OF SNOW AND STONE AND WOLVES
by Soledad
Author's notes:
Those wo didn't understand why Legolas was angry with Aragorn may get their answer. Not that our favourite Elf would be in the best of his moods, either. After most of them had successfully ruined they slowly-growing friendship again, there would be some hard truths to be told.
To my very different view about Gimli there will be a detailled explanation at the beginning of the next story, where our heroes will have to go through Moria. Sorry, folks, you just will have to wait. <g>
I assumed that Legolas, too, had already been in Moria once - around the year 2060 of the Third Age, when Sauron's power in Dol Guldur began to grow again. This is a made-up fact I'll need in further stories, so do forgive me!
For the perspective there are some important events of those years:
- The Dwarves fled from Moria in 1981, after their King, Náin I. had been slain; at the same time, many of the Silvan Elves of Lórien fled south; Amroth and Nimrodel were lost;
- The Dwarf-kingdom ''under the Mountain'' (= Erebor) was founded in 1999;
- the Nazgúl besieged Minas ithil in 2000; the city fell in 2002;
- The last King of Gondor, Eärnur, died in 2050; Mardil Voronwë became the first Ruling Steward, and this is the begin of Boromir's House;
- Gandalf went to Dol Guldur in 2063. Sauron retreatred and híd in the East. This was the begin of the Watchful Peace during which the Nazgúl reamined quiet in the occupied Minas Morgul (the former Minas Ithil).
(Data taken from ''The Tale of Years'', an appendix to ''The Return of the King'')
Chapter Eight: Bitter Ttruths
They walked in silence all day. Not even the hobbits felt like talking, which was highly unusual, yet not completely surprising, since the Men were in a rather foul mood, Gimli morose and Legolas icily detached. Merry and Pippin felt that something was very wrong, but though they kept themselves between their Gondorian friend and the Elf, none of them dared to ask any question.
It was evening, and the grey light was again waning fast, when they halted for the night. They were very weary; the hobbits practically dropped to the ground as soon as they stopped moving forward, not caring for any makeshift bed that might be arranged - or even for food, which clearly showeed how near they to the end of their strength had already came.
The mountains were veiled in deepening dusk, and the wind was cold again. Boromir and Legolas wrapped up the hobbits in blankets (while Boromir pointedly made a wide detour around Frodo, letting him to the care of the Elf, which surprised Pippin greatly, despite his exhaustion-fogged mind), and Gandalf spared them each one more mouthful of the miruvor of Imladris.
Since Sam was in no shape to do any work - and they dared not to make another fire just yet -, Aragorn took upon myself the task to prepare some food. When they had eaten a little, the wizard called a council.
''We cannot, of course, go on again tonight'', he said. ''The attack on the Redhorn Gate had tired us out, and we must rest here for a little while.''
''I stongly advise against tarrying too long'', Legolas shot a glance at the hobbits; then he sighed. ''But I see that you, indeed, have to rest. And if we must halt, then 'tis better during the night, for your eyes are not used to the travel in the dark.''
The hobbits were clearly relieved that they would not have to go on for awhile. They could barely keep their bleary eyes open, and a heavy drowsiness befell all their limbs, despite the invigouring craft of miruvor.
Frodo alone seemed still aware of the problem at hand.
''And then... where are we to go?'', he asked, not even liking
the mere concept of going on, obviously.
''We still have our journey and our errand before us'', answered Gandalf. ''We have no choice but to go on... or to return to Rivendell.''
Pippin's face brightened visibly at the mere mention of returning to Elrond's wonderful home; Merry and Sam, too, looked up, full of renewed hope. But Aragorn and Boromir made no sign, and Legolas shook his head sadly. Turning back was not an option, and he knew that, better than all the others, even Mithrandir and Aragorn. For Mithrandir had not yet walked Middle-earth when the Wood-Elves fought the Enemy, two whole Ages long - and Aragorn was but a Man. A good and brave Man, even wise in his own way, among the limits of mortality, but he had no memories of the depths of evil that might come.
Frodo looked troubled. Nothing would he have liked more than sit at the fire in Rivendell, warming his feet at the hearth and talking to Bilbo, sitting at the other side of the same hearth, but...
''I wish I was back there'', he admitted miserably. ''But how can
I return without shame - unless there is, indeed, no other way,
and we were already defeated?''
Pippin's face fell and Sam looked as if someone had just set
his garden on fire, but the wizard nodded slowly.
''You are right, Frodo'', he said, ''to go back is to admit
defeat.''
''This would be more than simply admit defeat'', added Legolas quietly. ''It would mean to face even worse defeat to come. If we go back now, the Ring must remain in Imladris; for we shall not be able to set out again.''
''But why would that be such a bad thing?'', Gimli asked. ''Is then Elrond not the strongest of the Elf-Lords still remaining in Middle-earth?
''He is'', agreed Legolas. ''Alas, the Dark Lord is aware of that as well. That is why his Eye is turned to Imladris, most of the time. He would notice our return at once. Then sooner or later Imladris would be besieged, and after a brief and bitter time it would be destroyed.''
Imladris, besieged and destroyed! Boromir closed his eyes briefly, trying to escape the all-too-vivid vision of the graceful archways in smoking ruins, the crystal waterfalls stained with Elven blood and mutilated corpses of the Fair Folk littering all over the paths of the Valley, while hideous Orc-packs rummage through the time-honoured, wisdom-sanctified halls of the Last Homely House, searching for the Ring...
He reached for the Stone, seeking out desperately the quiet presence of his lover, to make sure that things are still all right there. And even through he agreed with Legolas that they cannot turn back, the thought of any foul creatures approaching that beautiful valley made him furious.
Fear not, the gentle voice echoed in his heart, we can defend ourselves. But your path leads not back here.
I know that, Boromir replied, without really forming the words; they simply came to him, as always, when he used the Stone, but I wish your were here with us. With me.
I am, the inner voice answered, and once again, he felt the ethereal kiss of a loving soul upon his heart, ere Elladan retreated from their touch.
Boromir forced himself to listen again. Fortunately, the dispute did not seem to have made much headway during his short absence.
''The Ringwraiths are deadly enemies'', the wizard was explaining to the hobbits, ''but they are only shadows yet of the power and terror they would possess if the Ruling Ring was on their master's hand again.''
The hobbits exchanged frightened looks, but there also was stubborn determination on their friendly little faces. The three younger ones looked at the Ring-bearer as one, signalling clearly that they were ready to follow him, what ever his decision might be.
''Then we must go on; if there is a way'', said Frodo finally,
with a heavy sigh.
He truly, deeply hated it, but there did not seem to be any other
chance.
The other hobbits sank back into gloom, Sam even more so than Merry and Pippin, who, at least, had inherited some of the adventurous spirit of their 'queer' ancestors, as it was said in the Shire about Brandybucks and Tooks. Sam, on the other hand, had naught of that spirit. But master Frodo decided to go on, and go on he would. There was no doubt about that in his faithful heart.
''There is a way that we may attempt'', said Gandalf. ''I thought from the beginning, when first I considered this journey, that we should try it.''
''Why, then, have you not spoken of it before?'', Boromir asked accusingly. ''Had the Company not had the right to know of an other path ere the two of you almost led us to our deaths in the snow?''
''It is not a pleasant way'', the wizard answered grimly. ''Aragorn was against it, until the pass over the mountains had at least been tried.''
''He was not the only one against it'', said Legolas, bright green eyes burning in a cold fire. ''I warned you, both of you, to walk it, but you keep ignoring my warnings, Mithrandir. It might cause your downfall one day. The memories of the Silvan folk know of evils not even you have faced before. We know what we speak of.''
''I know that, my friend'', answered Gandalf with a sigh, ''but sometimes we have to walk dangerous paths, even if we know that we might stumble.''
''Then would you mind to speak of it to us who know it not?'', asked Merrry. ''If it is a worse road than the Redhorn Gate, then it must be evil, indeed.''
''It is'', Legolas said. ''Worse even than you might imagine.''
''Still'', Merry insisted, ''you had better tell us about it, and let us know the worst at once.''
Gandalf sighed. He knew the hobbits well enough to know that
nothing but the full truth would satisfy them right now.
''The road that I speak of leads to the Mines of Moria'', he
said.
A dreadful silence followed the mention of that name. All of them had heard of that deep and dark place before, of course. Even to the hobbits, who seldom cared for other races' deeds, it was a legend of vague fear.
Gimli, however, lifted up his head, and there was a smoldering fire in his deep, dark eyes. Short and stout as he was, he seemed to visibly grow in eager anticipation, facing the chance to visit the most sacred place of his people.
No-one else shared his excitement, though.
''The way may lead to Moria, but how can we hope that it will lead through Moria?'', said Aragorn, and Boromir, much to his dismay, felt the need to agree with the Ranger.
''It is a name of ill omen'', he said. ''Nor do I see the need to go there. There are other ways, safer and well-travelled that we could take.''
''Where would you go then?'', countered the wizard sharply. After having fought over the topic with Aragorn more than two moons, the last thing he needed was another argument about it.
Boromir shrugged. It was ridiculous from Gandalf to ask him, since he had visited Minas Tirith many times and knew of all the roads that led thither.
''If we cannot cross the mountains, let us journey southwards, until we come to the Gap of Rohan, where Men are friendly to my people'', he suggested, ''taking the road that I followed on my way hither. Or'', he added as a second thought, ''we might pass by and cross the Isen into Langstrand and Lebennin, and so come to Gondor from the region nigh the Sea.''
''Aye; if we were to go to Minas Tirith, that would be a route worth considering'', said Aragorn.
''I am going to Minas Tirith, what ever path this Company chooses to follow'', replied Boromir flatly. ''And I thought that would be your way, too, Heir of isildur, since you voiced your intention to come with me clearly enough. But maybe you had a change of heart. Maybe you found a thing more dear to you than the safety of the land you intend to rule. So do as you wish. I care not. But I have that freedom not. For my duty lies in the South, and I shall go home to defend my land - or die trying.''
''Things have changed since you came north, Boromir'', the wizard said hastily, as if to hinder Aragorn in finding an equally harsh answer. ''Did you not hear what I told you of Saruman? With him I may have business of my own ere all is over. But the Ring must not come near Isengard, if that can by any means be prevented. The Gap of Rohan is closed to us while we go with the Ring-bearer.''
''I believe you underestimate the bravery of the Men of Rohan and the ability of their Marshal, Prince Théoden the Brave, to keep his own lands safe'', answered Boromir. '''Tis true that Curunír had fallen into their backs many times, but they can deal with him and his Orcs; and they are faithful to the Steward of Gondor, no matter what lies are told about them. This I am sure of.''
''What do you think of the longer road Boromir has proposed?'', asked Legolas. ''I wish not to get near the Sea, myself, but if the road were safe, I would risk it, regardless of my own comfort.''
He aimed his question at Gandalf, but it was Aragorn who
answered:
''We cannot afford the time. We might spend a year in such a
journey, and we should pass through many lands that are empty and
harbourless. Yet they would not be safe. The watchful
eyes both of Saruman and of the Enemy are on them.''
Legolas gave no answer, as if he still did not want to speak
to Aragorn, but he seemed strangely relieved. Boromir made a
mental notice to ask him about it later, then he turned to
Gandalf again.
''And yet I made the way all alone, except the last short
route'', he said.
''True'', the wizard agreed, ''but when you came north, you were in the Enemy's eyes only one stray wanderer from the South and a matter of small concern to him; his mind was busy with the pursuit of the Ring. But you return now as a memeber of the Ring's Company, and you are in peril as long as you remain with us.''
'Boromir rolled his eyes. ''Mithrandir, I have been in peril ever since I picked up a sword for the first time! I spent my whole life on battlefields, ere I even came of age.''
''There are different kinds of perils'', the wizard replied soberly. ''Some of them darker than others. And the danger will increase with every league we go south under the naked sky.''
''That might be so'', said Boromir, ''yet south we must go, one way or another, no matter what the final goal of every single one of us would be.''
''Since our open attempt on the mountain-pass our plight has become more desperate, I fear'', Gandalf sighed. ''I see now little hope, if we do not soon vanish from sight for awhile, and cover our trail. Therefore I advise that we would go neither over the mountains, nor round them, but under them.''
Legolas shook his head vehemently but said nothing, only his face became even more pale than usual, and there was terror in his eyes. The wizard gave him a compassionate look but stayed steadfast.
''That is a road at any rate that the Enemy will least expect us to take'', he said.
''We do not know what he expects'', said Boromir; Legolas' reaction worried him more than anything, for he knew that few things there were that could frighten the valiant Prince of Mirkwood - yet Moria obviously was one of those. ''He may watch all roads, likely and unlikely. In that case to enter Moria would be to walk into a trap, hardly better than knocking at the gates of the Dark Tower itself.''
''You speak of what you do not know, when you liken Moria to the stronghold of Sauron'', answered Gandalf in a dismissive manner.
Boromir raised an irritated eyebrow, tired of being silenced every time he voiced his opinion.
''Do I not? Which one of us lives under the very shadow of the Black Gate? I have spent my whole life facing the evil horns of Ephel Dúath, so believe me, I know rather well what the Dark Tower looks like.''
''Maybe'', said Gandalf, ''but I alone of you have ever been in the dungeons of the Dark Lord, and only in his older and lesser dwelling in Dol Guldur. Those who pass the gates of Barad-dúr do not return.''
''And those who pass the gates of Moria do?'', Legolas asked, clearly not believing it. ''Even if they carry something with them that calls out to any evil force like a foghorn?''
Gandalf gave him an impatient sigh. ''I would not lead you into Moria if there were no hope of coming out again.''
''There is none'', Legolas stated flatly.
Gandalf shook his head. ''Nonsense. If there are Orcs there, it may prove ill for us, that is true. But most of the Orcs of the Misty Mountains were scattered or destroyed in the Battle of Five Armies, so there is hope that Moria is still free.''
''There is none'', Legolas repeated tersely. ''The Eagles report that Orcs are gathering again from afar; and though they suffered a grave defeat in the Battle of Erebor, as you said, never had all their forces left Moria in order to destroy the Dwarves. Besides, many long years had passed by since that defeat, and their forces in Southern Mirkwood have grown in numbers and in strength.''
''No doubt about that'', agreed the wizard, tiring from the fruitless debate, ''but so have the forces of Dwarves. There is even the chance that in some deep hall of his fathers Balin son of Fundin may be found. However it may prove, one must read the path that need chooses!''
Legolas shook his head in silent despair but did not argue any longer. He was only chosen to defend the Company, not to lead it. So he left the decision to the leaders, even if he vehemently disagreed with the proposed path.
But Gimli the Dwarf stood, proud and stout and his deep eyes burnt with a hidden fire that only dwells in the deep furnaces of Aulë's children.
''I shall tread the path with you, Gandalf'', he said, his broad, hollow face reddening with excitement. ''I shall go and look on the halls of Durin, whatever may wait here - if you can find the doors that are shut.''
''Good, Gimli'', said Gandalf. ''You encurage me. We shall seek the hiden doors together.''
''Do you truly believe that we shall find Balin and his people in the vast halls under the mountains?'' Legolas asked doubtfully. ''Nigh on thirty years have passed, as Glóin has said at the Council, since you got tidings from there at the last time. They might all be dead as far as we know.''
''Dwarves'', said Gimli and his eyes glittered with sudden anger, ''are not so easy to kill.''
''Are they not?'', countered Legolas. ''What if your kindred, in their bottomless greed, delved too deep again? Who knows what evil they might have awaken this time?''
''You dare to call us greedy?'', Gimli's deep voice rumbled dangerously, like a far-away thunderstorm; it was somewhat surprising to hear such a great voice coming from his short, stout body, for he was rather lean and wiry as Dwarves go, all lean muscles and bones as hard as the very rock under his feet. ''Was it not your father who had thrown our people in the deep dungeons and brought war upon us for gold?''
Legolas rose with the deadly grace of a wildcat. The long white knife gleamed cold in his hand; but even more cold were his eyes.
''Say one more word about my father, you filthy Dwarf, and it would be your last'', he said in a frighteningly calm voice. ''I have grown tired of lesser people staining his good name - moreso if it comes from one whose forefathers slaughtered the greatest King of my Kin for a mere piece of jewellery. Did you think it has been forgotten? Then let me tell you this, you son of a dog: the blood of Thingol, King of Doriath will ever be there between you and me.''
''That is quiet enough'', said Gandelf sharply. ''Restrain yourself, Legolas! This is not the time to bring out ages-old wrongs to settle - or even newer ones'', he added with a hard look towards Gimli.
The Dwarf gave a slight bow, though still grumbling under his artfully braided beard, but Legolas did not back off so easily. This time, his anger turned towards the wizard.
''Do not give me orders, Mithrandir'', he answered icily, ''for you know naught about our sufferings by the hands of treacherous Dwarves. You were dwelling in the far-away safety of the Blessed Realm when my father, hardly more than a young elfling, barely escaped from the destruction of Doriath with his life. Nor are you my King or my elder to tell me what to do, so care for your own issues and let mine to me.''
''To brings us safely to the other side of the mountains is my issue'', Gandalf replied, through his eyes gleamed dangerously, too; for a moment Boromir almost feared the council would end up in violence, Elven magic against wizardry. ''And we will come through, with the help of Gimli son of Glóin. In the ruins of the Dwarves, a Dwarf's head will be less easy to bewilder than Elves or Men or Hobbits.''
''If you say so'', Legolas commented drily.
''I do'', said the wizard. ''Also, it will not be the first time that I have been to Moria. I sought there long for Thráin son of Thrór after he was lost. I passed through, and I came out again alive.''
''I, too, once passed the Dimril Gate'', said Aragorn quietly; ''but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil.''
''Of course it is'', countered Legolas, irritated. ''You cannot imagine the terrors that hide under the roots of the mountains!''
''Can you?'', asked Gandalf.
The Elf nodded solemnly.''I can. I felt it when I crossed the Dimril Gate, a long time ago - longer than all of your lives count together... less than a hundred years after the Dwarves were forced to abandon Moria for the first time. I could feel something very old and incredibly evil moving along the lowest depths of the mines. I know not if it still dwells there, but I do not wish to enter that dark place a second time.''
''And I do not wish to enter it even once'', said Pippin, unconsciously moving closer to Boromir, as if he were seeking protection.
''Nor me'', muttered Sam, shooting a worried look towards his master.
''Of course not!'', said Gandalf. ''Who would? But the question is: who will follow me if I lead you there?''
''I will'', said Gimli eagerly. ''My heart is burning with desire to see the great work of our fathers that were known still to exist in our songs only.''
''And so will I'', said Aragorn heavily. ''You followed my lead almost to our deaths in the snow, and have said no word of blame. So I will follow you now - if Legolas' warnings do not move you.''
'''Tis not the One, nor any of us others that I am worried about'', the Elf added, ignoring the peace offer from the Ranger's side, ''but you, Mithrandir. And I say you: if you pass the gates of Moria, beware. For what ever there is lying under the mountains' root, it will feel the power that is in you and will come to destroy it.''
Whether it was the worry for an old friend or Elven foresight that made him speak thus, Boromir could not guess. Still, those words of warning made the Heir of Gondor uneasy.
''I will not go'', he said, ''not unless the vote of the whole Company is against me. What do the little folk say? The Ring-bearer's voice surely should be heard?''
The hobbits said nothing. Sam looked at Frodo, while the two younger ones moved closer to Boromir, without knowing it. Frodo just sat, shivering, until he realized that all eyes were directed at him. Then, at least, he spoke.
''I do not wish to go'', he said, but seeing the relief on all faces, save the wizard's, he hurriedly added, ''but neither do I wish to refuse the advice of Gandalf. I beg that there should be no vote, until we have slept on it. Gandalf will get votes easier in the light of the morning than in this cold gloom.''
Everyone agreed with that, and they laid out their bedrolls under a small hill that somewhat screened them from the wind. Then they set the watch - it would have been Sam's turn once again, but Aragorn took over for him, saying that he had much to think about and therefore would not find sleep anyway.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
My King was not the only one troubled to find sleep. Though every one of us lay down to rest, I could sense that Legolas was not sleeping, either. 'Tis not easy to guess whether an Elf is awake or asleep, due to that annoying habit of theirs that they usually sleep with their eyes open (at least when they are on the way and vigilance is asked for), but I have learnt by now to judge by the changes of their breathing - and Legolas was most certainly awake.
There were no trees at the foot of the hill he could have climbed up, so he simply lay down on the ground, just as the rest of us, only a little apart. I could not guess what made him thus upset, save the fact that we were considering to enter Moria; but he had been agitated for days by now, his temper flashing between hot anger and icy detachment. Mayhap the others, Mithrandir and Aragorn above all, keep forgetting that they are not dealing with a mere archer but a Prince among his own Kin - and a proud and experience-hardened warrior to that.
My little friends curled up on their bedrolls next to me, as it had become their custom during our long and tiresome journey, huddling together under shared blankets, sharing body heat as well as the comfort of having each other close. So did the Ring-bearer and his faithful servant, as far from me as it was possible while staying still with the rest of us.
That was fine with me. I cared not for them any more. Once, during Elrond's Council, I felt great pity for Frodo, having been cursed with such a cruel task, and wanted to help him and to protect him. But he trusted me not, and ever since we set out from Imladris, he had watched me warily, and so did his servant.
So let them follow Mithrandir to the black cavern of Moria, just as they had followed Aragorn to almost-death in the snow. Had I not advised to carry some faggots with us, they might be dead by now, and the Ring had an other Bearer.
I wonder who that would be. Would the Heir of Isildur follow the path of his forefather and take it? He certainly was ready to kill me in order to hinder me in taking it. But would he have the courage, would he have the strength to wield it? Would he risk to challenge its power for the good of our people?
The Ring. Its whispers are growing louder in my heart as we come closer to other evil things that might hide in deep places under Hithaeglir. And the visions keep getting more and more confusing, and my dreams even darker.
I saw young Peregrin glaring into a globe of dark fire, his face starred with fear; and I saw my father, sitting high up in his secret chamber in Ecthelion's tower, his pale face weary and tense and his eyes haunted. And there was a strange globe in his hands, cut from some dark crystal, and something seemed to move in the inside of it. And though black it was, its eerie glow illuminated the small chamber with an unholy light.
I jerked awake in cold sweat one more time - it seemed to become a custom during this cursed journey - and reached for the Stone to find some solace in the presence of my beloved. I came to understand that he, too, carved these fleeting touches of our souls, so I felt less reluctant to reach out to him, even if I knew that it cost him some of his strength. Having a bond, wanted and needed from both sides, was something new for me, something I never had before - and strangely comforting.
But ere I could give myself over the joys of our connection, I heard quiet voices talking not so far from me. It seemed that Legolas had taken over the watch from Aragorn, but my King was determined to settle things between the two of them. They spoke in the Elven tongue, but in the everyday manner that I understood well enough, so I listened shamelessly.
''... long enough'', Aragorn was saying. ''I shall learn now what makes you such an unpleasant company lately.''
''Let it alone, Aragorn'', Legolas' voice sounded tired; ''you would not like the answer.''
''Let me be the judge of that'', the Ranger said.
Legolas shook his head. ''I already said once, Aragorn: let it alone!''
''What?'', Aragorn asked in slight surprise. ''You call me Estel no longer?''
''I do not'', answered the Elf grimly, ''for you are hope no more.''
My King was so thunderstruck he could not give any answer to that. Legolas sighed and pulled up his knees, resting his chin upon them.
''Today... you would have slain Boromir for the Ring'', he stated sadly.
''We could not leave him take it!'', Aragorn replied in a defensive manner.
''Are you sure that was the only reason you reached for your sword?'', Legolas asked. ''Do you deny that the Ring pulls on you as well? No-one of us is free of its lure, Aragorn, save perhaps the younger hobbits.''
Aragorn did not answer; which was answer enough in itself. Legolas watched his face for awhile, then he added in a low voice:
''Elrond could have ended this whole madness three thousand years ago. All he needed would have been to slay Isildur; and he could have done it, for your forefather had not yet had the time to learn how to use the powers of the Ring. Still, Elrond knew that murdering someone from his own allies would never bring any good, not even if it was done with an acceptable reasoning. What gives you the right to raise your sword against Boromir?''
''I was only protecting Frodo!'', said Aragorn, but Legolas shook his head.
''Nay, my friend'', he replied, ''you were protecting the Ring. It fills your thoughts and your heart just as it fills Boromir's. Still, I think not you would have reached for your sword had any one but Boromir found the Ring in the snow.''
''What do you say?'', frowned Aragorn.
''I say that you are jealous beyond measure'', Legolas stated calmly, ''and your jealousy leads every one of your thoughts concerning the Heir of Gondor.''
''Why would I ever be that way?'', asked Aragorn with a forced smile.
''For he had what you did not: a place in the world, a purpose laid out clearly, a duty that had never been questioned by any one'', said Legolas, and I began to wonder whether he had indulged in the forbidden art of reading my thoughts lately; he paused and added as an afterthought. ''Above all these, he also received something you always thought would be yours alone.''
''And that would be...?'', Aragorn seemed close to lose his patience with the Elf.
Legolas shrugged. ''The love of a Half-Elf, strong enough to diminish the grace of their life and choose the limited lifespan of a mortal.''
''What???'', Aragorn was hardly able to restrain himself from shooting out loud.
And so was I. Legolas sighed.
''It was the wish of Elladan that no-one learns of his choice, least the one he loves, for he did not want to load even more guilt upon an already guilt-ridden heart. But yes, he did make his choice, just as Arwen did, and Elrond gave his blessings to both his choices: his beloved and his path.''
''How could he...?''
''How could he what? Give his firstborn the comfort of his blessings? Is that not what a father is supposed to do?''
''He was less forthcoming when Arwen made her choice'', replied Aragorn through gritted teeth. Legolas nodded.
''That is true. But Arwen had never been so tormented by the dual nature of the Peredhil. She was quite content to lead the life of an Elven Princess, until she met you. And so was Elrohir, most of the time, torn between the Sea and Middle-earth, both of which are the concern of Elves. But we both know how loud the mortal blood in Elladan's veins sings. He was the only one whose choice Elrond has feared all the time.''
''Yet he did not chose ere he met Boromir...''
''Nay, he did not, and without the Son of Gondor coming into his life, Elladan would still be struggling with his choice - not being in peace as he finally is'', Legolas gave Aragorn a wry smile. ''Or did you expect him to bond himself to a mortal and sail to the West after his beloved's death?''
Aragorn murmured something that I did not understand... nor did I truly care. What I had just overheard struck me like a poisoned arrow. Now I began to understand those strange visions about my beloved, lying aged and peacefully upon my abandoned death bed on the Rath Dínen.
He had made his choice. The choice that all of Elrond's children were given: to sail with him to the West or to remain behind and become mortal. I knew that the Lady Undómiel had chosen the latter, out of love to Aragorn, but how could Elladan...? I was not to become King, I was promised to an other - and my heart belonged to someone else. What could I have given him to make such a sacrifice worthwhile?
'Tis no sacrifice, his gentle voice answered, and I found that I had grabbed the Stone without knowing of it, you have given me something I lacked all my life: a reason to choose.
I lingered for a moment in his presence, thankful for our bond that could give both of us such comfort, for not even the intimacy of our lovemaking would provide such closeness as the sharing of our souls did, and I wished I could love him like he deserves.
Like he loved me.
You loved me well enough, came his quiet laughter through our bond, and I smiled, too, though we both knew that we were speaking - well, thinking - of different kinds of love. Yet I could not deny that, in a way, I did love him... as much as I was able to, with my heart occupied and with a promise given to an other.
And that is quite enough, he added; then he was gone again.
Maybe he was right. I shall always love my brother, no-one could ever take his place in my heart (and, alas, nor in my forbidden desire), but that love was a dream that would never be fulfilled. I might have fallen in the battle against my treacherous heart, and never shall it be cleaned from this shame - but lying in the arms of my lover wass real, and in the warmth of his body curled up against my back, in the safety of his graceful limbs wrapped around me, in the softness of his voice singing to me in the darkness, low and sweet, there was peace.
A peace I never felt before and never hoped to feel any more - til I detected that through the Stone I can taste its sweetness again.
I wonder if I have inherited the foresight of our Númenórean ancestors after all. Earlier it was thought that only Father and Faramir were burdened with this cursed gift. But mayhap it had always been there, lying dormant in the depths of my heart, waiting for a call to awake, and having touched the soul of my beloved woke it from its deep slumber.
If that is so, then my life truly will be over, soon. I do not regret it. There will be changes, no matter whether the Ring-bearer will succeed or fall, and I am not eager to live to see them. I would have served the new King of Gondor, as duty and honour demanded, but at the end I am glad that I shall not see our House be remowed from power. For we did not deserve it. We served Gondor faithfully and well.
But changes are inevitable, and I know that and I came to accept that. So be it. May the Heir of Isildur reign if he wants - I only wish I could be sure of his deevotion towards our land and our people... as sure as I can be mine or my father's.
I wish I could be sure that our beautiful city would remain.
Knowing that sleep would now elude me for certain, I heavily got to my feet and walked over to the watchpost. Aragorn and Legoals now were sitting in silent thought and only gave me a surprised look. I shrugged. What could I possibly say to them?
Mithrandir, too, stirred restlessly in his sleep, disturbed maybe by the loud snoring of the Dwarf, then suddenly he sat up and looked around as if listening. We followed his lead, but all we could hear - save Gimli, of course - was the wind hissing among the rocks and trees; but there also was a howling and wailing round us in the empty spaces of the night.
''How the wind howls!'', I remarked absently. ''Would this fell weather never have an end?''
The others listened, too; then Legolas leapt to his feet.
''It is howling with wolf-voices'', he stated grimly. ''The Wargs have come west of the Mountains!''
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Next, as I've already promised, we shall see some of those
wolves. Then this particular story will reach its end - before
the gate of Moria!
go to chapter 9