Several days had passed since Legolas had begun his homeward journey. He made steady progress, riding day and night when his horse was able, and eating little. But one night, it happened that as he approached a wood beside the river, a dreadful pain gnawed in his stomach. At first he tried not to think on it, for it passed some moments later. But as he continued, the pain would return, and with it a feeling of faintness.
Determined not to be delayed on his journey, he did not stop to rest. Several hours later, the pain came back very sudden, and this time it did not fade away. Instead, it worried at him insistently and made him sick and dizzy. Yearning for some respite, he breathed in the cool air deeply, and yet he knew in his heart why he ailed in this way. Please no, he thought as the pain became even stronger. He gripped the reins tighter but his skin was white and clammy with sweat.
It was no more than a few leagues to Mirkwood, surely; he thought that he would struggle and make it before nightfall. Yet the horse had only gone a few yards before the elf slipped and came off the saddle. Now he was bent double with agony and stumbled towards the riverside, the sweat dripping down his back and his legs. The horse whinnied and paced up and down as his rider fell again to the ground in pain, and crawled as best he could towards the cool water to wash his face. It could not be this, he thought to himself in desperation. He had been praying that he would reach Mirkwood and be able to speak to his brother before the first signs appeared. But it had been too late and now he was stranded, alone, with no one near. He lay on the ground, panting, and then he cried out as he saw that his leggings were seeped in blood. There was no choice for him but to stay by the river bank, and he bit on his sleeve as the waves of pain continued. So it was that Legolas lay alone as he gave birth to his first child, fathered upon him against his will by the Nazgul. Such was his suffering that he swooned as he delivered the infant, and remained insensible when the babe gave its first cries.
The sun had come higher in the sky as Boromir sat looking towards the horizon, a mug of tea in his hands. It was only a half hour since he had watched his only love ride away and leave him alone, and it felt to him like tasting a sweet nectar for only a moment, to have it snatched away again from his lips. Now the bitterness was sharp. He drummed his hand absently on the table, thinking of that gentle pale face, and of the scent of him when he kissed his forehead. He was angry now, at himself, for letting him go – he should have caught hold of him, begged him, anything – anything just to let him hold Legolas close to him and kiss his lips again. But it was all too late now.
"I am sorry, Boromir," said a quiet voice. Boromir looked up to see Aragorn, who sat down beside him.
"Sorry for what?" he shrugged.
"For what you go through. It is never easy, loving an elf." He said it with such compassion and understanding that Boromir sighed.
"No, it is not," he replied after a moment. "But at least Arwen returns your love, though your courtship has been troubled. At least you know that she will think of you always – she must be thinking of you now, even as we speak."
"I hope so." He could not help but smile for a moment at the thought, and then his face was grave once more "He has refused you, then, outright?" Boromir laughed bitterly. "He has, and he has done so in no uncertain terms. I was told it could never be. And perhaps he is right."
"You must not take it to heart. It does not mean that he has no care for you. He has had many suitors, but not even the best of them has won him yet, for his brother will allow no engagement."
"Is that so?"
"It is. And perhaps Legolas does not accept anyone now, before he has the chance to seek his brother's approval. Why, even Elladan himself, son of Elrond, sought his hand, and was refused. Imagine how it rankled! He will be highest among the elves, in time, and Thranduil leapt at the chance to arrange such an advantageous match, but the brother held the marriage back. This was many years ago, and he feared that Legolas was too young, and too green, for him to be wed."
"And does Legolas himself have no say in any of this?"
"He is royalty. Of course he has no say."
Boromir nodded, and thought on his words a while. He looked up again with a weary face. "It may be as you say, but if his family's judgement was all that stood in the way of our marriage, he would have told me so. He would have confessed his love, but explained that his duties prevented the union."
"Then what were his reasons?"
"That is just it – he would give me none. He asked that I did not press him, for he could not explain them. And all I can conclude from that, Aragorn, is that he cannot love me, and wished to spare my feelings by not telling me so plainly."
"He may have been taken by surprise. It is a great sacrifice, for an elf to wed a mortal. He may have been overwhelmed and have thought it safer to refuse."
"I do not think so. He was very clear on the point. Too clear, as far as my pride was concerned."
Aragorn paused and looked at the man in front of him for a few moments, and saw how dejected and hurt he was. He felt moved to comfort him, because he himself had known the rocky path towards love, and he did not want another to suffer as he had. And also, there was a suspicion in his mind, for he had known Legolas for many years, and the way he had acted had been brusque and uncharacteristic. It was not like him to leave so suddenly, with no proper explanation. No, it was clear to Aragorn that something was not right, or that there was something troubling the elf, although what that was he did not know. "Well, Boromir. There is only one way to find out if he loves you or not."
"And what is that?"
"You know what it is. You must find him, and ask him again. I can see that your feelings are true, and there is no reason why you should let him go. Follow him! He left barely an hour ago. Follow him, and ask him once more, and leave only when he has given you a full answer. You deserve that much. He may say yes, or he may say no, but at least you will understand why."
Boromir shook his head. "He will say no again. I spilled out my heart before, to no avail. It will be no different."
"How can you tell? What are you going to do, sit here and forget him for the rest of your days?"
"No!"
"Then do as I say. Everyone should have a second chance." Boromir looked out once more, across the plains, to where the mist rose in the distance.
"You are right," he said, a note of determination entering his voice. "I should never have let him go. But maybe I will have him back." So saying, he stood and called for his horse, and hurriedly began to pack his baggage. His motions were jittery and tense, for now that he saw even the slightest possibility of success, he was anxious to reach Legolas a soon as he could. Within moments, all was ready, and he was on his horse with the reins in his hands.
"Farewell, Aragorn! I will return as soon as I can, or else send word. And thank you for your counsel. May it be proved true!"
"Farewell, Boromir. And good luck!" With that, the horse was off at a gallop, and Boromir turned to wave goodbye as the figure of Aragorn grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, he could see him no more, and he looked ahead of him, to follow the elf's trail. The marks of horse's hooves were fresh, and he had little difficulty. Legolas could not be all that far in advance, and sooner or later, Boromir would catch up with him. And then they would see.
"Oh, Elbereth," he muttered to himself under his breath. "I hope I am doing the right thing."
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