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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
- 41
- 42
- 43
Chapter 42 – The White City at Last

After Celeborn and Legolas met on the hill, they rode back to the city silently, each in their own contemplation. Legolas wasn’t sure what was on his uncle’s mind, but his own thoughts led in many directions. Why wouldn’t Celeborn allow the official crowning until he returned from Gondor? Why did Lady Galadriel warn him against going to Gondor? What would happen if he ignored her?
They had made it to the gates of the cavern when Celeborn stopped and turned his horse so that he came up alongside Legolas, looking him squarely in the eyes. “The choice is yours, Legolas, but do not take Galadriel’s counsel lightly.”
“Can you not tell me what it is about?” asked Legolas, in a vain attempt to find out more.
Celeborn shook his head. “I cannot, for I do not know what she saw, and I know better than to question my lady when she has looked into her mirror. I am her husband, but the mirror is her burden and hers alone. Only if she wishes to share her findings, would I know of those events.”
Legolas wondered if Galadriel thought Celeborn might try to interfere in some way, had he known what exactly she saw in her vision. A thought occurred to him then. “Did she share her knowledge with you when you made the decision not to send aid to Mirkwood?”
Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, “What is this?”
Legolas returned the vehement stare and spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. “Did she share her vision with you?”
“That is none of your concern,” Celeborn returned.
“It IS my concern,” Legolas responded through clenched teeth. “I was there. I saw the bloodshed and the death. I witnessed the burning and the devastation. And the one thing you have not set straight is the reason why you ignored my father.”
Celeborn would not answer, his lips drawing together in a thin line. Anger darted from his ancient eyes as he set his silence. He dismounted in a flash of white. Legolas did not hesitate and followed, gracefully jumping down from Arod’s back.
“As son of Thranduil, heir to his kingdom and rightful King of Mirkwood, you will tell me. Why did you let Mirkwood burn?” Legolas commanded. “What did Galadriel’s mirror foresee?”
Celeborn spun around so fast, Legolas almost walked into him, but he stopped and stood face to face with the Noldo lord. There was nowhere to go other than across the newly repaired stone bridge or back into the forest. Legolas was furious, and had half a mind to throw Celeborn into the river. He gave a flitting thought to his friends. Théodred would have had no qualms about throwing the stubborn Noldo into the water and fishing him out before he sunk.
Celeborn must have seen the savageness in Legolas’ eyes, for his animosity fell away, leaving him looking defeated. He allowed his shoulders to relax slightly and turned to the side as he finally gave Legolas the answer he sought. “It would not have mattered in the case of your father’s life. Thranduil was destined to die, with or without Lothlórien’s help.”
Legolas looked away in shock, “And you saw this?”
“Through Galadriel’s thoughts, yes.”
“But what about the others? You could have saved other wood elves from their fate, even if my father was to die.”
Celeborn shook his head slowly. “It was more complicated than that, Legolas. You see, had I sent my great army to help Mirkwood, your father would not have tried to get you out of the city. He would have hid you away within the caves, and… you would have perished also.”
It had never occurred to Legolas to consider his own outcome, and a shiver ran up his spine.
Celeborn continued, “That would only have been the beginning. The Galadhrim would have suffered great loss, and some of those that you have gotten to know… Haldir and his brothers, even Túrdir… they would have been killed. The numbers of my army would have been devastated without its most valiant captains, leaving Lothlórien’s protection weakened. This was what the enemy meant to do. Then they would have invaded the Golden Woods, nearly obliterating it. The cost was too great, and the enemy’s victory over both elven realms would have strengthened Sauron considerably.”
“And Rohan? Gondor?” Legolas asked in a whispered tone.
“I cannot say, for I did not see that far, but I cannot help to feel that it would only have been a matter of time for Men also.”
Legolas walked absently to a fallen log, no doubt one of the destroyed trees, put there to be salvaged or discarded. It still smelled faintly of stale smoke. He plopped down, not caring whether he befouled his clothes on the blackened bark or not. His elbows rested on his knees and his fingers raked through his loose hair. He heard Celeborn’s soft booted feet step up behind him, and for the first time since meeting the elf lord, felt the elder elf’s compassion as a gentle yet strong hand clasped his shoulder.
“Legolas, I…” Celeborn started, unable to find the right words. “I made the choice that I thought was right. As much as your father and I disliked each other, I never would have wished for his death. There was nothing I could have done for him. It was his fate. The decision I made has haunted me for all these years. Sometimes, when those ghosts would visit me, the only thing that would drive them away was to remember what happened when Thranduil took your mother, my sister, with him to Mirkwood. The hatred that sat in my heart grew for your father, and I asked myself, would any of this have come to pass if he had left her alone? Would I not have had to make the decision to leave Mirkwood to its fate if she hadn’t loved him? Would she still be alive?”
Legolas’ heart went out to Celeborn. What an awful thing to have to live with, yet. . .
“We cannot change the past, and so we cannot dwell on the choices that we have already made.” Legolas looked at the fair hand resting on his shoulder. “My father was right about the Noldor. They cannot look ahead, for the regret of what they have left behind keeps their heads turned away.”
“And can you say you have no regrets, young prince?” asked Celeborn, turning the question onto Legolas.
“I have them, but I left them behind,” Legolas responded.
* * *
Celeborn stayed a few more days, and on the night before he and his company set out for Lothlórien, a feast was prepared. It was announced that Mirkwood, by the grace of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, had been renamed to Eryn Lasgalen. Then, the first of the special soil was sprinkled upon the forest floor, where beech tree saplings had been planted. If they grew as rapidly, hearty and tall as was predicted, they would become the support for the first flets built in the new section.
The tension between Celeborn and Legolas dissipated, somewhat, though not completely. They tolerated each other better than before, but they were both very set in their ways. Legolas was relieved when the elf lord left for home. Things would get back to a normal pace, but Legolas still had an important decision to make.
“I wish I knew more,” Legolas admitted as he and Calariel discussed the warning from Galadriel. “I really can’t see what harm might come to me if I go to Gondor.”
“That is why she sent you this message. If Galadriel saw something within her mirror, then you should heed her advice,” Calariel said. They sat together on a chaise in Legolas’ rooms. Her head rested upon his shoulder, and her feet were tucked up under her skirts.
Legolas absently twirled a strand of her soft dark hair. “But how can I not go and represent Eryn Lasgalen, especially now?”
“You’ll send someone in your place… Indon perhaps, or Merco. They are trustworthy and dedicated to their new home. They will represent us well,” she recommended.
“And I plan to title them as my chief counselors as soon as I am officially crowned.” He smiled against her cheek, placing a kiss upon her, “But it should be I who goes.”
She lifted her head and looked at him pleadingly. “Please, Legolas, let it be someone else.”
He gave a reassuring smile, “These are my friends, people who I fought beside, people who looked to me and I to them. They will be expecting me to come. And I have not seen Eomer since the death of his uncle. If for no other reason, it should be to see him and his sister. Don’t I owe them at least that much?”
“I know you love them as though they were your own flesh and blood, but you have other duties to attend to now,” Calariel implored. “That should be your main concern, Lasgalen, not Gondor.”
“Calariel,” he sighed, thinking she was being ridiculous.
“No, Legolas, you must take Galadriel’s advice to heart,” Calariel insisted. “To go without considering her words is reckless and foolish. The Lady does not share her visions freely, and only when it is a serious or altering moment.” She was becoming angry with him for taking this so lightly.
Legolas looked down into her eyes, and saw her worry for his wellbeing. Perhaps he hadn’t given it careful thought. He took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Go with me then. If something should befall me, then at least I’ll have you there.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said shyly, looking away.
“Please, Calariel. I want you to meet them. I want them to see how fortunate I’ve been, and how beautiful you are.” Now Legolas was the one pleading, capturing her with his unavoidable stare. He’d always known how to seize a woman with his piercing blue eyes, and hold her prisoner until he broke the bond. Calariel was more of a challenge, and he thought it must have been because she was an elf, but she would still submit to his sultry gaze. “I want them to know that I love you, and that one day you will be my wife.” He moved closer, taking her in his arms, and kissed her thoroughly, leaving her breathless so that all she could do to answer was nod and whisper.
“Yes, I’ll go,” she finally agreed.
He kissed her again, this time slowly, more passionately… the kind of kiss that usually led to far better adventures. She gave in, and his pulse raced. She’d been very diligent about tradition. Once he got her father’s approval, they would court for a year. Then there would be a proper betrothal, ceremony and all that was expected before they married. And not until after they’d spoken their vows would he have her completely, joining as one in body and in soul for all eternity.
But the lack of her resistance to his fiery kiss made him think she might consider breaking tradition. For just one night, he wanted to know what her naked body felt like. For one night, he would have her writhing beneath him, crying his name. For just one sensuous, blissful, tempestuous night he would make her. . .
“Legolas,” she begged breathlessly, interrupting his thoughts.
“Mph,” he answered, his face buried in her neck, nipping and taking in her delicate scent.
“Legolas, I—” she gasped. The tip of his tongue traced up the side of her neck.
“So do I… very badly,” he moaned into her ear.
“I… I…” She was lost to his ministrations, and when his mouth found her ear, she thought she’d lost all sense of reality. “You’re making this very difficult.”
He smiled against her neck. “That’s the point, my love.”
“And I want to… just as badly, but—” she said, cutting her words short, hoping he would honor her pleas.
It was too good to be true, and Legolas reluctantly pulled away from her. He should have known better than to give in to his temptations. He knew this was not what she wanted, but rather what his carnal desires needed. It was very difficult being a traditional ellon.
“We should go where there are others around. I don’t think it is a good idea for us to be alone,” he admitted.
“Good idea,” she agreed.
Legolas got up from the chaise, offered her a hand, and helped her up. Then he walked to the door, opening it for her. He smiled cordially and gestured for her to go first. Calariel smiled and went to him. She took one step into the threshold, spun around and grabbed the door handle. “Oh, forget it.” She shut the door and pushed Legolas against it, ravaging his mouth.
Legolas was taken completely by surprise, but he gave her what she wanted. Hands roamed, bodies touched, her leg came up and wrapped around his.
“I thought you wanted to follow tradition,” he said between kisses.
Calariel stopped and gazed into his hungry eyes. “Do you love me?” she asked rather abruptly.
“Of course, you know I do,” he answered.
“And do you speak the truth when you say that you want to marry me?”
“If it’s a lie, then let me die a thousand deaths.”
“And do you promise to never change, Laiqalassë Thranduilion, to never follow strict tradition, and to be uniquely yourself?”
He smiled down at her and cupped her face, “I can only live the way I know how. I’ve been taught many things by many different people, whether they be Men or Elves, but the one thing they have said, the one thing that they commonly share when it comes to advice, is to follow my heart ... and it has led me to you.”
“Oh, Legolas,” she said, and her arms snaked around his neck drawing him down to meet her lips. They kissed fervently, and when they separated, she whispered in his ear, “Take me to your bed.”
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Never more,” she answered with a wicked smile.
* * *
It had been a long journey to Gondor. Living on the road was tiresome. The sanctity of a luxurious bed had spoiled him, and he made a mental note to change that. He should never forget what it meant to lie down on leaves and grass, to be sung into reverie by the chirping lull of tree frogs while the stars glimmered overhead. Especially the stars, he thought.
Still, it was a relief to finally come to the gates of the White City, Minas Tirith, and never had Legolas seen a grander sight. He had never come this far, never seen the city. It was a massive and impressive piece of architecture, even with the visible damage to the lower sections. It looked like part of the mountain, and in fact it was, as though the mountain had pushed the great city from its belly like an offering to Men. Legolas dismounted and looked straight up. It was dizzying to say the least, and he wondered how long it took to reach the highest level where the Citadel housed the King.
People rushed to and fro. Carts bursting with supplies entered through the wide gates, while empty ones came out at a hurry. Preparations were well underway for the coronation of the new King of Men. The Fourth Age was unfolding before his very eyes, and the elves would be leaving in larger numbers now. It was a fact that the new age belonged to Men, but Legolas wished to see it. He had never felt the urge to leave Middle-earth, and he hoped it would be a long time before he too was called to the Undying Lands.
Calariel rode at his side, and she looked just as mesmerized as he did. Legolas smiled, glad to see her surprise. “It’s a beautiful sight, is it not?”
“I’ve never seen the like,” she said, mouth hanging agape as her eyes looked up and up. “I think it touches the clouds.” She swayed slightly, but caught herself, her hands wrapping around her horses mane. Then she brought her gaze back to Legolas. “How many people do you think live within this place?”
“Into the thousands, no doubt,” he answered as he watched the moving shapes on every level of the city.
“How will you find your friends?” Calariel asked.
Legolas closed his eyes and listened to all the different noises. There were children’s yells, and mothers complaining about their horseplay, men barking orders or laughing with friends, a constant chorus of horse’s hooves clopping over the cobblestone roads, and in the distance, the constant clinking of iron hitting stone. Mason workers, he thought, and smiled. “I know where I will find one of them. Come,” he called as he urged Arod forward through the gates.
They made their way to the third level where the masons were busy at work, repairing the broken walls and any other objects having to do with stone. The road leading right was clear, but to the left it was blocked. The devastation to this area made it dangerous, and only the workers were allowed to go that way. A guard was stationed there, to avert traffic. Legolas and Calariel stopped to speak to him.
“I have a friend that I believe is working here somewhere,” he had told the guard, but was refused entry.
“Please,” said Calariel in her most charming voice. “He has not seen him since before the war, and he wishes to know he is alright.”
“I’m sorry, lady elf, but no one is allowed—” the guard refused again, only to be interrupted by a gruff voice.
“Is that the pointy eared fiend who cheated me at my own game, snuck off in the middle of the night, and left me to rot in a seedy old tavern?”
Legolas smiled and eyed the stout figure stomping heavy footed towards him. “I came back as I said I would, did I not, Master Dwarf?”
Gimli chortled, “That ye did, laddie, and ye brought with you a fine assortment of archers.” He closed the distance between them, stopping just in front of Legolas, cocked his head to the side, and squinted as he looked up at the elf. “You missed all the excitement around here, but you’re just in time for the rebuilding. Don’t suppose you brought more than just the pretty lady here. We could use the help.”
Legolas looked past the dwarf’s head, and saw a good sized company of dwarves and men working diligently on the broken city. Legolas gestured in their direction with a nod of his head. “I’d say you’ve already found yourself decent help.”
Gimli brushed a hand over Legolas’ fine green cloak, made of expensive silk and edged in gold thread leaves. “Oh… well, wouldn’t want to begrime that fancy robe ye wear,” he jested. Then his eyes fell upon Calariel, standing off behind them, and he winked a bushy brow at her.
“Now, now, Gimli,” said someone new to the conversation, a sweet melody that Legolas hadn’t heard in months. “You must watch your tongue when speaking to an elf king.”
Legolas turned and saw Eowyn, his heart leaping as he laid eyes on her. His smiled broadened as she ran to him, and they embraced each other tightly. She was laughing as he lifted her from the ground and spun her around. Then he put her down and gazed upon her lovely face. “I have not heard you laugh like that since we were children, and it is like a sweet melody to my ears.” He instantly took her hands and began observing her arms. “How are you? Have you healed? Are there any scars?”
Eowyn laughed, “I am fine. Yes, completely. And only a tiny one on my heart when you had to go away.” She hugged him again and whispered in his ear, “I have missed you, Legolas.”
“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered in return. “I’ve missed all of you, and I’m sorry I could not be here.”
She released him, and a trace of tears had begun to pool. But she blinked them away promptly, and regained her composure. Still the shield maiden, he thought to himself.
“And what about Eomer? How is he? Is he here?” Legolas asked anxiously.
“Yes, he’s here. He’s… fine,” she said hesitatingly.
Legolas lowered his chin and raised a brow in question to her halting words.
“He’s fine, Legolas,” she assured. “But it has been a hard time and a long road for him. You know this well, for you were with him through most of it. To look at him, you’d see nothing wrong, but I know his heart has been broken more times than a man should have to manage. He is resilient, though.”
“Of course he is. He’s a Rohir,” Legolas said proudly. “But I imagine Théoden’s death took its toll on him. When I read your letter, my own heart broke, and I regretted not being here. I still wonder, if I had not gone… if I had stayed and fought with him—”
“I was with him, and even I could not have protected him from what was meant to be his fate,” Eowyn answered.
Legolas instantly thought of Galadriel, and of how she had said the same thing about Théoden’s fate.
“He died proud,” Eowyn continued, “and he is with his forefathers now.” She hugged him once more, and Legolas returned the gesture, holding her solidly in his arms. He reveled in the feel of familiarity, something he hadn’t known he’d longed for until now.
There was a deep grumbling of someone clearing their throat, and Legolas and Eowyn separated, ending their welcome. They turned to find Gimli standing with Calariel, both forgotten during the reunion.
Gimli gave Legolas an authoritative glare. “Tis a good woman who does not rage with jealousy at the sight of her man in the arms of another lass.”
Legolas immediately turned red from his neck to his ears, and gave the dwarf a dangerously piercing stare. Then he reached out and took Calariel’s hand, pulling her to him as he faced Eowyn. “I forget that you have not met before. “Eowyn, this is Calariel of Lothlórien, my. . .” He hesitated and looked at his love. She gave her approval with a nod. “My betrothed,” he finished. “Calariel, this is my… adopted sister,” he said glaring at Gimli, “the Lady Eowyn of Rohan.”
With the formalities out of the way, and informed as to where guests were staying—since the usual third level guest quarters were inhabitable because of the damage—Legolas said his farewells for the moment and helped Calariel get astride her horse. He was about to mount Arod, when Eowyn asked to speak to him once more. She pulled him away from the others and spoke quietly.
“I must tell you something, before you see Eomer,” she said shyly. “He was not very happy to learn of your relation to King Thranduil, or rather, he was not happy that I knew and he did not.”
Legolas smiled, thinking it silly that she worried about something so trivial, “I’m sure he hasis recovered from his anger by now. Besides, I told him to ask you, for there was no time for me to explain.”
Eowyn nodded, nervously twiddling her fingers.
“What else?” Legolas asked, a little demanding in tone.
“Well, I was injured, struck with the Shadow Fever, the healers called it. I wasn’t myself at the time. It was as though I hung in the balance between the world of the living and that of the doomed.” She had explained in her letter, about the injury she received from the Nazgûl’s weapon, striking her arm and breaking it in many places. Very much like the stab wound delivered to Frodo’s shoulder when he was attacked with the Morgul blade, Eowyn’s injuries, if left untreated longer than they had been, would have cast her into the Shadow world of Sauron’s Wraiths. It had been the healing knowledge of Aragorn that saved her and brought her back to her loved ones.
“Eomer was emotionally drained, what with our uncle’s death, and then finding me close to death myself. I have no doubt that my deteriorated condition left him scared, but when my brother is terribly shaken with fear, he turns to anger to quell the panic felt in his heart. I was heavy with fever, and I know he must have thought I was near my end. The only way he knew to keep me from slipping further into darkness was to berate me for being... how did he put it? ‘The only woman foolish enough to protect her men by becoming one herself.’” She paused and laughed. “Anyways, I may have been in a fevered state of delusion, but I still had some fight in me, and I stood up for my actions and my reasons for doing so. And I… well, I…” she stammered. “I might have let it slip about… Dernhelm.”
Legolas cocked a brow. “So he knows about your alias and the spare armor?”
She nodded, but he could see there was something more she’d not told him. He crossed his arms and stared at her with the slits of his blue eyes. “What else?”
“I… I might have let it slip… that… that y-you knew my secret as well,” she said sheepishly, like a child waiting for a parent to yell. “He didn’t take too kindly to that.”
Legolas stood staring through her as visions manifested of Eomer skewering him with his own long knives, tying him to a target, and then striking him with a slew of arrows as though he were a practice dummy. He closed his eyes and slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead. “No,” he finally said, “I reckon he wouldn’t take kindly to knowing that his best friend withheld information that might have saved his sister from harm.”
“I’m sorry. I never would have told him if he hadn’t taken advantage of my debilitated state,” she said apologetically.
He forced a smile, “Well, I guess I better get this over with then.” What had been anticipation for a joyous reunion, now felt as though he was going to slaughter. He mounted Arod with less enthusiasm, and he and Calariel made their way to the next level, where they would find temporary housing for their stay in Minas Tirith. It wasn’t until after they started off that Legolas noticed Gimli sitting behind Calariel.
Gimli shrugged and chortled quietly behind his full beard, “I’d rather not miss a good brawl.”
Legolas rolled his eyes and they continued on their way.
* * *
They’d found decent living quarters, nothing fancy, but comfortable… a quiet haven where he and Calariel could disappear from the constant bustle and chaos that was common in a Man city. She was not used to such a fast paced lifestyle. Eryn Lasgalen was not as relaxed an atmosphere as Lothlórien, where it seemed that time stopped, but neither was it as fast paced as Gondor.
Legolas was used to it though. Rohan had felt similar in a way, and he knew that the anticipation of the King’s coronation drove people to behave more erratically than they might normally have been. “They are human and their years are already counted out and laid before them. If you had the lifespan of a mayfly, you’d live life quickly too.” It was an exaggerated comparison. He knew the insect only lived the expanse of a day, but comparing Men to Elves and their immortality, it seemed fitting.
“And you are comfortable with this?” she asked. It seemed Calariel was having a difficult time understanding the ways of human life.
“For a long time it was all that I knew. Most of the people I know are older than me, and though I will live on until the end of all things, these people will always feel as though they are my elders. I don’t look forward to watching them age and weaken, eventually succumbing to death. And still, I am fascinated by it.”
“I’m not sure I could sit by and watch my friends grow old while I retained my youthfulness. Why, you could watch generations of one family blossom and wither, and not age a day yourself. I think that my heart would constantly break,” she said as she freshened up from their journey.
Legolas had changed into his usual wood elf raiment of tunic, leggings and boots. He left the noble’s cloak lying at the foot of his bed. Then he went to where Calariel sat in front of a small vanity, brushing out her hair, and the dust from the road along with it. He bent down and kissed the side of her neck, watching her face in the mirror. “I’m glad I’ll always have you with me. It will make it easier when the time comes for me to say goodbye to my friends.”
She turned to the side and cupped his face with her free hand. “You will always have me, Legolas.”
Finished refreshing themselves and dressed in clean clothes, Legolas and Calariel made their way along the cobbled street, taking in the sights and smells of the city. This level was for guests and had everything one might need while staying in the city. There were taverns and farriers, bakeries and carpenters, food stalls, a cobbler, a tanner, and even a rat catcher. Calariel laughed at the wooden sign that hung out front, a ferocious looking creature with yellow eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth.
“So they hire someone to catch vermin instead of doing it themselves?” she asked.
“I think that is more for the businesses rather than individual homes, unless they are bombarded with the pests,” Legolas answered. It was a bit funny. Rohan had no rat catcher. Usually the children took on that chore, or they adopted a cat who earned its keep by catching its own meals. “I’m unfamiliar with the routines of a city of this size.”
“You!” someone bellowed from across the street. “There you are, you bastard.”
Legolas cringed, took a deep breath and turned to meet his opponent, smiling wide, “Eomer! Long has it been, my friend. I’ve been looking forward to this reunion.”
Eomer, taller and broader than Legolas had remembered, came tromping across the street. Legolas took notice of the businesses on that side, and was relieved to not find a tavern among the mix. It didn’t mean Eomer hadn’t already been to one though.
Legolas stood his ground, arms at his sides as a sign of submission, but he waved his hand, gesturing for Calariel to move back a few feet, just in case. Eomer didn’t stop until he was face to face with the elf. The two friends eyed each other, no smile, no words, just silently measuring one another’s moods.
Finally, Eomer spoke first, “You knew about my sister’s secret?”
“I did,” Legolas answered tersely.
“And you did not tell me what she had in mind to do?”
“I swore not to tell a soul, and an elf always upholds an oath,” Legolas answered honestly. “And besides, I never thought she’d actually do anything.”
“Eowyn? Not do anything? And am I supposed to believe that?” Eomer was trying hard to keep up his charade, but the exuberance of seeing his friend again, and knowing he was well was just too much. A smile slowly crept across his lips and he flung his arms around the elf. “Aye, Legolas, you should have seen your face just now. What did you think I was going to do, demand a duel right here in the middle of the street?”
It was still registering that Eomer was only jostling him, but Legolas raised his arms and hugged his adopted brother. “I thought for sure I was cast from your good graces.”
Eomer released the elf and laughed heartily, “Ha, ha… well, as part of her punishment, I made Eowyn tell you that I already knew all about the deception. Thought I’d let you sweat it out a bit first. I didn’t mean to terrify you.”
Legolas straightened himself, “I am not terrified. I just didn’t look forward to having to kill you in self-defense.”
Eomer laughed again, thinking it a ridiculous notion, and patted Legolas on the back with a heavy hand. “It’s good to see you, my brother.” Then he glanced over the elf’s shoulder, eyeing the girl. “And I see the elleth is still with you. Afraid to let you out of her sight, is she?”
Legolas turned and waved a frightened-looking Calariel to him. “He was only jesting, my love. You’ll remember Eomer I suppose.”
“Yes, of course,” she smiled, “And I thank you for not maiming my betrothed.”
Eomer’s eyes grew wide, “Betrothed? Well then, congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you kindly,” Calariel responded, though she still seemed a bit hesitant to whether or not Eomer was being sincere. She didn’t know him very well, and even though they had all traveled together to Isengard, she had stayed with Legolas or the company of elves rather than acquainting with the men.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, lady elf,” Eomer bowed. Then he looked at Legolas. “I’ve just missed my friend immeasurably as of late. It’s not been the same without you.”
“Och, are you going to bash each other’s skulls in or not?” said Gimli, arriving late for the reunion.
“No, Gimli, sorry to disappoint you,” Eomer replied.
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t have been appropriate in front of the lady anyways,” Gimli complained.
“Perhaps before the day is over, we’ll all three share in a round. The ale here is not as potent as the stuff in Edoras, but it still does the trick.” Eomer looked to Calariel quickly, “If my lady does not mind us stealing her man away for an hour or so.”
Gimli harrumphed, “Or so, ha.”
Legolas took notice of the friendliness between his friend and the Dwarf. “You two have gotten to know each other it seems,” he said to Eomer.
“We fought together at the Black Gates,” said Eomer.
“I told him,” Gimli explained, “that I’d be honored to fight alongside the man who taught the elf everything he knows.” He laughed at Legolas’ expense.
“Then he challenged me to a contest, keeping count of our kills,” said Eomer.
“And I won,” Gimli added quickly. “I’m two for none. Not even your elf friend could defeat me in kills.”
Legolas smiled, remembering their game as they fought at Helm’s Deep. “I guess we’ve been bested by the best.”
“Ha! And don’t you forget it, Master Elf.” Gimli winked comically.
As the three friends were reminiscing, Eowyn came and took Calariel by the arm, whispering in her ear, then led her away. Calariel looked back and waved to Legolas, who did the same in reply. He was glad Eowyn was rescuing her from the men’s conversation. He’d felt bad for her, watching the three of them laugh and talk about the past, while she stood by and pretended to be interested. He just hoped Eowyn didn’t tell her too much about himself, and there were plenty of embarrassing stories to tell.
* * *
Five rounds and three hours later, Legolas, Gimli and Eomer were still having a good time in each other’s company. Eomer was right about the ale, but neither of the other two complained. It was just good to be together again.
“If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be sitting in a tavern in Minas Tirith, enjoying the company of a Rohir and an Elf, I’d of said you were touched in the head,” Gimli announced.
“We do seem to make an odd trio,” Legolas agreed.
“Have you looked around you since you’ve arrived? There is a culmulation of races here, and all of them blending quite well,” Eomer pointed out.
Gimli nodded, “Has to do with wartime and peace. Individual races differ, of course, but we all shared one common enemy. We had to come together to fight against it, and in this hour of victory, we all celebrate as one.”
Eomer and Legolas looked at each other, and then to Gimli, who was just finishing the last of his cup, and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“I believe the dwarf makes sense,” Eomer said.
“Quick! Bring me a quill and ink. We need to make note of this,” Legolas jested.
Gimli grinned through his bushy beard, “Ye may not be related by blood, but you’re as ornery as brothers from the same womb.” Gimli stood from his chair, and flipped a few coins on the table. “Well gentleman, Master Elf, I’m afraid I must be going. There’s too much to do tomorrow, and I cannot risk feeling as though I’ve been sat on by a mûmak. I trust I’ll see you at some point.”
“We’ll be around,” Legolas replied. “Goodnight, Master Dwarf.”
Eomer and Legolas turned back to their mugs after seeing Gimli off. Both were in deep thought.
“You know,” Eomer said, “He makes a good point. It’s been a very long time since so many different people were in the same place, living harmoniously together. Look at the team of dwarves that Gimli scrounged up. They were all eager to start rebuilding the city. It’s as though they could not wait to start.”
“Have you seen other elves here?” Legolas asked curiously.
“I have, and I think they might be from Rivendell. They seem much different from the Lórien elves, more city wise. I heard that they have volunteered to begin reconstructing some of the gardens of Minas Tirith. They have a knack for intermingling living plants with stone.”
“I will have to see that for myself,” said Legolas anxiously. “I’ve never met any elves from Imladris.”
“Perhaps we will take a ride to Ithilien. That’s where they are now, rebuilding the ancient city. A good deal of it was destroyed or corrupted by the orcs, but there are areas that were untouched and are habitable,” Eomer suggested.
“Ithilien? I have heard of it. It has fallen in and out of the hands of the enemy many times through the ages, mainly because of its location, I think. But now that Mordor is emptied, it will not be tarnished again.”
Eomer nodded in agreement. “The elves have plans to make it into a city for all the people. There will be shops and houses, streets and gardens. Dwellings for Elves, Dwarves, and Men alike. It will be a miscellany of beings.”
Legolas was silent as he thought about Ithilien. A city for all people. It was an unusual concept, but very intriguing.
“So, how should I refer to you now, King Legolas, Sire, His Majesty the King of Eryn Lasgalen?” Eomer asked facetiously.
“None of those,” Legolas replied. “I’ve not officially taken the crown yet.” He finished off his mug and set it down, waving to the servant girl to bring another. “And what about you? King Eomer of Rohan.”
Eomer stared into his half-filled mug. “It still doesn’t sound right to me. I should never have had to take up the throne.” He was sullen in tone, and Legolas felt his sorrow.
“Eowyn wrote and told me what happened. I’d never felt as lonely as I did when I read the news. After all that happened in Edoras with you, me and Théodred… Gríma and his deceit… Théoden coming back after casting off that spell… it almost seemed like we weren’t successful after all. And I wondered for a long time afterwards, had I been there… had I seen that Nazgûl… or Eowyn… could I have been the difference? If I had gone to Gondor, would Théoden still be alive?”
Eomer nodded, but he was lost to his own thoughts. “It should have been Théo here, not me. I don’t feel I have a right to the throne. I am naught but a sister-son.”
“You are a good and honest man, Eomer. You are someone that the people trust, someone they will support and give their approval to. Do not sell yourself short, man,” Legolas persuaded. “Théo and your uncle would have been proud. You will make a fine king for Rohan.”
As they talked, three men and a woman entered the tavern. They all looked similar to one another, and Legolas thought they must be siblings. The woman was very comely, with sleek brown hair and fair skinned, so fair, in fact, that he almost mistook her for an elf. Eomer was watching her also. Then, as though she sensed it, the woman turned to look back over her shoulder, her amber eyes falling on Eomer and nothing else. Legolas stayed quiet and observed. Could he be witnessing the first look between future lovers? The gaze they shared could have produced lightening, at least the static in the room made it feel that way. And then one of the men, a brother no doubt, interrupted the moment, and she turned back to her company. Eomer still looked on though, his focus on the beautiful woman.
“Well, if you are King, then you will need a queen before too long. You’ll need to produce an heir,” Legolas said.
Eomer did not seem to hear him, as he was still gawking over the brown haired beauty. “Huh?” he said absently.
Legolas smiled to himself, “Go introduce yourself, but be wary of her brothers. They look like they keep a sharp eye on their sister.”
Finally, Eomer dropped his gaze to address Legolas. “How do you know they are related? Have you met them before?”
“I don’t know for sure, but they all have the same straight nose and high cheekbones. There’s only one way to find out though.”
“Oh… well I… it would be rude to leave you—”
“Nonsense,” said Legolas, as he dropped some coins on the table, adding to the ones Gimli left earlier. “I should be going anyways. Calariel will be wondering about me.”
“If she’s still with Eowyn, it will be girl talk and giggling all night. I swear, ever since she met the new Steward in the Healing Houses, she’s been unbearable,” Eomer complained.
“Wait a moment. What’s this about Eowyn? She did not mention anything when I saw her earlier. Who is this Steward you speak of?” Legolas asked curiously.
“Lord Faramir, son of Denethor, the previous Steward who went mad and tried to burn himself and his own son in some deranged ritual.” Eomer paused to notice the confusion on Legolas’ face. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Legolas shook his head, “No, but do tell.”
“Well, Faramir was not spared injury, and when he was sent to supervise the army in Osgiliath, he was struck down by the Black Breath of the Nazgûl, mortally wounding him. Thinking him dead, some of his men were bringing his body back to the city, but it was soon discovered that he still lived. His father, Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had lost all sense of reality by that time. He saw no hope in his son’s survival, and decided to burn him like they do for the kings who pass on. He wasn’t dead though, and Gandalf saved him, but his father wasn’t as fortunate. Crazed with hopelessness, Denethor lit himself like a beacon and jumped to his death, right off of the end of the great spire. Faramir was sent to the Houses of Healing, and was treated along with Eowyn, both having acquired injuries from the Ring wraiths. It was Aragorn who knew what to do for them. He has a great knowledge for healing. I owe him more than I know how to repay, for saving Eowyn.” Eomer’s shoulders slumped and his head hung low over the table as he remembered finding her lifeless and injured on the battlefield, his uncle not far from her, dying, crushed beneath his dead steed, Snowmane.
“I thought she was dead,” he went on. “And I saw Théoden was still clinging to life, so I went to him. That’s when he told me to take up his crown. I didn’t care about that though. I just wanted them back, both of them. I thought I’d lost them all… first Théo, then my uncle and my sister. And what on bloody earth was Eowyn doing in battle?” He stopped and shook his head. “For the first time in my life, I did not care if I died, for I’d never felt so alone.”
“But Eowyn was alive,” Legolas said, and he thought what a comfort that must have been at the time.
“She was, but just barely. She laid in her bed for days, still as a corpse but for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Aragorn was by her side the whole time, and I was too. But she made it through, though I don’t think the experience will ever leave her. She still wakes with nightmares.” He smiled huffed a laugh through his nose. “They’ve happened less often since she’s befriended Faramir. They spent a lot of time together in the Healing Houses, for they had similar injuries. And I think he truly cares for her. I’ve spoken to him a time or two. Faramir is a good man.” Eomer reached for his mug, the tension and sadness finally released with the telling of his story. He drank the rest of his ale, emptying the glass, and smiled. “He’ll have his hands full if he decides to court my sister. But then, that will free me from being her guardian.”
“Well, I think she will always need her brother,” Legolas said. He noticed the woman looking at Eomer again and gestured with a nod. “Are you going to do something?”
Eomer looked at the woman, who gave him a fleeting smile. He tilted his head in a subtle gesture of acknowledgement. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Enjoy the hunt, O Mighty King of the Riddermark. And I want details tomorrow,” Legolas jested. He and Eomer said goodnight, and Legolas made his way back to the guest quarters. He had his own idea of a hunt, and Calariel was his prey. The journey to Gondor had been a long one with no privacy to spare, and they had some lost time to make up for… a whole night’s worth as a matter of fact. Legolas quickened his tread, and planned out his method of attack. Tonight Calariel would discover just how savage and beastly a wood elf could be.
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The Last Wood Elf