Leaves of Gold
The River Flows Away
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Rating for this
chapter: R.
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Chapter 4: The
River Flows Away
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Be ahead of all
parting, as though it already were
behind you, like the winter that has just gone by.
For among these winters there is one so endlessly winter
that only by wintering through it all will your heart survive.
Rainer Maria
Orpheus, XIII
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
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mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>Gondor
the Third Age
One age of the world
wanes away before my eyes, and another one waxes.
Today at dawn I stood
with Gandalf in the old hallow of kings on top of
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>Mount
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>, looking he
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>Great
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>River
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> that ran towards the distant shimmer of
the sea like fleeting days. And there, on the edge of living earth and
slumbering snow, the sign was given. Long years had Gondor
awaited it, while the memory of my forefathers faded into worn words on the
pages of yellowing books, while hope diminished and faith washed away with
turning tides. But not all matters are matters of faith; there are those that
even the strongest of hands cannot enforce or hinder. The sapling sprang from
the soil in the appointed hour, and my future was written upon it.
Only now do I see
clearly the course of my growth.
As I step into the
white stone chamber where I have dwelt since Minas Tirith
hailed me as the King, a motionless figure is standing by the window. Evening
has already darkened the sky. The lanterns on the walls are unlit, and the only
faint light in the room originates from the great night-time fires burning
outside the castle. The shadow of the iron bars on the window wavers on the
floor.
I close the door
behind me and turn the key in the lock, until it clicks. Legolas
turns around and closes the distance between us with a few swift steps. I wrap
my arms around him and pull him into a tight embrace. We stand like this for a
long time, every inch of our bodies pressed together, reluctant to let go. One
of his hands is resting steadily on the nape of my neck while the other is
moving on my back. His fingers stop in the hollow below my ribs and bend
slightly, sighing on my skin. Warmth floods through me. I breathe in his scent
of open land and green woods, so different from the stagnant air of the city.
my chin grazes his smooth skin. We let the kiss deepen and linger, forgetting
ourselves into each other, unwilling to put the moment into words.
When we finally pull
apart breathlessly, Legolas's gaze radiates into me like sunlight through
fog, persistent and gentle.
"I saw you plant
the White Tree on the courtyard," he says quietly. "How far off is
the time?"
"The escort is
already closer to Gondor than Edoras.
Only a few days now, a week at most."
"Who is riding
with Lady Evenstar?"
"Master
Elrond with his sons and the household of Imladris.
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> I believe Lady Galadriel and Lord
noble folk."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>s face is in the shadow, but a restlessness I cannot decipher is
stirring in his eyes. He sighs. "We have loitered too long. You should
have expelled me from your chamber weeks ago."
"I know." I
cannot keep sorrow entirely away from my voice.
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> takes my hands and turns my palms up. He
looks at them intensely. His touch explores their furrows, the hard and soft
patches of my fingers, the surface of the skin
tor
torn and recovered, the veins looming under it. His thumbs stop in the dents of
my palms.
"These hands are
not for me," he says. "Their task is to heal the wounds of the earth,
to sweep the darkness from the hearts of Men and rebuild stone upon stone where
it crumbled away under the Shadow."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> brings my hands to his lips. His breath
concentrates into dew against my knuckles. I think I see something quiver on
his face, but it is impossible to tell for certain in the twilight of the room.
"Aragorn, I will
not come to you again."
The words remain
between us carved in stone, deep and finite.
We both know it must
be so. If I were lesser, a peasant without a wife or a lone warrior seeking
bodily comfort from a brother in arms, I might not be condemned. But when the
King falters, his realm will fall. We have no other choice but to disarm
ourselves, for our weapons will not suffice against this. There is no shelter
of woods, of war and world torn apart for us now. There is but a barren city of
stone, built upon the customs and laws of Men. Here the streets are narrow and
even the largest rooms too small. They will not accommodate the laws of the
wild.
I feel a tug inside
me, as if somebody were trying to pull the heart out of my chest.
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> lets his hands drop down to my waist. My
fingertips take in the warmth of his lips, they move to his cheekbones and his
brow, run through his hair. He sighs pullpulls me to him. Our faces are close
enough for our lips to brush. I lick his upper lip very lightly with the tip of
my tongue, and his hips buck against mine. Desire floods into me as a familiar
fiery stream that settles into my groin. I push him against the wall, my hands
seeking the naked skin under his tunic and fumbling for the laces of his
trousers. Legolas gasps and melts momentarily in my
arms, but then he clutches my shoulders and captures me between the cool
stonewall and his heat-emanating body with one quick, well-aimed move.
"No rush,"
he whispers into my ear. "There is time still."
"Not
enough," I reply, and my voice is rough as stones in the city walls, bare
as a leafless forest.
Our hips are
restless, demanding, fierce enough to wound, as they press together. I hear my
own rapid breathing and shiver as Legolas
along my body.
"I will show you
how short momemay may seem longer," he says. "Undress."
I take off my cloak
and tunic, my boots and trousers. The stone floor fecoldcold beneath the soles
of my feet. Legolas lights a lantern on a hook on the
wall and turns to look at me. He touches my face tenderly and strokes my sides.
His caresses wander down my back and continue to my behind.
"Now, undress
me," he pleads, and his gaze moves on my naked body like light on water.
I am all aching,
iron-hard lust.
I slide my fingers
under his tunic, between the soft fabric and heated skin, letting the sensation
flow into me. The garment falls to the floor. I kneel down to take off his
boots. Slowly I open his trousers and take them off, too, releasing his rigid,
arching erection. Legolas's eyes close and his lips crack open, but his
hand twines into my hair, holding my head still, preventing me from taking him
into my mouth. In the flickering light of the lantern the edges of his face and
body soften and smoothen. The scars he bears seem faded like a well-worn map.
They are pale and nearly invisible streaks under the skin that has grown even
and whole to cover them -- so unlike the traces of time and life on my mortal
body.
I breathe against his
flesh and a moan falls from his lips. I feel his nails press red sickle-shapes
on the skin of my shoulders.
"Please, get
up," he says.
I rise to my feet and
Legolas moves behind me. I let out a sound as his
arms wrap around my waist and his breathing fondles the back of my neck. I feel
his arousal press onto my back. He nibbles my ear and draws a moist line on the
sensitive skin below it with his tongue.
"Go to the
bed," he whispers, and that whisper is made of fire.
I climb onto the bed
on top of the heavy, soft covers. His body is a soundlessly gliding stretch of
moonlight among the shadows of the room as he settles next to me and finds a
bottle of oil from under the bedding, where I hid it last night.
He knows how to touch
me.
His breathing lingers
on my susceptible skin, his strong taste on my tongue, the sweep of his hair on
my neck, the weight of his thigh upon mine. He is a bright flame bending
languidly against me, and I let myself burn. When I am finally trembling and
ready, mere bewildered words and pleading noises and impatient touches, he
straddles my lap and pours oil on his hands. Its scent mingles with ours as he
applies it to me and fits me fully inside him.
My fingers dig into
his narrow hips, and I cannot ocatocate a moan as the fire flares through me.
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> remains still for a moment, looking at me
ardently. As if in a flash of memory I see myself through his eyes: a fleeting,
transforming creature dashing by, whose beauty and strength years will shed too
soon, who brushes his persistence like a faint current of air and then
dissolves with the passing wind. I want to leave a trace of myself in him, so
all would not fade. I want something of us to remain when I am gone and he has
left these shores, and no one will remember. But how does one change the colour
of the sky or shape of a mountain, how does one brand the surface of the sea?
How can an immortal body be marked? How can a memory be carved into an infinite
mind that has all eternity to forget?
My lips form words,
but my voice stops in my throat. And then the words matter no more, because he
begins to move.
He rocks back and
forth, rising and falling as if on top of a wave, quivering under my hands,
wailing a few syllables that remotely resemble my name. His wiry and lean
warrior's body arches and tenses and flings. He touches himself and I touch
him. I am the song of blood in my own ears and thick throbbing desire, painful
edges of teeth against the marsh of my tongue, a relentless rush of noises. And
finally we are one big glowing churning spilling spasm, and in its core my
heart is struggling its way out of my chest, as if trying to crawl inside his
skin and nestle next to his heart.
<&nbs
When it is over,
length he rises and seeks among the pillows a linen cloth to wipe us both
clean. I turn to my side and he lies down, facing me. The soft light of the
lantern lingers on his skin like a caress. Our fingers interlace and warmth
closes around us as a circle inside which we breathe in each other, listening
to the night: the heavy footsteps of guards on the courtyard, the wind sweeping
over the high walls, the cries of birds hunting in the dark.
I think of the voices
of white birds that froze him for a moment in Pelargir.
A mist veiled his eyes then, as if elven-sleep had suddenly
got a hold of him. The moment passed, but left an icy crust inside me.
"Do you hear the
sea?" I ask after a long silence.
The smile dims on his
fair face.
"I do not feel
its smell or hear its words, but its song ceases in my heart nevermore," he
says. "Day after day I know where it crashes onto the rocky shores, like a
tree knows dawn after dawn where light will rise to nourish its growth."
Restlessness stirs
inside me, but I need to know.
"Will you go to
the Havens?"
He remains silent for
a long time before answering.
"I will, but I
do not know yet when. My people have plenty to do in your realm, and I wish to
initiate their work."
I press closer to him
and bury my face in his hair.
"I cannot ask
you to stay longer than your will allows, just as you have never asked me to
alter my choices. All I ask for is you not to depart over the sea without
telling me."
"That I promise.
In return, I would not have you leave this world without bidding a
farewell," he replies.
"You have my
word on it."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>s lips are on my temple, and his voice is a mere whisper.
"Aragorn, this
sorrow will yet pass for us both. My image will slowly wither and disperse in
your memory, and a day will come when you can no longer restore the sound of my
voice in your mind. Such is the way of Men's hearts."
T"'>The truth in his
words stabs me. I move my head and lower my forehead to touch his.
"What will this
change?" I ask, although I know the answer.
"Everything.
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> And yet nothing."
His face is grave. "
as the Queen of Gondor by your side, and together you
will rule a thriving realm for many years of Men, and the line of Kings will
continue."
"And you?"
His hand withdraws
and emptiness replaces it in mine.
font-family:Garamond;mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>
"I will go to
the
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>Caves
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> and to Fangorn
with Gimli, and then to my father's country. The time
I will remain away will seem long to you. But I will return and bring my people
from Mirkwood to the forests of Ithilien;
thus the land will be blessed, and filled with lush growth and joy once more. I
will send them to the
style='font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Garamond;
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> to plant blossoming gardens, while the
folk of the mountains labour and build the city anew."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>s eyes are dark water with reflections of stars in it.
"Perhaps
sometimes, if the King and Queen so wish, I will visit them as an old
friend," he continues. "I will entertain them with stories of my
journeys and hold their child, who will look at me with his mother's eyes and
smile his father's smile. I may sing him a song in my own tongue, a song of the
moon peeking into a beech forest from between green branches in the half-light
of the morning. And as years pass, I will see on my visits as the firstborn
grows and takes up bow and sword, while the youngest babe is still stretching
in his cradle."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> places my hand upon his chest. His
fingers are cool, yet warm on top of my own. I feel the steady beating of his
heart, and blood is pulsing in my veins in the same rhythm.
"But here, here
nothing will change," he whispers, pressing my hand against his heart,
looking at me as if I were sky and sea and earth, all together.
That is when I cry.
He holds me tightly
in his arms. Somewhere in the distance of heavens stars are bursting to life
and dying away. My tears are petty in comparison, but large and painful as they
are shredding their way out of me.
I fall asleep with
face bright before my eyes and his voice a quiet stream in my ears.
are strange and hazy, but one of their trees I know. It has grown here before
my time, and here it will still be, when I am gone. Slender and straight it
changing.
I see the green
leaves turn golden against the blue sky. I see the sky fade into a metallic
grey and a chilly wind blow through the leaves that shrivel and wither and are
caught in the wind. I see the tree crook and hang its breaking branches while
moss swallows the trunk. I see life leak out of the tree.
I try to touch the tree
and wrap my arms around it, but I cannot, for I no longer have a body. Lady
Galadriel is standing next to the tree like an ice-white flower in the grey of
the winter. I read sadness on her face. I try to cry out to her, but I cannot,
for I no longer have a voice. She turns her back, walks away and leaves the
tree to die. A mighty storm shakes the wasted trunk, and it shivers, wails,
breaks and screams as a beast struggling in agony. I watch all this from a
chamber of stone behind a barred window, and I cannot break out, though the
scream is cutting to my very core.
I wake with a start.
It is still dark outside, and the soft glimmer of fire is dancing on the walls.
The lantern has gone out. Legolas is standing naked
at the window and looking out. Calm and still while the world is changing.
"Were you
weeping?"
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> turns towards me a little too swiftly and
sharply. His body is firm and alert, but his face remains in shadow. It is hard
for me to imagine traces of tears on it.
"I thought you
were asleep," he replies, and his voice tells me nothing.
"I saw you. I
saw you wither and die."
"What do you
speak of?"
I think of the Lady,
the sadness on her face and something else behind it -- absoluteness,
inescapable will to settle matters into their predetermined course. I think of
how she turned her back and walked away.
"Come
here." I say it as a quiet plea, and Legolas
does not resist. He sits down next to me on the edge of the bed. I sit up and
stroke the back of his hand with my thumb. "Something happened to both of
us in the Golden Wood. You do not need to tell me, if you do not want to,"
I say, "but will you still let me tell you? I wish to understand, that is
all."
He nods slowly. I
tell him about the vision that tady ady had painted before my eyes in
courage to me, a home and shelter; and I tell him about the dream where I saw
the tree die.
"The tree was
you," I say. "It was always you. But I do not understand the meaning
of this."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> is still and mute as a statue of stone,
as if his spirit had suddenly escaped, leaving behind but an empty shell. When
he finally speaks, there is more sadness in his voice than I have ever heard
before.
"I knew it had
to be her doing. I just did not know how."
"No. It was our
doing. I came into your arms, because I wanted you. Not because I was sent
against my own will. You must never doubt that." I fall silent and
hesitate before continuing. "Unless you have a different
story to tell."
Legolas
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> smiles a quick and faint smile that
flashes in the dark.
"I do not doubt
that. Yet we have been but insects in the webs of those stronger than us,"
he replies. "I will tell you. It is better we both know."
And thus he begins to
tell me. Witch wch word the image is woven fuller and wider, the threads take
their places and the colours brighten. I see my path grow narrow and my fate
tighten around me, and there is no wriggling out of it. The Evenstar
shines far ahead, but another sheen lights my dark
road. My predetermined part is to build a bridge between two worlds, to amend
what has been broken; but I myself must always remain divided in two, without
wholeness. It but build my happiness upon what I have been granted, even if my
will were otherwise.
"Now you know
what message was hidden in your dream," < cla class=SpellE>Legolas
says to end his tale. "But it was wrong about something. I will not wither
and die. I have not taken on a heavier strain than I can bear. We must not drag
the past behind us or push the future ahead as a burden, but take life as it is
given to us in this moment."
"That is
precisely what we have done, and now we are paying the price," I say, and
my voice stumbles and breaks.
Sadness is still
veiling his eyes, but something else ripples behind it. "Then let us at
least make the most of the moments that still belong to us," he replies.
Slowly
chilly night air is licking my skin. His hands move over my body, and he opens
me with fierce, overwhelming tenderness. Then he takes me for the last time. He
sinks into me, is inside me like a knife deep in an open wound: cutting and
burning, making me writhe and scream. One day the coarse patterns of scar
tissue will cover the wound. I will be able to look at it aouchouch it years
from now, alone and in secret, when nobody knows, not even him.
Time and again we
whisper onto each other's skin all we shall never say after this night.
Shadows crawl along
the floor to the bed and spread over us. Behind their mesh silence grows
between us fuller than the words of any language. The cold blade of the moon
descends between us. The sharp-edged morning light opens a gulf between us, and
we stand still on sid sides of it. We watch a story known only to the two of
us turn colourless with the night, become unnoticeable and unimportant as it is
buried under time and memory.
His
story. My
story.
Outside on the
courtyard the White Tree is growing, reaching out its branches towards the sun
and heralding the beginning of a new age. The hour will come when a guard sees
from the highest watchr thr the one who is to step to the throne by my side.
When she arrives, I will take her hand amilemile at her as if I had seen her
face before my eyes every moment, as if her voice had never languished from my
ears, as if her image had never dimmed in my deceitful mortal memory. And songs
will be made of us that tell how all the stars flowered in the sky, when King
was come to fulfilment.
They tell of nothing
else.
Legolas and I leave the chamber at dawn, our steps
part into different directions.
I do not look back, and I will never know if he does.
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Notes:
There seems to be
some confusion in canon as to when Aragorn found the White Tree on
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>Mount
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>. The text near the end of the chapter
'The Steward and the King' (RotK) reads, 'And
Aragorn planted the new tree in the court by the fountain, and swiftly and
gladly it began to grow; and when the month of June entered in it was laden
with blossom.' This seems to suggest Aragorn found and planted the tree before
June. However, 'The Tale of Years' (LotR,
Appendix B) lists
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'>June 25th, 3019
mso-fareast-font-family:"MS Mincho"'> T.A. as the finding date. Despite my
efforts I couldn't find an explanation for this inconsistency. For the purposes
of this story, I've relied on the date given in 'The Tale of Years', which
places the finding of the tree just before Arwen's
arrival at Minas Tirith and Aragorn and
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