Gandalf stood on the shoreline. He gazed out to the horizon, lost in reverie. Behind him, birds sang and the sun shone with the soft intensity that was Valinor. He leaned heavily on his staff, the weight of his sorrow transferring to the symbol of his power. His piercing blue eyes saw beyond the scene of tranquility before him, into the world beyond, into the world that had become one elf’s prison.
“Mithrandir.” a voice behind him broke into the reverie. He turned slowly, knowing who stood behind him. The vision before him was one of great beauty and power. Galadriel she had been named once. Lady of Light, the most beautiful of all the elves. She joined him at the shores edge, turning her starlight gaze out on the waves. She did not speak but stood for several long moments. Then she turned her eyes to his.
“He is losing.” she spoke softly, sadness deepening her whisper. Gandalf nodded. “There is nothing we can do for him.”
Gandalf closed his eyes in pain. He felt so helpless, being forced to watch from afar as the truest of the elves faced his trials. His reply wasn’t needed; she knew the answer as did he. The Lost One he had been named on these shores. The few that remembered him still called his name to the stars, hoping to bring him home. The wonder that was Valinor erased pain and in time, memory. Each turning saw fewer gather to call to the Lost One. Soon none would remember. Galadriel closed her eyes. She bowed her head and in that moment, at her feet, a small flower took root. It grew quickly, leaves opened and a bud appeared. The flower opened to reveal petals of the purest black. A delicate fragrance perfumed the air, calling to the sadness that Gandalf himself felt.
“Is there no hope?” she spoke again.
“She will try. And she will fail.” Gandalf’s voice cracked slightly. “The curse cannot be broken.” he paused for a moment. “Only in death will he gain peace.”
Galadriel nodded her understanding. She glanced back over her shoulder. She could see, coming through the trees, three figures. Shorter than elves, she knew them without needing to see their faces, Frodo, the Ring Bearer and his companions Sam and Gimli the Dwarf. She sighed lightly. “We shall have to tell them.”
Gandalf followed her gaze. He too could see the trio in the trees. He knew Galadriel was right but it wasn’t something he wanted to do. The trio had been the most steadfast in their devotion to the lost elf. Their persistence had led to the continued attempts to call him. Even Thranduil would have given up long ago if not for them. Their voices came on the breeze, carrying pieces of conversation.
“We’ll just have to do it.” Frodo was saying as they joined their elders on the shore.
“Do what, Frodo?” Gandalf asked the hobbit. He marveled at the change in Frodo. Valinor had been good for the hobbit. Gone were the lines of strain at last. There was peace in the blue eyes that looked so earnestly at him.
“We,” he indicated Gimli and Sam. “want to do something.”
“Yes, we do.” Sam chimed in.
“It’s been too long. And we want to do something about it.” Gimli growled, challenge in his words and stance. Gandalf noted that it was directed to Galadriel more than towards himself.
“I am sorry, Gimli.” Gandalf said softly. He knew that his next words would not be well received. “There is nothing we can do.”
Gimli muttered a dwarfish curse and scuffed his foot into the sand.
“What do you mean Gandalf?” Frodo challenged. He tilted his head back to meet the wizard’s eyes. Every line in the small hobbit’s body leant credence to the challenge. Frodo wasn’t going to let this go easily. Gandalf closed his eyes and bowed his head. He shook it slowly, sadness in his every move.
“Frodo, we cannot affect the outside world. That is the price of Valinor.”
“Then it is too high!” Frodo insisted. “We can’t leave him there.”
“We’ve waited like you asked, Mr. Gandalf.” Sam added his voice. He wasn’t as certain as Frodo, even after all this time, he still held awe of the wizard. “We have waited so long, it’s time for Leg…”
Galadriel hissed softly. Sam’s eyes darted guiltily to her and he hung his head. “That’s his name. Not the ‘Lost One.” truculence added weight to his simple sentence.
“Yes, Sam is right. His name is Legolas.” Frodo spoke the name sharply, daring Galadriel to speak. His defiance of elven custom brought a slight smile to Gandalf. “He is one of us.” Frodo indicated the remnants of the Fellowship. “He is one of us. And he needs to come home.”
Frodo shifted on his feet, head cocked looking up into Gandalf’s face. Gimli hung his head and Sam managed to look elsewhere. Suddenly Gandalf understood. More clearly than he had before. Understood their defiance, their unswerving devotion. So many of their tiny fellowship had stayed behind to be lost forever. Pippin, Merry, Aragorn… all gone now. Remembered only in songs sung infrequently and tales told in hushed whispers in the twilight. Time had taken everything from these small fellows, and Gandalf understood their desire. They were right.
He nodded in agreement. “Frodo, you are right. We have forgotten that he is one of you.” he looked at them standing there in the twilight. Three small figures that had brought so much to a world that had forgotten them, had named them fairy tale. He thought about the one doomed to roam in a half existence through no fault of his own. He turned his gaze out to the sea for a moment. No sound interrupted his thoughts this time. A small frown creased his brow, and he turned sharply to the waiting four.
“Come. We shall see what an old wizard, a dwarf and two hobbits can do.” he looked to Galadriel to see a soft smile on her lips. “We can only try.”
Gimli growled, a light in his eyes now that hadn’t been there in a long time. Frodo whooped and grabbed Sam’s hand in excitement.
“Come. We go to the Grove.” Gandalf announced. He took his staff in hand tightly and started toward the tree line.
Galadriel watched the four figures walk toward the trees. Her gaze followed them until they disappeared from her sight. Slowly, she turned back to the horizon of the sea. A stray breeze caught her hair and tugged strands toward the far distant line where the sky met the waves. Her blue eyes turned outward, seeking a glimpse of something, someone. At her feet, next to the newly opened flower, another bud appeared. It’s petals unfurled to reveal a flower of the purest white. A scent of sweet hope joined the bittersweet perfume of loss.
“Legolas.” her whisper wafted over the waves. Hope bloomed in her heart replacing many turnings of despair.
"Legolas." a whisper broke through his reverie. A note of sadness plucked at his heart. He remembered that voice, even though it was carried on the wind of memory, he knew who spoke his name. He sat up quickly, searching the depths of the room he rested in. The darkness was not a challenge to his eyes. He could make out the sleeping figures of his companions of the night before. Sean and Orlando slept in the sleeping bags that she had provided for them once the hour became too late for travel. Quietly and quickly, he picked his way out of the room, disturbing no one, he made his way out into the small yard in back.
He tossed his head up, searching the sky, his nose flaring to catch a scent. His hope crashed as he saw only the clouds scudding past, and only smelled the exhaust and poisons of the modern world. He stood staring up in to the clouds for a moment, gathering himself. He reined in the bitterness that was his life ruthlessly. A sound behind him caught his attention. He spun rapidly, crouching into a fighting stance in pure reflex. He relaxed almost immediately. Christopher approached him slowly still.
"What is it?" he asked softly. The human didn't speak but joined him in the yard. The tall man gazed at the sky for a long time then spoke softly.
"It is no wonder you hate us." his voice was soft, matching Legolas' tone. He looked at his feet before continuing. "How beautiful your world was, and how ugly we have made it." There was shame on the man's face. Legolas looked at him for a few minutes before speaking.
,p>"My world is dead." he said turning his gaze back to the sky. Christopher shot a look at him. "Why are you not asleep?" Legolas asked."I couldn't." Christopher said honestly. "My mind will not allow me to sleep."
The clouds broke to reveal the palest sliver of moon. It's weak light shone dappled on the ground around them. Legolas could see so much in those shadows. It's wavering light made them resemble the pieces of his memory. As he watched, the pieces obliged and began to form into fragments, finally leading him down the road he had long chosen to forget....
Aragorn's head was bent over the bed. Legolas could hear his ragged breathing. His mind was foggy, clouded by the bitter medicine that he could still taste. Had he been ill? His mind couldn't focus well enough to remember.
"Aragorn?" his voice was weak and cracked. It hurt to speak. The dark head jerked upright. Aragorn's face was haggard, his eyes red and swollen from weeping. "My King?"
"Legolas." the was a wealth of--relief?--in the voice. Aragorn laid a hand on his brow, testing for fever. "The fever has broken, thank the gods." He smiled warmly at Legolas.
"What?" Legolas tried to force the words he wanted to speak through the fog of his mind. But he was too weak. It was too difficult to remember.
"Hush, dear friend. Do not try too hard. You have been gravely injured." There was sadness in Aragorn's eyes now. Legolas could read it there easily. Aragorn laid a finger on Legolas's lips. "Sleep more, Legolas, mellon nin. Rest. Once you are stronger we will talk."
"Slept too long already." he managed to say. But even as he protested he could feel the lethargy reaching for him once more. Fear claimed him as he started to slip away. Something waited for him in the darkness of his mind. Something terrible. "Afraid..." he whispered.
"No need to fear." Aragorn whispered. "I will be here." The King took up the injured hand and held it gently. The last thing Legolas saw, before sleep claimed him, were the tears streaming down Aragorn's face once more. He tried to reassure his friend that he would be all right, but the effort was too much for him.
Legolas forced that memory away. He didn't want to remember that time. Preferred to bury it deep inside himself alongside the memory of the betrayal. Christopher, watching him covertly, saw him flinch and the sapphire eyes close for a second. There were questions that he longed to ask, yet he didn't know what the elf would tolerate. John had told him of the anger that was carried in the still figure, and he had himself witnessed it. The last thing he wanted was to provoke him.
Legolas turned to Christopher. His eyes seemed to bore into the human, yet there was no hostility present. Just curiosity. "You have known Breeze for a long time?"
"Yes. Since she was a small child." Christopher was mildly surprised at the question.
"Why is she afraid?" he asked. He had not been able to discern a threat to her during the premier, yet upon leaving the sanctuary of that room, she had clung once more to her friends. He had watched her try to keep from fleeing as people approached, but he couldn't see why. He chose to ask Christopher, for he had found the human interesting despite his resemblance to Saruman.
Christopher debated with himself for a moment. This really wasn't his story to tell. Yet he knew that Breeze, if asked, would never divulge the root of her fear. "When she was a tiny child, no more than three, something happened to her. Her mother, John's granddaughter, took Breeze to a carnival in Canterbury. Somehow, Breeze got separated from Jenna. It took several hours for the constabulary to find her. By the time they did, Breeze was hysterical. She's been terrified of crowds since." Christopher hesitated. "John didn't think that it was an accident. Jenna had never been what we consider stable. He believed that she left the child with every intention of abandoning her there. He didn't know why she changed her mind. He tried to have Breeze removed from Jenna, but without proof, concrete proof, the courts wouldn't."
"She injured her child?" there was a chill in the elf's voice. Christopher cringed inwardly. Mentally he thanked the heavens that Jenna had died years before.
"We could never prove it. But yes, we think she did. She took Breeze to the United States for a time, and when she returned, Breeze was a different child. She had always been quiet, but," he shook his head sadly. "she wouldn't allow anyone to get close to her. Whenever she would be in a room of more than two, maybe three people, she would have panic attacks. Like the ones tonight."
"I see." Legolas clenched his fists. His rage chewed at its chains. He wanted to kill the person who had injured his...he stopped his train of thought cold. She was not his. Could never be...his. "Her mother still lives?"
"No. She took her own life many years ago, when Breeze was fifteen." Christopher could feel the anger radiating through the elf. He raised an eyebrow at it's intensity. There was something here that he hadn't expected. The clenched jaw slowly relaxed and the elf's anger drained.
"That is fortunate." Legolas looked at the sky in the east. “Come the others will wake soon.” he spun on his heel and left Christopher standing in the yard. Christopher watched the elf move swiftly into the house.
“John, I don’t think this was in the plan.” he spoke to the lightening dark. “I don’t think it was at all.” He seemed to listen for a moment to the wind, then he too headed inside. This was going to be interesting, even more so than he had hoped. A grin twinkled in the dark eyes. He was looking forward to the upcoming day.