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Leaves of Gold	By : ladyelina Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1377 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Rating for this chapter:
PG-13.

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Chapter 5: Across
So Wide a Sea

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Is it not time that
lovingly we freed ourselves

from the beloved and, quivering, endured:

as the arrow endures the bow-string's tension,

and in this tense release becomes more than itself.

For staying is nowhere.an>
Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies:
the first elegy.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
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Ithilien, May 120 of
the Fourth Age

He has left.

And I am leaving,
too. The world I have known has come to an end.

The day I turned my
back on Aragorn and took to the silent vaults of Fangorn Forest, the image of him in his waving white cloak
burned long behind my eyes. And with it burned away all words: those spoken and
those never said. While all Middle-earth praised the great deeds of the
Fellowship and sang of the King of the West, my heart was mute with grief, and
songs turned into ashes on my tongue. A thicket of memories grew around me,
casting its long shadows wherever I went. When I entered Eryn
Lasgalen, every leaf turning in the wind, every
movement of light on the green forest floor spoke to me of him. His footsteps
followed mine relentlessly under the trees where we had once walked together,
past the dark dells we had avoided on our journeys in unspoken agreement, to
the chamber where he had stayed when visiting my father's palace.

When I came to the
South, I hoped his shadow would pass from my side on the paths of Ithilien I had never shared with him. But I should have
known my own heart better. Aragorn's echo dwelled in me, and I had no means of
deadening it. His absence was so tangible it ripened into a presence � the
presence of what could not be, yet could not be undone. Sometimes I would speak
to him, as if he could hear me. I imagined his low voice and his answers; his
brows knitting together as he concentrated on listening; and the twitch in the
corners of his lips as a smile crept upon them. Sometimes I found myself
touching him in my thoughts, and I ached inside and out, because I knew he
could not feel or return the touch. I avoided the city of stone that enclosed
him within its walls, but day after day I knew where it lay, like a tree knows
evening after evening where the last distant light on the horizon will be
caught in the heavy webs of night. He was ever there, yet ever out of reach.

Just like the sea.

Stalks withered down,
rose and withered again. Years were washed into oblivion like trails on
seashore sand. One by one the mortals I had tied myself to with bonds of
friendship left the world like strangers who glance at an unknown land briefly
in awe, then journey far away. But Aragorn had been granted a longer life, and
he remained.

And so did I.

Three moons ago, when
the month of N�nui was in half and the ground was
numb with winter, Aragorn rode to meet me in the forests of Ithilien.
He arrived in the blue and grey haze of the evening, when it was no longer day
and not yet night. He travelled in a modest fashion like a ranger of old and
had shed all recognisable tokens of a ruler. Only two trusted swordsmen from
his court accompanied him as guardians. As he dismounted from his horse, gave
the reins for his companion to hold and threw back his hood, my heart stirred.
The shadows on his face were different and their shapes had grown sharper.
Where once had been but a thin line, was now a web of furrows. There was not a
sole empty and unmapped place in him. Light and twilight, present and past were
resting on his brow. The world had written his story to an end.

"Hail, Legolas Thranduilion, Lord of the
Elves of Ithilien," he said, bowing to me. His
voice was deeper, older than I remembered.

"Hail, Aragorn Arathornion, King Elessar of the
Men of Gondor and Arnor,"
I replied, bowing back. "This is an unexpected and rare pleasure."

He said nothing, but
lifted a hand on his chest and nodded slightly, never taking his eyes off mine.

I gave orders to take
his horse to be fed and rested. I proclaimed I would dine with the King, and
his companions left us. We walked together towards a cluster of trees
surrounding a dark, calm forest pond. The first stars had already been lit on
the surface of the water. Around the pond tree branches sweeping the ground
were bent to form walls among which my halls had been built. I led Aragorn to a
room where I usually slept and ate when I did not join the company of my
kinsfolk under the open skies. It was tightly veiled by walls of branches and
tapestries woven of thin fabric. He sat down on a divan covered by animal
skins. I took my seat opposite to him, on the other side of a low wooden table
at the ends of which two lanterns were burning. Their light fell on Aragorn's
grey hair like shreds of moonlight on sea. His hands were resting still on his
lap, their skin thin as a moth's wing and pale against the deep blue of his
tunic. I waited for him to speak.

"I wish we could
forget about titles and formalities tonight, and talk without the obstacles of
years between us," he began. "I have come because the path of time is
wearing narrow beneath my feet, and I did not know when I could hope for you to
pay a visit."

"I am sorry I
have not been to Minas Tirith more often,
Aragorn," I said, but he raised his hand to silence me.

"There is no
need for you to justify yourself. I would have done the same." A
melancholy smile touched his lips. "I am grateful for the times you have
been our guest, and Gimli has brought tidings of you
often."

"I see he has
carried the word both ways, then."

Aragorn responded to
my smile, but then solemnity took over his face and he captured my gaze.
Although he spoke in a calm voice, I felt something behind his words that he
seemed to struggle to control.

"Legolas, I have never kept my purposes from you, and I will
not do so now. My days are full. When the courtyard tree next blossoms in Gondor, I will no longer be there to see it."

"So you have
come to bid a farewell." My words lingered in the air for a moment before
turning dry and lifeless and rustling down to the ground.

"Yes, I have
come to redeem the promise I once made, but that is not the only reason,"
Aragorn said. The shadows on his face grew darker. "I have no right to ask
anything of you, but if you allow it, I would spend a few short hours wyou.you.
We may speak or remain quiet. It will suffice me to see you once more before my
eyes, not only in fading dreams."

I stared at him and
saw the restlessness that had crept into him. I understood he was not sure of
my response. He was afraid I would deny him my presence.

I extended my arm
towards him over the table. He looked at me, as if for a confirmation, and a
glow was lit in his eyes when he understood my meaning. He took my hand, and I
pulled him off his seat, to my side. It had been dozens of years since I had
last been this close to him. I squeezed his hand in my own. The heatiatiiating
from it seemed to burn a hole in the night air.

"Aragorn, I have
cherished every moment with you I have been given," I said. I breathed in
his scent, and my chest was both light and heavy. "If I can add one more
to my hoard, I will be grateful for it."

"You are too
good to me," he whispered and lifted his hand on my face. His fingers
stopped for a moment on my unwrinkled brow and travelled over my cheekbone
before retreating. His voice was lowered to nearly inaudible. "I have
missed you."

His touch still sent
a fiery shiver under my skin. I placed my hand on his arm, looking for words,
but that was when we heard steps outside. Aragorn withdrew from me and moved
back to his own seat.

"Lord Legolas? We haveughtught food," said a voice from
behind the door curtain.

"Very well, Anorloth," I shouted in response. "You may
enter."

Anorloth stepped in with two other Elves. They laid on the table three trays laden with bread, wine,
fruits, freshly roasted meat and sweet cakes.

"Thank you, Anorloth," I said. "You may go. It is not
necessary to collect the trays until tomorrow," I added while they were still
standing at the door. They bowed and took their leave.

Aragorn observed this
exchange thoughtfully.

"It is odd to
see you in the position of a lord," he said when they had left. "You
are worthy of your title, but to me you are still a warrior."

"Time changes us
all," I replied.

"All, but not
everything," Aragorn said and his gaze lingered on me. It was still the
same gaze as years before.

We ate in silence.
After the meal he rose, walked behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

"I must leave at
dawn," he said, and his breath brushed my ear.

"I know," I
replied. "You have more important farewells to bid."

Aragorn kneeled by my
seat, cupped my chin gently in his hand and turned my face towards him. His
eyes were ing ing brightly. For a moment the lines left by years seemed to be
smoothened on his face and the silver shed from his hair, as if he were again
in the prime of his strength, the heir of kings I had followed even to darkest
paths without hesitation.

"Not more
important. Only different," he said.
�
�
This early in the
year nights were still chilly. We wrapped the blankets around ourselves fully
clad; I knew the bite of the cold air was crueller to him than to me. We lay
facing each other on the bed made of animal skins and soft fabrics. Aragorn's
arm rested around me.

"Is Gimli going with you?" he asked.

"He is. No Dwarf
has ever sailed to the West, but he says Lady Galadriel granted him this grace
long ago."

"I should have
thanked Gimli for being by your side," he said.
"I fear I may not be able to do it anymore myself."

"I promise to
convey your gratitude."

Aragorn put his hand
on my cheek. The sombre and abysmal gulf that had always been between us opened
in his eyes.

"Legolas,
have you known happiness in these years?" he asked.

"I have not been
unhappy. I have rejoiced for you, at the birth of your children and the
flourishing of your kingdom," I answered truthfully.

My heart clenched
into a fist in my chest. I made no reply.

"I never wished to
cause you this pain," he said in a hoarse voice. "I have grieved for
you."

"Grief is in
vain," I replied. "It does not change a thing. You must not regret,
for I do not."

"I have not
regretted," he said, but the grief in him did not pass.

I studied carefully
his expression, every flashing reflection of what was simmering inside him.
"Now that your time has come, do you worry because we once violated the
unwritten laws of Men and Elves? Do you fear an unknown verdict may await us
somewhere under all-seeing eyes?"

Aragorn gave a faint
chuckle, but there was no laughter in his voice.

"I do not expect
that kind of cruelty from the Lords of the West. We have bought these long
years upon earth with relinquishment; that is verdict enough for us. I only
fear one thing: the final parting, beyond which there is no return." His
eyes were grey as winter skies.

"That parting we
have always foreseen. And you have one comfort. The choice of the Evenstar joined her with the kin of Men, and your children
bear the same heritage. Beyond the circles of the world there is more for you
than a memory, and while the destination is unknown, your separation will not
be infinite."

"But for you
there is only a memory," Aragorn said quietly.

"Memories are
more vivid for my people than for Men. The roots of sadness lie
buried deep in them, but a great deal of our happiness is born of them
also," I said. "And who knows what final end is hidden in the Great
Music? Some of the Wise believe in a world remade, where the shadow of death
has been swept away, all children of Il�vatar walk
together in great bliss, and what has been divided will become one."

Aragorn took my face
between his hands and pierced me with his gaze. I felt then like I saw him fully
for the first time. A touch of his youth I had never known was blended with the
strength of adulthood and wisdom brought by age, and he was more beautiful than
ever. Surprise visited his face, as if he also saw at that moment my whole life
in me -- the Elf child that had run under beeches in days of old, the young
warrior yet oblivious of his fate, and finally the creature who had seen trees
grow and fall, to whom most mortals were but children.

"I do not know
of such tales," he said, "but if there is anything that may last
beyond the realms of this world, it is the love I feel for you. You are a part
of my spirit, and I am not whole without you. I may be selfish in saying this;
but even if it meant a separation beyond the end of the world for us, I would
make the same choice again."

I placed my own hands
on his face, and suddenly it was again the same face as before: a landscape the
paths of which my fingers knew how to walk in sleep and waking."As would I,
beloved," I whispered, and meant it.

We lay like this for
a long time, only looking at each other. One of the lanterns burning on the
table extinguished, and a thin wisp of smoke floated into the air. The dusk
closed around us like a silk moth's cocoon. No sound came from outside. Not a
leaf stirred, no animal walked on winter-crusted grass and no Elf sang. The
world beyond the room ceased to exist. There was naught but the scent of smoke,
wine and fruits in the cooling air, the silence of the words that had been left
unspoken during our long separation, the night oozing quietly all over us.

I moved my hands
along Aragorn's body and his hands responded with caresses. They were not
demanding caresses, they lacked despair and hurry. We had already renounced
what could not be and received what was. Desire slumbered in us still, but we
had sealed that door behind us over a century ago, and we had no need to speak
to know there was no going back. Yet our spirits seemed to merge and do what
our bodies refrained from. A shining, endless and unbreakable connection flowed
between our palms, our fingertips, our hearts, surrounding us in an invisible
circle of light.

Nothing more was
needed. All was there.

"I would stay
awake until dawn only to look at you," Aragorn said, "but I fear the
years are too heavy upon me, and I will not be able to fight the sleep."

I stroked his hair.
It mingled with mine on the bed, and only now I saw it still had dark streaks.
My fingers knew its tangles, swirls and texture as if they had touched it only
yesterday.

"Sleep," I said.
"I will guard dre dreams as I used to do."

The light of the
still burning lantern spilled over us and painted an image of the past on the
wall. The figures of the lovers we had once been, now faded featureless,
were shifting in the shadows, melting together, until it was impossible to say
where one ended and the other began.

"I would have
abandoned all, had you asked for it," Aragorn whispered, and his voice
failed.

"In that case I
am glad I never did," I replied.

At that moment all
sorrow and happiness of the world was written upon his face. I knew he saw the
same on mine. I curled against him, fingers interlaced with his. Slowly sleep
wrapped him in its cloak. Night knotted darkness for our cover and we breathed
in each other for the last time, I through waking and he through dreams.

In the first light of
the morning he readied himself to take leave. I walked him to the clearing
where the road wound away among the trees still bare with winter. Sky and earth
were silent. Nothing moved. We stood facing each other in the ring of mute
trees, and there were no words.

For Men unexpected
partings bring sorrow, but Elves think differently. For us, an unexpected
parting is more merciful than one foreseen and inevitable. We have too often
had to choose the words we know to be the last. We understand no words are
sufficient in such a moment; a final farewell makes all of them flawed, any
language coarse and clumsy.

Aragorn's companions
appeared with the horses nearby at the edge of the clearing. He gave them a
glance, made his decision and pulled me into his arms. He stopped to look at my
face carefully, as if he had for the first time tried to memorise every
feature, surprised at not having thought to do it before. Then he kissed me. It
was a faint echo of another kiss, once shared in a different world, another
time and place. His once fervent mouth was now soft and tender, hunger sated,
all demands buried and faded away. My heart was beating in my chest as it only
ever had for him, sore and joyous and sad.

When we finally
pulled apart after a long embrace, I spoke his name once more, only once, to
let myself taste it on my tongue, before it would be gone for ever, cold and
thin and never more living.

"Aragorn..."

"Nothing has
changed, Legolas."

I knew it was true.

I turned my back and
walked away. After a few dozen steps I looked behind and saw him standing still
in the same place, his hair silver-grey in the sloped morning light, hand
placed upon his heart. I halted and lifted a hand upon my heart. When I felt
tears stream down my cheeks, I turned away and did not look back again. I
wished to be alone, until I would have to step out into a world without him.

When the Queen's
messenger arrived weeks later to bring word of the King's death, I sat for a
long time by the pond's calm water. Earth did not tremble, sky did not crack
and thickets were not filled by the wailing of beasts. The surrounding woods
were quiet and the trees did not tell where he had gone. No stalks broken under
his footsteps lay on the paths, the air did not carry
the rhythm of his breathing into my ears. The rock I was sitting on was empty
by my side and felt cold against my hand. Evening folded around me, weaving a
dark veil between me and the world.

Through it I heard Anduin flowing to the sea more swiftly than ever before,
demanding me to join it.

Someone stepped to
the rock beside me. A hand was lowered onto my shoulder.

"Is it
time?" Gimli asked.
�
�
What is in the end,
when all has been said and done?

There is slow-running
water, and on its surface the faint song of rain falling from the iron-coloured
sky. There is the quiet creak of the mast and the whispering of waves against
the grey sides of the ship, as it floats towards the sea. There is the passing
landscape that is being left behind and dissipating like mist after night.

There is that which
cannot be changed.

Gimli is sitting in the midst of the ship, his shoulders
hunched, combing his grizzled beard with his fingers. At intervals he raises
his gaze and studies me carefully, as I am steering the light vessel. I see the
determination to speak grow in him slowly, and finally he opens his mouth.

"I know it has
only been a short while," he says. "But has it crossed your mind thauttiutting your grief into words might make it easier to bear?" The movement
of his fingers has stopped, the hood of his cloak has
slipped off his head. Small bright crystals of drizzle are gathering on his
coarse hair.

"Or it might
sharpen the edge of pain even more cutting," I reply. A few dark birds
take wing from the reeds. They dart and bounce restlessly like insects on the
rain-slivered sky.

Gimli shakes his head and sighs.

"Even now the elven heart remains a mystery to me," he says.
"You carry your memories like a curse. I myself would have been grateful
through the years, if I could have revived in my mind that which is most
beautiful."

His fingers brush a
lovingly carved small mithril case he carries on a
chain around his neck. One golden hair is set in it; I know two more remain in
a crystal in the Glittering Caves, honoured as an heirloom of his house and
token of friendship between Elves and Dwarves.

"I have
forgotten too much of it, for Dwarves remember grudge and old malice longer
than gentleness," he continues.

"And yet you
were drivo tho this journey by the memory of unexpected gentleness you once
encountered," I remind him. "Perhaps you understand the Elven-folk better than you know."

"Not only a
faded memory, but a promise," Gimli responds,
and his expression softens. He wipes water off his hair and pulls the hood over
his head. "You know what Lady Galadriel offered me a long time ago. I
could have stayed in the Golden Wood, yet I followed the Fellowship, with no
consolation but her words I would see her again once more beyond the sea, if
the Shadow passed."

"You are lucky,
for the fulfilment of your wish is still ahead of you," I say. "The
promises of the Lady are double-edged." I look into the horizon, where
different hues of grey veil the border of the sky and sea. Somewhere behind
them is brightness, b
Gimli pricks up his ears and fixes me with an
examining gaze.

"It is odd you
should use those very words," he states. "Aragorn said the exact same
thing to me once."

Hearing Aragorn's
name twists a knife ie mee me, but I do not let it show on my face.

"Is that
so?"

"But he also said
he would remain ever grateful for the day when the Lady first sent him to Mirkwood," Gimli cnuesnues
without taking his eyes off me.

Surprise floods into
me. I feel it invade my expression through the calm as I ask,

"Did Lady
Galadriel send Aragorn to Mirkwood?"

Gimli's eyebrows rise and his mouth curves
amusedly.

"I would not
have thought I can still amaze you even in my old age," he replies.
"I reckoned you had always known."

Laughter springs from
me unexpectedly, taking us both by surprise.

"Now that is
music to my weary ears, although I do not see the reason," Gimli says, perplexed.

"Dear friend,
you have just added a missing piece to a puzzle I had thought long
solved."

"Do not strain
an old Dwarf with the riddles of Elves, but speak directly."

"I have a tale
to tell, if you will listen," I say. "It has slumbered inside me too
long. It may be time I leave it behind with these shores, like nearly
everything else."

Gimli looks at me questioningly, spreading his
hands in expectation.

"You have
cherished your memory of Lothl�rien beyond any other
through the years," I begin. "So have I cherished mine, but for a
different reason." Gimli remains quiet, but
throws a meaningful glance at me. "You know Aragorn and I stepped into the
Golden Wood as friends, but left it as lovers. Have you never wondered what
caused the change?"

He strokes his beard
and shrugs.

"I always
thought it was because of Gandalf's fall in Moria and
the grief that cast you into each other's arms. But I cannot say it was entirely
unexpected," he replies. "Sometimes friendship and love are separated
by but a subtle line."

Even now I marvel at
his insight. Who would have thought that he, of all the Fellowship, would
understand best?

"You were
right," I admit. "But something else happened, too. I also was tried
by the Lady as the Fellowship entered Lothl�rien.
When we were standing before her eyes, I heard her voice in my mind. 'Legolas son of Thranduil,' she
said, 'it is no coincidence that you are on this journey. Your fate is bound to
the Ringbearer, Elfstone
and through them all of Middle-earth. Something will soon be requested of you
that will not ease your part.'

"I did not lower
my eyes, but responded to her, 'My Lady, if you see my heart the way I believe
you do, you know I will protect them with my life. Is
there something more you would ask of me?'

"I could hear
the seriousness in her voice as she spoke. 'The
request is not within my power to make, but will spring from what you and Isildur's heir have planted between the two of you long
ago. Aragorn will come to you before you leave this country behind. What he
offers you is both a gift and a burden, for allegiance of the heart between
Elves and Men has seldom brought but pain to those who have bound themselves to
it. And yet, how would Beren One-hand have passed his
trials without L�thien Tin�viel
and Finrod Felagund by his
side, and the Enemy's brow been deprived of the Silmaril? How would Mordor
have been defeated on the Second Age, had not Gil-Galad
and Elendil stood side by side, Elrond and Isildur as each other's protection? How would E�rendil
"I do not know, Gimli." I let out a deep sigh and close my eyes,
letting the dull and heavy pain in my chest settle until it seems sufferable.
"Perhaps she had foreseen something; perhaps not. I only know what I have
seen to happen."

"The most beautiful
is indeed the wisest also." Gimli straightens
his crooked back and his eyes are bright. "I am no smith of shiny
sentences, and I have no better comfort to offer you than what words you once
said to me: I count you blessed, Legolas Greenleaf,
for your loss you suffered of your own free will, and
you might have chosen otherwise."

I recall how I had
tried to lighten his grief for the wound of parting with Lady Galadriel, as we
had left the Golden Wood.

"How wrong and
inconsiderately chosen my own words seem now," I reply.

Gimli's gaze sharpens. He rises from his seat,
steps to me and seizes my arm.

"No," he
says firmly. "Those were wise and true words, and even more so for you
than for me. You are lucky, for you have experienced such love as has not been
granted to all. I hold your memories not a curse but blessing. Your story is
made of them, and without that story you would not be you, but somebody
else." He falls silent, then adds more quietly,
"I would not want you to be somebody else."

His words move me. I
kneel down on one knee, bringing our faces to the same level.

"Gimli, even without the Lady's promise I would have asked
you to come with me, and not only to avoid journeying alone."

A smile spreads on
his aged face.

"And I would have
asked to go with you anyhow, and not only to see the Lady again."

"I know."

We look in the eye
this friendship the years have forged persistent. A little clumsily he embraces
me.

"Grief takes its
time," Gimli says as he pulls away. "But we
both still have eyes to see, a tongue to taste and a heart to dream, cry and
laugh. I do not know what you intend to do with yours, but I plan to enjoy mine
while I still can. Which is not long," he adds, but there is not despair
or bitterness in his tone. It is a simple statement, a confirmation of what we
both know to be true.

He wipes rain off his
beard and stands still for a while, as if to say something more, but then seems
to drop the thought and goes back to his seat. A companionable silence falls
between us. I see his head begin to nod towards his chest, as tiredness takes
him over.

"Gimli?"

He starts and his
head quirks up.

"Did you say
something?"

"Thank
you."

He smiles and wraps
the grey cloak around him more tightly.

"You are
welcome," he replies. "Will you let an old Dwarf sleep now?"

"I will waken
you when we reach the white shores," I say, and his grunt tells me he
considers my estimation of his gift for sleep highly exaggerated.

We have come to the mouth
of the river. The sea is near; the foam is resting on the waves thin as a
moth's wing and pale against the deep blue of the water. The flight of white
birds slashes the sky where clouds are rolling in an eternal, ceaseless
transformation. The rain is withdrawing; shreds of sunlight are falling from
among the clouds to the sea. I look at the shores I am leaving, and I feel I
sense them fully for the first time. I see each sharp blade of grass, the edges
and pores of each stone; I hear the growth of each tree and the peaceful
stirrings of their roots in the darkness of the ground. I absorb the beauty of
it all with hunger and longing, knowing it will pass and never return.

When Anduin opens into the sea and wind claims the sails, I let
my mind float back to Eryn Lasgalen,
where the last of my people still walk under the stars, hidden from the world
of Men. I linger for a moment in the cold-grown halls of Imladris
and roam among the trees of Lothl�rien, where no one
else wanders anymore, the abandoned huts built on boughs crumble under moss and
winter has muted the earth. That is when the memory returns, and this time I do
not yield, but open myself to it. Lanterns are lit in
the dusk and a quiet song drifts from among the trees, the grass is green again
and leaves are rustling in the current of air. Aragorn's warm skin is glowing
against my own, we are entwining like vines and living
breathlessly the miracle we are together. There are words that belong only to
the two of us and that nobody else will ever hear.

"If there is
still life somewhere beyond the Shadow, will you take this love with you to the
Undying Lands? Will you keep this moment alive in your memory, when I am gone
and all others have forgotten?"

I will, beloved. This
and every other moment I have been granted to live: the dance of light on
forest floor, the web of shadows on stone walls, leaves of gold whispering in
the wind just before they fade away.

For the only meaning
is written in this very moment, and small is the value of eternal life without
this understanding.

A wind rises and
sweeps over the water, shaking the surface of the waves. Although the world is
different from the one I was once born into, some things will never change:
those that songs are made and stories written of, those that are remembered in
the solitude of deep dark night hours, those that leave a mark that will never
heal entirely away from the red flesh of the heart. They will remain as long as
the empty, yet full sky arches above the earth.

And I am grateful for
them.

I leave behind
Middle-earth as I have known it.

I let it go.

~ The End ~

~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~

Notes:

Eryn Lasgalen: the name given to Mirkwood
by Celeborn and Thranduil after
the War of the Ring. It translates as 'the Wood of Greenleaves'.
(LotR, Appendix B: 'The Tale of Years')

N�nui: the llE>Sindarin
name for the second month of the year, or February.

Thranduilion: Sindarin for
'son of Thranduil'. In his formal
greeting Legolas replio Aro Aragorn accordingly,
addressing him as Arathornion, son of Arathorn.

Lords of the West: the Valar,
angelic spirits that look over the world and serve Il�vatar.

And who knows what
final end is hidden in the Great Music?:

'The Great Music'
refers to the creation myth of the Elves, which tells of Il�vatar
creating music that patterns the fate of Middle-earth in its entirety.

Some of the Wise
believe in a world remade, where the shadow of death has been swept away, all
children of Il�vatar walk together in great bliss,
and what has been divided will become one:

This notion, while
vague, still has its roots in canon. 'Laws and Customs among the Eldar' and 'Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth' (both in Morgoth's Ring, HoMe
vol. 10) hint at the idea of a pure and 'healed' world beyond the end of Arda as Elves and Men know it, where death may not separate
them anymore - a kind of paradise regained, to use a Judeo-Christian analogy.

And yet, how would Beren One-hand have passed his trials without L�thien Tin�viel and Finrod Felagund by his side, and
the Enemy's brow been deprived of the Silmaril? How would Mordor
have been defeated on the Second Age, had not Gil-Galad
and Elendil stood side by side, Elrond and Isildur as each other's protection? How would E�rendil have sailed to Valinor
and the grace of the Valar been cast upon Elven-folk without a union of Elf and Man?:

These events are
hinted at in LotR, but the actual tales are
told in The Silmarillion.

~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~�~
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Leaves of Gold