier of Mirkwood, one of the King’s own men, sworn to uphold our laws and protect its people.”
“And his name … what was his name?” Gandalf asked gently.
Legolas huffed in a breathy laugh as he thought, “It might seem strange to you, but I never knew his name. To me he was just Ada.” Legolas lifted his head to find Gandalf watching him with a peculiar look in the old man’s eye. “You must remember that I was very young, just an elfling, and my father was overly protective of me. He kept me guarded from outsiders. I never saw him interact with anyone but staff, and they were silent, only nodding when spoken to. I suppose it was because he was a warrior that he took these precautions.
It was my uncle who told me his name. Well, he was not my uncle by blood. Elhadron was my father’s friend, but I loved him like family and considered him my uncle. After Mirkwood was attacked, we escaped and came to live with the Woodsmen. Eventually, the enemy found us there. Elhadron was fatally injured, and as he lay dying in my arms, he whispered my father’s name, barely getting it out before his soul departed. ‘Tharan,’ he had said, and then he was gone.”
Gandalf clasped Legolas’ shoulder and turned him so that they faced each other. The wizard looked deep into Legolas’ eyes, took the elf’s chin in his fingers, and turned his fair head from side to side, examining every part of the details etched into the immortal face, and at the last, fastened his grey eyes on him.
“I should have known,” Gandalf said, “I should have seen it, but since my re-embodiment, my memory has been fuzzy. I see it now though, in your eyes. They are a mirror image to your mother’s.”
“My mother?” Legolas cocked his head and knitted his brows, “Did you know my mother?”
“Yes, I knew her. Very beautiful she was, very intelligent, and very much in love with your father.”
Legolas bowed his head and slowly shook it side to side, “I was only a babe in arms when she died, but I remember the sound of her singing to me, though I cannot put a face to the voice.”
“It was such a tragedy what happened to her. I could not be there for her burial, but I mourned for her still,” Gandalf admitted.
“My father used to tell me that it was my mother who named me. She was a Noldo, and so gave me my Quenya name, the one you see written in the sand.” Legolas looked once more at the message. “How do you suppose the elleth knew, Gandalf?”
“I think the answer lies in her message,” Gandalf replied.
“I don’t understand.”
“Has no one told you of your family, Legolas? Has no one told you of the line you were born unto?”
Legolas shrugged his shoulders, “There was not much to tell, I guess. Son of a soldier, what more is there to know?”
Gandalf gazed at him compassionately, “My dear boy, you really do not know. Legolas, your father … Tharan was not his name. I assume your uncle was unable to tell you the whole name before he died.”
“What do you mean?” said Legolas, confused.
“Your father’s name … was … Thranduil.”
Legolas huffed nervously in disbelief, “You must be mistaken. Thranduil was the name of the king.”
Gandalf smiled warmly, “Yes it was, and you dear Legolas, are the Prince of Mirkwood.”
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The Last Wood Elf