Post by Admin on Jan 4, 2021 19:03:03 GMT
Author: Badass Archer Daughter
“I am glad to be here with you, Samwise Gamgee. Here, at the end of all things."
- Frodo Baggins, "The Return of the King"
Legolas wanted to say he was fine...but he really wasn't.
He found out one afternoon while he was in a hunting trip with his sons. It was so surprising how drastic things could change in just one split second. One moment, he was enjoying the spring sunlight and joking with his sons about their hunt and his vegetarian status. The next moment, he had dropped everything and was kneeling down in the floor, clasping that dreadful letter as he clung weakly to a pillar, his heart ceasing to beat that exact instant.
Then he'd traveled straight to Minas Tirith, where he'd spent roaming the empty halls.
But those halls wouldn't be the same anymore. Not without hislaughter, his hoarse, rough chuckles echoing down. Not without his voice, the wise and calm words coming out of his mouth, always offering solid support and wisdom. Not without his kindness and bravery, two of his most astounding qualities. Heck! Even Legolas missed the stubborn human's pipeweed, the very one he'd persuaded the man to stop using so to give Arwen's lungs some mercy.
But now, he'd pay anything to smell it again.
He wanted to say he was all right. To say he was coping with it fine. He wanted to say that he wasn't crying in the inside. That everything was okay. That there could be worse things than what he was going through right now. He didn't want others to worry for him, since he really didn't want to be one more bother to take care of. He wanted to say all of those things were true...even if they were not.
Of course, Legolas had known this moment was to come. He'd seen and he'd felt it, all around him. He'd seen how fast everybody beside him grew, how Eldarion had grown up nicely into a strong lad and began courting ladies who would become suitable candidates for queens. How Aragorn and Arwen's girls grew from pretty and awkward to slender and beautiful. How Arwen herself looked less strong than before, her movements weakened, her splendor more pale, the creases between her eyes increasing and her eyes themselves, often hung with dark bags. How Gimli's beard had whitened, his wrinkles deeper and his coughing seizures getting worse.
And worse of all...how one by one, all of his friends perished. How instead of hearing the gentle laughs and chuckles of the hobbits, all Legolas heard and saw was rain and empty stone, with none of the happiness and warmth his little friends had once possessed. How Faramir and Éomer and Éowyn had all perished, eaten and swallowed by the earth.
Then there was Aragorn. Once, he had been carefree, witty and determinated. Of course, he still had the wits and the determination down but something about his attitude...had changed. As the decades past, the venerable king had slowly quieted down. Legolas had often caught him looking out of the window into the sea, almost with worry, with regret. His aging was clear too, much more than Arwen. His hair had whitened into the shiniest tone of gray and her eyes, once bright, were now dark and dull. His beard had grown longer and was scraggy now, his creases extending all over his face.
Even his abilities had diminished. He would always remain king but one of Legolas' own sons had beat Aragorn in swordfight...swordfight! And of course, Legolas knew and had pride in his sons’ abilities and that they'd be able to pass them on for generations. Still, Aragorn was one of the best swordfighters he'd known and he'd been stupefied, as he'd seen the battle unfold. Aragorn's movements had stiffened and they were shorter, not as agile or quick as he'd been before when he, Legolas and the twins had gone out orc hunting.
But...that was just one time Aragorn's age and impending doom had hit him full on. There were other times too. Even his father had warned him about the pain Legolas would have to endure. After a crazy adventure with a 10 year old Estel, Thranduil had looked upon his son's smile as he talked about the boy only with a frown and a stern look and he'd said:
"We do not meddle with mortals, Legolas. Not even with ones who were raised by elves. That does not change their heritage. That does not change their life. That does not change their destiny. He will be nothing but bad news for you, every single corner of the way. One day he will die, Legolas. What, then? Will you choose to perish as well or will you roam this Middle-Earth, wracked with the burden of pain and misery and loneliness?"
Of course, Legolas had argued. And after many days of arguing, he'd obviously eventually won. And it had been worth it. All those memories he'd spent with Estel. All those hunting trips. All those jokes and battles of wits. All those adventures. All the times they spent covering each other's backs...Legolas almost felt a smile crack up to his face, but he just couldn't. Not in such times.
Still. His father's words echoed in his ears, especially the last few phrases. "-One day he will die, Legolas. What, then? Will you choose to perish as well or will you roam this Middle-Earth, wracked with the burden of pain and misery and loneliness?"
Legolas shuddered, but he was soon interrupted by a tiny voice.
"U-Uncle Legolas?"
He looked up. Surprisingly, the voice came from Eldarion, Aragorn's heir and oldest son. A tall and bulky man, he'd even towered an inch over the elf, with the same hairy, handsome complexion of his father and the slender elegance of Arwen. However, it seemed that Eldarion's own dark curls looked like they were diminishing in color, weakening in. And while the man was usually boisterous, sassy, proud and stubborn, all Legolas could see was a child. A crying child, afraid to be alone and afraid to take a new burden. His voice reflected that much.
He had a paper in his hand, scrunched up so tight Legolas was afraid it'd break. So he'd made Eldarion king...already. Legolas gulped to himself. So he knew. So he wasn't afraid. So he admitted it.
Legolas then put on a sad smile, putting a hand on the man's sturdy shoulder and comforting him."I know 'Darion. Go tell your mother the news. They'll want to conduct the ceremony soon."
Eldarion looked up at Legolas with a surprised look. "B-But how do you know, Uncle Legolas?"
"I am a prince too, remember?" said Legolas quietly. "Go, go on. I will take care of him. I may not bring him back from...his fate. But take care of him? That much I can do."
Eldarion nodded before leaving and walking down the hall, his chin wobbling, his lips trembling and his hands shaking. "T-Thank you, U-Uncle."
"No...thank you, dear boy," whispered Legolas as soon as he was gone. Then, he summoned all the courage left inside him and wrapped his slender, unblemished hands against the knob of the door, turned it all the way and stepped in, terrified.
Then, he forced a fake smile. "Estel, I am insulted. I do hope you left the best for last."
From the inside, he heard a loud raw chuckle and for a split instant, Legolas swore he heard a child...but no, as soon as he entered the room and stepped unto the center, he saw the sorriest sight his heart would ever remember. It was Aragorn, not Estel, who was lying in bed, looking more pale than any ghost and perhaps as sorrowful too. He smiled when he saw Legolas, though.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he joked back. "I-" However, before he could continue, he was subjected into a loud couching seizure. His chest heaved back and up violently, jerking him forward in the bed and making him splutter phlegm, saliva and bits of blood.
Legolas acted instantaneously. Running forward, he patted Aragorn and secured him in the bed, once more making him comfortable. After setting everything up and murmuring soothing words to him, he looked next to him and internally slapped himself. In the small table next to him, there was an assortment of medicines and herbs, along with a fresh cup of water. However, there were at least twenty tiny bottles and they were all labeled in Westron, making matters more complicated, since he had to translate the Westron terms to Sindarin to see if they matched.
"D-Don't worry a-about me," Aragorn muttered. "Just t-this old man's frail lungs. Nothing major."
Legolas frowned as he kept looking, fumbling through the medicines, especially at the mention of 'old,' making him terribly uncomfortable. However, perhaps more joking would do the trick. He flashed him another fake smile. "Well, Estel, maybe if you hadn't smoked so much in your youth, maybe you'd have a much healthier pair of lungs."
"And you say that to me? Ah, do you remember how much Pippin smoked?" asked Aragorn and for a moment, they both smiled, remembering the old times they'd spent with the hobbits, especially with Pippin's charismatic, aloof character. "I am nothing compared to his smoking habits. And see, nothing happened to him! What is this injustice?"
Well, he's dead, thought Legolas, but chose not to say that out loud.
"That is different. Hobbit lungs are strangely genetically mutated to withstand pipeweed damage...you're just a foolish man who almost had the pleasure of choking your lovely wife to death with that blasted concoction," said Legolas. Finally, he found the medicine he was looking for, took some of the powder out and gave the tiny bag to Aragorn. "Here, I think this should help for the cough."
"Wrong, your medicinal skills remain terrible, my old f-friend," said Aragorn, still coughing a bit. However, he was able to still himself. "The right cough medicine is the green bag, no! Not that one, the other one...the one next to that one! Yes, that one. It is a crushed concoction of several types of athellas leaves along with some other Gondorian herbs."
"WHAT! Then why didn't you tell me?" exclaimed Legolas.
"It's f-fun to watch you struggle," chuckled Aragorn.
Legolas' entire face darkened. It's fun to watch you struggle. Some people would feel insulted, but not Legolas. He was saddened, in fact. The words weighed down upon him like a ton of stones, knocking him down further and further unto the ground. Aragorn wanted to keep up with Legolas. To keep up with his abilities. To keep up with his age. His age...his age was stopping him from doing the things he loved, things he could've done easily before. He wanted to feel that Legolas was vulnerable as well. That even though Legolas remained handsome, witty, agile and strong, as every immortal should...he had flaws too.
He wanted to remain and stand at his equal...or to at least be able to stand, that is.
"L-Legolas? What is wrong?"
Aragorn's voice cut into his head and Legolas looked down unto the bed with another of those fake smiles. It seemed he had a batchful of those. "Nothing, Estel!" he exclaimed smiling, and then, slowly, he hesitated. "I-Is there anything you need right now?"
"Well..." Aragorn rubbed his long beard, already gray from old age and withering. "Actually, yes. Can you pass me one of Eldarion's chess sets? Not the glass ones, he was always keen about those. Very possessive, that boy. No, can you give me the Easterling version?"
Legolas frowned, but still did as he was told. Chess? Why would the man want to play chess, when he was right in front of Mandos' door? He must be mad...no, blazes, he must beinsane! Walking, he headed towards one of the tallest counters and easily grabbed a box and returned to Aragorn's bed, setting it in front of the old man's lap.
While Easterling chess had the same basics, it had more different figures and each had slightly different powers. The board was also larger, giving more space to play. Instead of a king, there was a war chief. Instead of a queen, there was a slender, veiled concubine with colorful threads. Instead of bishops, there were war-painted swordsmen, with the curved swords of the Easterlings. Instead of a knight, there were archers . Instead of a rook, there was a massive olyphaunt. Instead of a pawn, there were spear-wielding soldiers. However, there were also other additional pieces. A wizard, a devilish-looking axe-wielding muscular butcher, messenger boys and horses, to name a few.
"Ah, thank you," nodded Aragorn as he received the set, carefully taking every piece out carefully and arranging them across the board. "It's been some time this set has been dusted, but I wager I still know a thing or two about how to play."
"I see," said Legolas.
Was the man implying that he had to play chess with him? Legolas shook his head under his breath, while having an attentive eye at the man. What the blazes was wrong with him? Half a minute ago his wits and brains seemed fine...now he was not so sure.
"-Anyways, Arwen always hated this set. She never even touched it. She said it violated women," stated Aragorn on, rambling. He tended to do that nowadays, and he sometimes stumbled over his words. And while it was a teensy bit annoying at times, today Legolas said nothing. "You know, with the concubine being the only female representation...it isn't very flattering."
"I can tell, it is natural. Evenstar has always been very stubborn about such things."
"And so she remains," Aragorn sighed absently. Then he pointed a finger at the fully completed chess set. "But...you know, it gives me so many memories. And I think that old memories are something I need to think of right now. Care to play with me?"
"I-" Legolas was about to deny, to shake his friend and ask him what was wrong, but then he changed his mind. What if he had denied his friend's last request? He would never be able to deal with himself again. "Fine. Although I only played this once with Faramir, and he basically trounced on me."
"It doesn't matter. Just pleasure me," said Aragorn and made his first move. He had moved a swordsman in front of the war chief, in order to protect him.
Legolas bit the side of his lip and finally, after much thought, made an archer hop over his line of spearmen. And so the game went on. Aragorn moved his wizard, put two archers behind the swordsman protecting his war chief and aligned three swordsmen to protect his concubine. Legolas made a circle of archers, with a line of horses full of spearmen in front of them and finally, trampled over three of Aragorn's swordsmen with a massive olyphaunt.
Aragorn laughed at Legolas, causing the elf to frown at him. "What is it, Estel?"
"Oh, nothing," he said, still chuckling. "It just reminds me of Pelennor Fields. Remember how stupefied we all were? The olyphaunts were all towering over us, crushing our forces like petty little ants!"
"I remember Éomer bravely shooting two down with one throw of his spear, though," pointed out Legolas, mumbling and trying to sound humble as memories came rushing back to him once again. "Really, it wasn't so hard. You just had to aim for the sensitive areas."
"Ha, says the show-off who climbed up one of them, killed all the Easterlings and then cut off the entire saddle off, rising and shooting three arrows at the olyphaunt's skull as it crashed down against the floor, dead."
"And the dwarf still insisted it only counted as one," grumbled Legolas.
He knew it was dumb too linger in the past but Gimli had also aged...who knew? Maybe a time would come, the one in which his name would cause Legolas as much grief and sadness as Aragorn's currently have. He meant for it to be funny, but at this phrase, both of their faces darkened.
"It makes sense, in a way," replied Aragorn softly. Then, as his swordsman got 'eaten' by Legolas' spearman, he moved one of his archers that was protecting his concubine queen forward to protect the war chief and exterminate the danger, by killing off the spearman.
Legolas frowned. "Why did you do that? It was in a perfectly good position. You had a larger attack range before. You could've easily just used your other swordsman...you would've wasted less and could've destroyed my piece just as quickly, without any risk."
"You can always count on your archers," said Aragorn solemnly but with a firm voice, meeting Legolas' blue eyes.
And Legolas broke.
Sometimes when he'd been young...he had never understood the tales. Those stories and tales that had been spun to him when he had been young. He had never understood why King Elros had decided to never see his family again by becoming mortal, or how Lúthien had given up a prized life as a royal elven lady in the court of Doriath by choosing Beren instead of Celegorm the Fair. He didn't even know why they chose to associate with them at all (although perhaps that was his father's doing)!
He had never understood why so many people had given immortality. He didn't understand why the peredhils had chosen their fate, or why the elves gave up their happy, worry-free lives in order to fight the darkness of death and the incoming wall of aging and sorrow. He had never understood why they had never wanted to keep their elven reflexes and vitality for the dull journeys a human took throughout its entire life, always moving, full of greed and pain.
But then, he'd soon learned that immortality didn't necessarily make you happy.
But good friendships did.
He was like a dam in the verge of exploding, every emotion and every hard-face he had put on crumbling like dust in the wind, blowing away. Thousands of years worth of pain, along with the current situation, were like a furious river, growling against Legolas' seemingly calm facade. They threatened to break it down, hit it until it dissipated and let go, too weak to fight back.
But...Legolas knew it wasn't time. At least not yet. For now, all his dam had was a chip.
From his right eye, a crystalline stream trailed down. Of course, Legolas had hoped the human with his aged senses might've missed it completely...but he didn't. The King stared at him with a strange look, slowly raising an eyebrow and quietly watching as Legolas apologetically uttered an awkward laugh, wiping it out quickly.
"Sorry for that," he mumbled. "Something must've gotten into my eye. You know, perhaps you might want to help Arwen around here with the clea-"
"Stop it Legolas. You know how much I hate liars."
Legolas froze.
He looked up and watched as the King slowly straightened himself up in the bed and patting an empty corner next to him. The elf gulped. He'd been sitting in the visitor chair a couple of inches away from Aragorn, just to keep his proper distance and be polite. But now...fear rose through him, almost like bile at his throat before vomiting. It was a terrible feeling, and he hoped he'd get through it so to sail to the Undying Lands one day. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, gently sitting in the bed and watching Aragorn with sad eyes, making sure he wasn't shifting the bed too much so that he wasn't uncomfortable.
"Don't worry," said Aragorn, as if he were reading his mind. "I am fine. There is no need of worrying about my condition. Besides, you're still as light as a feather. Even Eldarion could carry you through all of Gondor."
Legolas rolled his eyes, smiling slightly because it had happened. Twice in fact...and it hadn't exactly been an honorable experience towards his reputation. However, he sobered up, realizing Aragorn was using one of his greatest weapons to distract him: his humor.
"You do know that is one of the most common lies we all say?"
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Then how can it not be one of the rarest truths?"
Legolas paused, thinking for a split second. Damn! Did age seem to make people more enigmatic, or what? Because if it was, Legolas didn't really seem to be affected. He scowled. "That's about the same thing!"
"No, it isn't. Truth and lies are two separate balances...funny, isn't it? Because we need them both," replied the old King.
Then he started coughing a bit once more. He coughed up a few bits of phlegm, to which he wiped away with a small handkerchief he stored under his sleeve before Legolas could intervene. He sighed, throwing the handkerchief absently at the table next to him where all his medicines are and leaned back.
"Do you want to play a game with me, brother?"
Brother. That sole word nearly cracked the dam. The chip opened a bit, to form a small but evident crack in the wall. Legolas became tense immediately, his every muscle and bone drawn to the limit. Still, he forced a smile.
"Certainly. But I must say Estel, you are in a truly playful mood today."
"Old man's cravings I suppose," shrugged Aragorn. "Anyways, it is called two truths and one lie. We each have a couple of rounds and we have to say three things about ourselves. Two of them are truths, one of them is a lie. You have to guess which one."
The elf scoffed, snorting. "Well that's ridiculous! We are blood brothers, we know everything about each other already. No point in that."
"Then I will start, if you're so bitter, elf," teased the human and started, clearing his throat. "All right. So I hold a royal title, have a pet turtle and hate weddings."
"The pet turtle is a lie. Technically you do own it but it really is Darion's, since you and Arwen took him to Dol Amroth for his fifth birthday and he begged so hard when he found one lost at sea. You didn't have the heart to deny him. You even let him keep a couple more after the first one had died," said Legolas and they both grinned, thinking about how much the young boy had changed since then.
"Correct. Your turn."
"Erm...I have olyphaunt parts in my house, I can never distinguish the words 'hummus' and 'hubris' from each other and I have a father who makes excellent cake."
"Hmm, that is hard I suppose," said Aragorn, rubbing his chin. "It's a very interesting choice of traits. I know that your vocabulary isn't very advanced because of your dense head-"
"Oí!"
"But the other two I'm not sure. And since I possibly don't want to end up in the hands of an angry, cake-making Elfking, I think I'll say that the olyphaunts are a lie. You have always been very passive anyways."
"Ha, wrong!" grinned Legolas triumphantly, although with some guilt. "I actually do keep them. And my father knows how to make pies, not cakes."
Aragorn scowled. "What's the difference?"
"A pie has a crust and a filling and sometimes a topping or top crust. Pies are generally fruit or cream. A cake is a sweet leavened product that is a batter that raises when baked. It can have a filling between layers and generally has a frosting or topping. They are generally round," stated Legolas, as if reading from a cookbook.
"Whatever! How did you get olyphaunt parts anyways? They are massive!"
"After Pelennor, Éomer was in charge of discharging most of the corpses, along with Faramir, since he was the only sane person left walking around in Gondor along with a few others. But Éomer offered to store the olyphaunts for his own reasons and he kept some in his storage. I went to visit him one day and I was pretty interested in some tusks. And you know, I can be very persuasive..."
Aragorn groaned. "No! Don't tell me you’d made Éomer drunk again."
"It was a noble cause! And it wasn't technically poaching either. It was of enemy property. Besides, consider it as a nice war souvenir. I killed one of these things too by the way! I most definitely deserve it!"
Then, much to his surprise, Aragorn started laughing. Legolas frowned at him. “What is it, brother? Would you care to humor me?”
Suddenly, Aragorn paused and looked at Legolas with sad eyes. “Éomer has been dead for decades, Legolas, and his dear wife Lothíriel…and Elfwine. When did you make him drunk? No-don’t answer me, it was a rhetorical question. It’s been more than a hundred years since we last fought in Pelennor…”
Legolas’ frown deepened. “I still do not see what is so funny.”
“Everybody is dead, Legolas!” he burst out and then Aragorn started weeping dreadfully, making Legolas freeze in place. “Everyone…Faramir, Éowyn, Elboron, the hobbits, Imhrahil, his sons…and here we are Legolas. We’re still here, talking and playing as if we were children. Isn’t that funny? Oh well, you still look the same but me? Ha! I’m an old man already. I will see them soon-“
“Aragorn,” hissed Legolas angrily as his eyes went ablaze, finally using his real name. “Do not say such things.”
“But it is true isn’t it?” continued Aragorn laughing as tears stained his eyes. “I’m going to die today. I’m going to see them all today. I’m…I’m finally going to sleep without all those nightmares.”
Legolas said nothing.
Aragorn didn’t stop anyways. Still keeping eye contact with Legolas despite the fact that the elf was refusing to do so, he continued. “D-Don’t worry Legolas. You don’t need to worry about me. I have lived a good life, brother, a long life. It has been a marvelous journey…but then all journeys need an end, and if my story is to end like this, I could not think of a better way to say goodbye.”
Legolas finally turned his head around and faced Aragorn, taking the man back. The elf’s entire face was full of tears, streaming out of his blue orbs like an overflowing ocean. “Estel…have you really decided that today is the day? Do you really wish to leave us now, brother, and cause us all such pain?”
Aragorn sighed and then, burst out crying. “I-I am so sorry. I am so sorry, Legolas! I never wanted it to end this way. I don’t want to cause you and Arwen and Darion so much trouble and pain…but it just cannot continue. I cannot continue like this. I cannot bear such a burden. Age has wearied my heart, soul and mind…I am no longer the man I was, nor will I ever be. I cannot go any longer, with the nightmares, their ghosts, their voices. All the guilt and wrong choices I have…they will come with me. I just want to sleep well, even if it is for eternity.”
Legolas smiled sadly, tears in the verge of collapsing. “Do not worry Estel. I understand. We all understand. If it makes you happy, it will make me happy. You have done more than enough good around here, don’t you think? Let Darion have his chance. You’re a great man, Estel, and you haven’t changed one bit. You have risen above all of your forefathers and reunited two great kingdoms and defeated nearly impossible foes. You do deserve your own share of rest.”
“D-Darion.” Aragorn’s voice had weakened slightly. “Legolas…do you know why I have asked to speak to you last?”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to look after my family,” he looked pleadingly into the elves’ eyes. “When I leave, I do not want for them or my kingdom to drown in sorrow. Will you take care of them for me? Will you make sure Arwen is not so alone when she grieves? Will you make sure Eldarion transitions smoothly and becomes a King? Will you make sure to protect my daughters and walk my youngest to the altar for me? Will you take care of some of the affairs in Gondor, Ithilien and Arnor? Will you make sure I’ll be remembered as a good man, rather than just a good king?”
“Of course my brother,” Legolas said, a hand on his chest. He knew that after Aragorn’s passing, he would only be able to linger for a few months. Gimli’s own clock was ticking and the ship he’d been building for the last few years was nearly ready, craving some touches there and there. Still, he would try his best to do all of this. “I will do it gladly. I will be your eyes and ears in the afterlife.”
"Good, good. And now…m-my brother, I have one last request. W-Will you s-stand with me? W-Will you...I know it's ridiculous, I know, I know, must be this old man's thinking...but w-will you hold my hand? One last time?"
One last time. Legolas was ready to crack but he swallowed his fear. It'd be over soon, he couldn't mess this up. He just couldn't. Not even the Blessed Realm would ever be able to heal his guilt and sorrow.
"Of course, my brother," he gave him a smile and put two hands over Aragorn's right one, tightly squeezing them.
Then, for a few moments, there was silence and suddenly...it happened. Just like that. The pressure was gone, as was the warmth, the laughter, the color, the noise in the room and Legolas opened his eyes. Aragorn was frozen in place, his beautiful gray eyes were wide...but they were calm, they were at peace. Smiling as the overflowing trails of tears flew through his cheeks, Legolas gently closed them with the tip of his fingers. He then did what had to be done. He straightened the king up, raising the blanket up to the man's chin (because even dead people could get cold), unsheathed Andúril and put it against his chest, with his two hands wrapped around the hilt.
"Goodbye, my brother. May your memory cause others to smile, as they did to me. As they did to everybody. May you be remembered, even if you do not walk in this world anymore. But you will ever touch everybody's hearts...as you did with mine. Farewell, Estel, for this will be my last goodbye."
“I am glad to be here with you, Samwise Gamgee. Here, at the end of all things."
- Frodo Baggins, "The Return of the King"
Legolas wanted to say he was fine...but he really wasn't.
He found out one afternoon while he was in a hunting trip with his sons. It was so surprising how drastic things could change in just one split second. One moment, he was enjoying the spring sunlight and joking with his sons about their hunt and his vegetarian status. The next moment, he had dropped everything and was kneeling down in the floor, clasping that dreadful letter as he clung weakly to a pillar, his heart ceasing to beat that exact instant.
Then he'd traveled straight to Minas Tirith, where he'd spent roaming the empty halls.
But those halls wouldn't be the same anymore. Not without hislaughter, his hoarse, rough chuckles echoing down. Not without his voice, the wise and calm words coming out of his mouth, always offering solid support and wisdom. Not without his kindness and bravery, two of his most astounding qualities. Heck! Even Legolas missed the stubborn human's pipeweed, the very one he'd persuaded the man to stop using so to give Arwen's lungs some mercy.
But now, he'd pay anything to smell it again.
He wanted to say he was all right. To say he was coping with it fine. He wanted to say that he wasn't crying in the inside. That everything was okay. That there could be worse things than what he was going through right now. He didn't want others to worry for him, since he really didn't want to be one more bother to take care of. He wanted to say all of those things were true...even if they were not.
Of course, Legolas had known this moment was to come. He'd seen and he'd felt it, all around him. He'd seen how fast everybody beside him grew, how Eldarion had grown up nicely into a strong lad and began courting ladies who would become suitable candidates for queens. How Aragorn and Arwen's girls grew from pretty and awkward to slender and beautiful. How Arwen herself looked less strong than before, her movements weakened, her splendor more pale, the creases between her eyes increasing and her eyes themselves, often hung with dark bags. How Gimli's beard had whitened, his wrinkles deeper and his coughing seizures getting worse.
And worse of all...how one by one, all of his friends perished. How instead of hearing the gentle laughs and chuckles of the hobbits, all Legolas heard and saw was rain and empty stone, with none of the happiness and warmth his little friends had once possessed. How Faramir and Éomer and Éowyn had all perished, eaten and swallowed by the earth.
Then there was Aragorn. Once, he had been carefree, witty and determinated. Of course, he still had the wits and the determination down but something about his attitude...had changed. As the decades past, the venerable king had slowly quieted down. Legolas had often caught him looking out of the window into the sea, almost with worry, with regret. His aging was clear too, much more than Arwen. His hair had whitened into the shiniest tone of gray and her eyes, once bright, were now dark and dull. His beard had grown longer and was scraggy now, his creases extending all over his face.
Even his abilities had diminished. He would always remain king but one of Legolas' own sons had beat Aragorn in swordfight...swordfight! And of course, Legolas knew and had pride in his sons’ abilities and that they'd be able to pass them on for generations. Still, Aragorn was one of the best swordfighters he'd known and he'd been stupefied, as he'd seen the battle unfold. Aragorn's movements had stiffened and they were shorter, not as agile or quick as he'd been before when he, Legolas and the twins had gone out orc hunting.
But...that was just one time Aragorn's age and impending doom had hit him full on. There were other times too. Even his father had warned him about the pain Legolas would have to endure. After a crazy adventure with a 10 year old Estel, Thranduil had looked upon his son's smile as he talked about the boy only with a frown and a stern look and he'd said:
"We do not meddle with mortals, Legolas. Not even with ones who were raised by elves. That does not change their heritage. That does not change their life. That does not change their destiny. He will be nothing but bad news for you, every single corner of the way. One day he will die, Legolas. What, then? Will you choose to perish as well or will you roam this Middle-Earth, wracked with the burden of pain and misery and loneliness?"
Of course, Legolas had argued. And after many days of arguing, he'd obviously eventually won. And it had been worth it. All those memories he'd spent with Estel. All those hunting trips. All those jokes and battles of wits. All those adventures. All the times they spent covering each other's backs...Legolas almost felt a smile crack up to his face, but he just couldn't. Not in such times.
Still. His father's words echoed in his ears, especially the last few phrases. "-One day he will die, Legolas. What, then? Will you choose to perish as well or will you roam this Middle-Earth, wracked with the burden of pain and misery and loneliness?"
Legolas shuddered, but he was soon interrupted by a tiny voice.
"U-Uncle Legolas?"
He looked up. Surprisingly, the voice came from Eldarion, Aragorn's heir and oldest son. A tall and bulky man, he'd even towered an inch over the elf, with the same hairy, handsome complexion of his father and the slender elegance of Arwen. However, it seemed that Eldarion's own dark curls looked like they were diminishing in color, weakening in. And while the man was usually boisterous, sassy, proud and stubborn, all Legolas could see was a child. A crying child, afraid to be alone and afraid to take a new burden. His voice reflected that much.
He had a paper in his hand, scrunched up so tight Legolas was afraid it'd break. So he'd made Eldarion king...already. Legolas gulped to himself. So he knew. So he wasn't afraid. So he admitted it.
Legolas then put on a sad smile, putting a hand on the man's sturdy shoulder and comforting him."I know 'Darion. Go tell your mother the news. They'll want to conduct the ceremony soon."
Eldarion looked up at Legolas with a surprised look. "B-But how do you know, Uncle Legolas?"
"I am a prince too, remember?" said Legolas quietly. "Go, go on. I will take care of him. I may not bring him back from...his fate. But take care of him? That much I can do."
Eldarion nodded before leaving and walking down the hall, his chin wobbling, his lips trembling and his hands shaking. "T-Thank you, U-Uncle."
"No...thank you, dear boy," whispered Legolas as soon as he was gone. Then, he summoned all the courage left inside him and wrapped his slender, unblemished hands against the knob of the door, turned it all the way and stepped in, terrified.
Then, he forced a fake smile. "Estel, I am insulted. I do hope you left the best for last."
From the inside, he heard a loud raw chuckle and for a split instant, Legolas swore he heard a child...but no, as soon as he entered the room and stepped unto the center, he saw the sorriest sight his heart would ever remember. It was Aragorn, not Estel, who was lying in bed, looking more pale than any ghost and perhaps as sorrowful too. He smiled when he saw Legolas, though.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he joked back. "I-" However, before he could continue, he was subjected into a loud couching seizure. His chest heaved back and up violently, jerking him forward in the bed and making him splutter phlegm, saliva and bits of blood.
Legolas acted instantaneously. Running forward, he patted Aragorn and secured him in the bed, once more making him comfortable. After setting everything up and murmuring soothing words to him, he looked next to him and internally slapped himself. In the small table next to him, there was an assortment of medicines and herbs, along with a fresh cup of water. However, there were at least twenty tiny bottles and they were all labeled in Westron, making matters more complicated, since he had to translate the Westron terms to Sindarin to see if they matched.
"D-Don't worry a-about me," Aragorn muttered. "Just t-this old man's frail lungs. Nothing major."
Legolas frowned as he kept looking, fumbling through the medicines, especially at the mention of 'old,' making him terribly uncomfortable. However, perhaps more joking would do the trick. He flashed him another fake smile. "Well, Estel, maybe if you hadn't smoked so much in your youth, maybe you'd have a much healthier pair of lungs."
"And you say that to me? Ah, do you remember how much Pippin smoked?" asked Aragorn and for a moment, they both smiled, remembering the old times they'd spent with the hobbits, especially with Pippin's charismatic, aloof character. "I am nothing compared to his smoking habits. And see, nothing happened to him! What is this injustice?"
Well, he's dead, thought Legolas, but chose not to say that out loud.
"That is different. Hobbit lungs are strangely genetically mutated to withstand pipeweed damage...you're just a foolish man who almost had the pleasure of choking your lovely wife to death with that blasted concoction," said Legolas. Finally, he found the medicine he was looking for, took some of the powder out and gave the tiny bag to Aragorn. "Here, I think this should help for the cough."
"Wrong, your medicinal skills remain terrible, my old f-friend," said Aragorn, still coughing a bit. However, he was able to still himself. "The right cough medicine is the green bag, no! Not that one, the other one...the one next to that one! Yes, that one. It is a crushed concoction of several types of athellas leaves along with some other Gondorian herbs."
"WHAT! Then why didn't you tell me?" exclaimed Legolas.
"It's f-fun to watch you struggle," chuckled Aragorn.
Legolas' entire face darkened. It's fun to watch you struggle. Some people would feel insulted, but not Legolas. He was saddened, in fact. The words weighed down upon him like a ton of stones, knocking him down further and further unto the ground. Aragorn wanted to keep up with Legolas. To keep up with his abilities. To keep up with his age. His age...his age was stopping him from doing the things he loved, things he could've done easily before. He wanted to feel that Legolas was vulnerable as well. That even though Legolas remained handsome, witty, agile and strong, as every immortal should...he had flaws too.
He wanted to remain and stand at his equal...or to at least be able to stand, that is.
"L-Legolas? What is wrong?"
Aragorn's voice cut into his head and Legolas looked down unto the bed with another of those fake smiles. It seemed he had a batchful of those. "Nothing, Estel!" he exclaimed smiling, and then, slowly, he hesitated. "I-Is there anything you need right now?"
"Well..." Aragorn rubbed his long beard, already gray from old age and withering. "Actually, yes. Can you pass me one of Eldarion's chess sets? Not the glass ones, he was always keen about those. Very possessive, that boy. No, can you give me the Easterling version?"
Legolas frowned, but still did as he was told. Chess? Why would the man want to play chess, when he was right in front of Mandos' door? He must be mad...no, blazes, he must beinsane! Walking, he headed towards one of the tallest counters and easily grabbed a box and returned to Aragorn's bed, setting it in front of the old man's lap.
While Easterling chess had the same basics, it had more different figures and each had slightly different powers. The board was also larger, giving more space to play. Instead of a king, there was a war chief. Instead of a queen, there was a slender, veiled concubine with colorful threads. Instead of bishops, there were war-painted swordsmen, with the curved swords of the Easterlings. Instead of a knight, there were archers . Instead of a rook, there was a massive olyphaunt. Instead of a pawn, there were spear-wielding soldiers. However, there were also other additional pieces. A wizard, a devilish-looking axe-wielding muscular butcher, messenger boys and horses, to name a few.
"Ah, thank you," nodded Aragorn as he received the set, carefully taking every piece out carefully and arranging them across the board. "It's been some time this set has been dusted, but I wager I still know a thing or two about how to play."
"I see," said Legolas.
Was the man implying that he had to play chess with him? Legolas shook his head under his breath, while having an attentive eye at the man. What the blazes was wrong with him? Half a minute ago his wits and brains seemed fine...now he was not so sure.
"-Anyways, Arwen always hated this set. She never even touched it. She said it violated women," stated Aragorn on, rambling. He tended to do that nowadays, and he sometimes stumbled over his words. And while it was a teensy bit annoying at times, today Legolas said nothing. "You know, with the concubine being the only female representation...it isn't very flattering."
"I can tell, it is natural. Evenstar has always been very stubborn about such things."
"And so she remains," Aragorn sighed absently. Then he pointed a finger at the fully completed chess set. "But...you know, it gives me so many memories. And I think that old memories are something I need to think of right now. Care to play with me?"
"I-" Legolas was about to deny, to shake his friend and ask him what was wrong, but then he changed his mind. What if he had denied his friend's last request? He would never be able to deal with himself again. "Fine. Although I only played this once with Faramir, and he basically trounced on me."
"It doesn't matter. Just pleasure me," said Aragorn and made his first move. He had moved a swordsman in front of the war chief, in order to protect him.
Legolas bit the side of his lip and finally, after much thought, made an archer hop over his line of spearmen. And so the game went on. Aragorn moved his wizard, put two archers behind the swordsman protecting his war chief and aligned three swordsmen to protect his concubine. Legolas made a circle of archers, with a line of horses full of spearmen in front of them and finally, trampled over three of Aragorn's swordsmen with a massive olyphaunt.
Aragorn laughed at Legolas, causing the elf to frown at him. "What is it, Estel?"
"Oh, nothing," he said, still chuckling. "It just reminds me of Pelennor Fields. Remember how stupefied we all were? The olyphaunts were all towering over us, crushing our forces like petty little ants!"
"I remember Éomer bravely shooting two down with one throw of his spear, though," pointed out Legolas, mumbling and trying to sound humble as memories came rushing back to him once again. "Really, it wasn't so hard. You just had to aim for the sensitive areas."
"Ha, says the show-off who climbed up one of them, killed all the Easterlings and then cut off the entire saddle off, rising and shooting three arrows at the olyphaunt's skull as it crashed down against the floor, dead."
"And the dwarf still insisted it only counted as one," grumbled Legolas.
He knew it was dumb too linger in the past but Gimli had also aged...who knew? Maybe a time would come, the one in which his name would cause Legolas as much grief and sadness as Aragorn's currently have. He meant for it to be funny, but at this phrase, both of their faces darkened.
"It makes sense, in a way," replied Aragorn softly. Then, as his swordsman got 'eaten' by Legolas' spearman, he moved one of his archers that was protecting his concubine queen forward to protect the war chief and exterminate the danger, by killing off the spearman.
Legolas frowned. "Why did you do that? It was in a perfectly good position. You had a larger attack range before. You could've easily just used your other swordsman...you would've wasted less and could've destroyed my piece just as quickly, without any risk."
"You can always count on your archers," said Aragorn solemnly but with a firm voice, meeting Legolas' blue eyes.
And Legolas broke.
Sometimes when he'd been young...he had never understood the tales. Those stories and tales that had been spun to him when he had been young. He had never understood why King Elros had decided to never see his family again by becoming mortal, or how Lúthien had given up a prized life as a royal elven lady in the court of Doriath by choosing Beren instead of Celegorm the Fair. He didn't even know why they chose to associate with them at all (although perhaps that was his father's doing)!
He had never understood why so many people had given immortality. He didn't understand why the peredhils had chosen their fate, or why the elves gave up their happy, worry-free lives in order to fight the darkness of death and the incoming wall of aging and sorrow. He had never understood why they had never wanted to keep their elven reflexes and vitality for the dull journeys a human took throughout its entire life, always moving, full of greed and pain.
But then, he'd soon learned that immortality didn't necessarily make you happy.
But good friendships did.
He was like a dam in the verge of exploding, every emotion and every hard-face he had put on crumbling like dust in the wind, blowing away. Thousands of years worth of pain, along with the current situation, were like a furious river, growling against Legolas' seemingly calm facade. They threatened to break it down, hit it until it dissipated and let go, too weak to fight back.
But...Legolas knew it wasn't time. At least not yet. For now, all his dam had was a chip.
From his right eye, a crystalline stream trailed down. Of course, Legolas had hoped the human with his aged senses might've missed it completely...but he didn't. The King stared at him with a strange look, slowly raising an eyebrow and quietly watching as Legolas apologetically uttered an awkward laugh, wiping it out quickly.
"Sorry for that," he mumbled. "Something must've gotten into my eye. You know, perhaps you might want to help Arwen around here with the clea-"
"Stop it Legolas. You know how much I hate liars."
Legolas froze.
He looked up and watched as the King slowly straightened himself up in the bed and patting an empty corner next to him. The elf gulped. He'd been sitting in the visitor chair a couple of inches away from Aragorn, just to keep his proper distance and be polite. But now...fear rose through him, almost like bile at his throat before vomiting. It was a terrible feeling, and he hoped he'd get through it so to sail to the Undying Lands one day. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, gently sitting in the bed and watching Aragorn with sad eyes, making sure he wasn't shifting the bed too much so that he wasn't uncomfortable.
"Don't worry," said Aragorn, as if he were reading his mind. "I am fine. There is no need of worrying about my condition. Besides, you're still as light as a feather. Even Eldarion could carry you through all of Gondor."
Legolas rolled his eyes, smiling slightly because it had happened. Twice in fact...and it hadn't exactly been an honorable experience towards his reputation. However, he sobered up, realizing Aragorn was using one of his greatest weapons to distract him: his humor.
"You do know that is one of the most common lies we all say?"
The old man raised an eyebrow. "Then how can it not be one of the rarest truths?"
Legolas paused, thinking for a split second. Damn! Did age seem to make people more enigmatic, or what? Because if it was, Legolas didn't really seem to be affected. He scowled. "That's about the same thing!"
"No, it isn't. Truth and lies are two separate balances...funny, isn't it? Because we need them both," replied the old King.
Then he started coughing a bit once more. He coughed up a few bits of phlegm, to which he wiped away with a small handkerchief he stored under his sleeve before Legolas could intervene. He sighed, throwing the handkerchief absently at the table next to him where all his medicines are and leaned back.
"Do you want to play a game with me, brother?"
Brother. That sole word nearly cracked the dam. The chip opened a bit, to form a small but evident crack in the wall. Legolas became tense immediately, his every muscle and bone drawn to the limit. Still, he forced a smile.
"Certainly. But I must say Estel, you are in a truly playful mood today."
"Old man's cravings I suppose," shrugged Aragorn. "Anyways, it is called two truths and one lie. We each have a couple of rounds and we have to say three things about ourselves. Two of them are truths, one of them is a lie. You have to guess which one."
The elf scoffed, snorting. "Well that's ridiculous! We are blood brothers, we know everything about each other already. No point in that."
"Then I will start, if you're so bitter, elf," teased the human and started, clearing his throat. "All right. So I hold a royal title, have a pet turtle and hate weddings."
"The pet turtle is a lie. Technically you do own it but it really is Darion's, since you and Arwen took him to Dol Amroth for his fifth birthday and he begged so hard when he found one lost at sea. You didn't have the heart to deny him. You even let him keep a couple more after the first one had died," said Legolas and they both grinned, thinking about how much the young boy had changed since then.
"Correct. Your turn."
"Erm...I have olyphaunt parts in my house, I can never distinguish the words 'hummus' and 'hubris' from each other and I have a father who makes excellent cake."
"Hmm, that is hard I suppose," said Aragorn, rubbing his chin. "It's a very interesting choice of traits. I know that your vocabulary isn't very advanced because of your dense head-"
"Oí!"
"But the other two I'm not sure. And since I possibly don't want to end up in the hands of an angry, cake-making Elfking, I think I'll say that the olyphaunts are a lie. You have always been very passive anyways."
"Ha, wrong!" grinned Legolas triumphantly, although with some guilt. "I actually do keep them. And my father knows how to make pies, not cakes."
Aragorn scowled. "What's the difference?"
"A pie has a crust and a filling and sometimes a topping or top crust. Pies are generally fruit or cream. A cake is a sweet leavened product that is a batter that raises when baked. It can have a filling between layers and generally has a frosting or topping. They are generally round," stated Legolas, as if reading from a cookbook.
"Whatever! How did you get olyphaunt parts anyways? They are massive!"
"After Pelennor, Éomer was in charge of discharging most of the corpses, along with Faramir, since he was the only sane person left walking around in Gondor along with a few others. But Éomer offered to store the olyphaunts for his own reasons and he kept some in his storage. I went to visit him one day and I was pretty interested in some tusks. And you know, I can be very persuasive..."
Aragorn groaned. "No! Don't tell me you’d made Éomer drunk again."
"It was a noble cause! And it wasn't technically poaching either. It was of enemy property. Besides, consider it as a nice war souvenir. I killed one of these things too by the way! I most definitely deserve it!"
Then, much to his surprise, Aragorn started laughing. Legolas frowned at him. “What is it, brother? Would you care to humor me?”
Suddenly, Aragorn paused and looked at Legolas with sad eyes. “Éomer has been dead for decades, Legolas, and his dear wife Lothíriel…and Elfwine. When did you make him drunk? No-don’t answer me, it was a rhetorical question. It’s been more than a hundred years since we last fought in Pelennor…”
Legolas’ frown deepened. “I still do not see what is so funny.”
“Everybody is dead, Legolas!” he burst out and then Aragorn started weeping dreadfully, making Legolas freeze in place. “Everyone…Faramir, Éowyn, Elboron, the hobbits, Imhrahil, his sons…and here we are Legolas. We’re still here, talking and playing as if we were children. Isn’t that funny? Oh well, you still look the same but me? Ha! I’m an old man already. I will see them soon-“
“Aragorn,” hissed Legolas angrily as his eyes went ablaze, finally using his real name. “Do not say such things.”
“But it is true isn’t it?” continued Aragorn laughing as tears stained his eyes. “I’m going to die today. I’m going to see them all today. I’m…I’m finally going to sleep without all those nightmares.”
Legolas said nothing.
Aragorn didn’t stop anyways. Still keeping eye contact with Legolas despite the fact that the elf was refusing to do so, he continued. “D-Don’t worry Legolas. You don’t need to worry about me. I have lived a good life, brother, a long life. It has been a marvelous journey…but then all journeys need an end, and if my story is to end like this, I could not think of a better way to say goodbye.”
Legolas finally turned his head around and faced Aragorn, taking the man back. The elf’s entire face was full of tears, streaming out of his blue orbs like an overflowing ocean. “Estel…have you really decided that today is the day? Do you really wish to leave us now, brother, and cause us all such pain?”
Aragorn sighed and then, burst out crying. “I-I am so sorry. I am so sorry, Legolas! I never wanted it to end this way. I don’t want to cause you and Arwen and Darion so much trouble and pain…but it just cannot continue. I cannot continue like this. I cannot bear such a burden. Age has wearied my heart, soul and mind…I am no longer the man I was, nor will I ever be. I cannot go any longer, with the nightmares, their ghosts, their voices. All the guilt and wrong choices I have…they will come with me. I just want to sleep well, even if it is for eternity.”
Legolas smiled sadly, tears in the verge of collapsing. “Do not worry Estel. I understand. We all understand. If it makes you happy, it will make me happy. You have done more than enough good around here, don’t you think? Let Darion have his chance. You’re a great man, Estel, and you haven’t changed one bit. You have risen above all of your forefathers and reunited two great kingdoms and defeated nearly impossible foes. You do deserve your own share of rest.”
“D-Darion.” Aragorn’s voice had weakened slightly. “Legolas…do you know why I have asked to speak to you last?”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to look after my family,” he looked pleadingly into the elves’ eyes. “When I leave, I do not want for them or my kingdom to drown in sorrow. Will you take care of them for me? Will you make sure Arwen is not so alone when she grieves? Will you make sure Eldarion transitions smoothly and becomes a King? Will you make sure to protect my daughters and walk my youngest to the altar for me? Will you take care of some of the affairs in Gondor, Ithilien and Arnor? Will you make sure I’ll be remembered as a good man, rather than just a good king?”
“Of course my brother,” Legolas said, a hand on his chest. He knew that after Aragorn’s passing, he would only be able to linger for a few months. Gimli’s own clock was ticking and the ship he’d been building for the last few years was nearly ready, craving some touches there and there. Still, he would try his best to do all of this. “I will do it gladly. I will be your eyes and ears in the afterlife.”
"Good, good. And now…m-my brother, I have one last request. W-Will you s-stand with me? W-Will you...I know it's ridiculous, I know, I know, must be this old man's thinking...but w-will you hold my hand? One last time?"
One last time. Legolas was ready to crack but he swallowed his fear. It'd be over soon, he couldn't mess this up. He just couldn't. Not even the Blessed Realm would ever be able to heal his guilt and sorrow.
"Of course, my brother," he gave him a smile and put two hands over Aragorn's right one, tightly squeezing them.
Then, for a few moments, there was silence and suddenly...it happened. Just like that. The pressure was gone, as was the warmth, the laughter, the color, the noise in the room and Legolas opened his eyes. Aragorn was frozen in place, his beautiful gray eyes were wide...but they were calm, they were at peace. Smiling as the overflowing trails of tears flew through his cheeks, Legolas gently closed them with the tip of his fingers. He then did what had to be done. He straightened the king up, raising the blanket up to the man's chin (because even dead people could get cold), unsheathed Andúril and put it against his chest, with his two hands wrapped around the hilt.
"Goodbye, my brother. May your memory cause others to smile, as they did to me. As they did to everybody. May you be remembered, even if you do not walk in this world anymore. But you will ever touch everybody's hearts...as you did with mine. Farewell, Estel, for this will be my last goodbye."
I saw the light fade from the sky,
On the wind I heard a sigh,
As the snowflakes cover my fallen brothers,
I will say this last goodbye,
- Billy Boyd, "The Last Goodbye"
On the wind I heard a sigh,
As the snowflakes cover my fallen brothers,
I will say this last goodbye,
- Billy Boyd, "The Last Goodbye"