It had felt so pleasing simply to be alive just after that first time with Aragorn, I recalled, particularly to one who has lived too long, and so now takes for granted the small pleasure of taking a breath of cool, fresh air. I was leaving the far East of the land and passing through some areas of Middle-earth where the Shadow had held the most sway, and there was as of yet no clean air to be had there, not so soon after the fall of Barad-dûr. My memories sustained me as I walked. I tried to exist as one who had yet to suffer a loss in love and who, so far, had known only the exquisite pleasures.
I began to think on the ring Aragorn had given me, just after the One Ring had been cast into Orodruin and our battle in Mordor ended. He had pushed his way though the tired, rejoicing men of Gondor and Rohan to pull me close to him before kissing me deeply, no longer caring who would see him. "Keep this, and know that I love you," he whispered urgently, taking the ring from his own finger and placing it upon mine. We were both of us covered in blood and sweat and the wounds of battle, but at that moment he was the most beautiful thing in the world to me, and I to him.
And how the men had cheered us at that time – how they had delighted in our love! "Hail King Elessar, and his good Legolas, prince of the Woodland Realm!" good Gimli, son of Glóin had shouted upon the sight of us – good, dear Gimli, who had known of Aragorn's love for me since the inception of the Fellowship, and had never once looked strangely upon us for it. And the men had followed suit. "Hail King Elessar! Hail his good Legolas!" they had chorused loudly as one voice in vigorous approval. Aragorn kissed me once more, to great cheering and applause from the onlookers. In that battlefield, upon that valiant day, it was the bravest act he had undertaken. Never had I been more proud of him.
Imagining him waking to find me gone, as he would have by now – it was getting to be early afternoon – I wondered if he would find the ring; if he, too, was thinking on that day.
The landscape ahead of me lay dark and desolate, as though Sauron had never gone. My heart and body alike were already weary with the thought of how much more ground I had to cover. Yet out of the corner of my eye, something was stirring in the dead hills. A small speck of white seemed to be dancing amongst the brown reeds and dull grey waters, growing larger rapidly as it came. After a short while I could see what it was, but I did not dare to believe my own eyes. Surely great Ilúvatar could not have made two of him, most noble of beasts?
"Shadowfax!" I cried out, and though I was sure he could not possibly have heard me, he quickened his pace. I was much distressed to see that he was without rider. A few wise words from Mithrandir were just what I desired in this, most desperate of times, and it looked as though I would not be fortunate enough to hear his judgment after all.
The horse called Shadowfax rounded a small hill and rose up before me. I lowered my eyes briefly, involuntarily, in a show of respect to the great creature, whom I had come to admire greatly in our travels together.
Shadowfax trotted nearer me to stand next to me, watching expectantly as though waiting for me to mount. I surveyed his steady gaze disbelievingly, hardly ready to do such a thing in spite of my prowess as a horseman.
"But you belong to Mithrandir," I protested after his eyes did not leave mine for a spell.
Shadowfax snorted in disapproval at this, though he did not step away from me. I smiled, slightly ashamed of myself. "Forgive me," I said. "You belong to no one, I know that. I have been among Men too long....But I do not understand."
His only response was to step closer.
I debated quickly with myself over the wisest course of action. Shadowfax might well lead me to Mithrandir, I reasoned; he was one whom I did long to see before leaving these shores, particularly as he would be able to explain my cruel actions to Aragorn if ever the two did meet again. And so, with much trepidation, I mounted Shadowfax. He did not hesitate, not even a second, before beginning his tireless gallop westward. I held on as best I could, allowing his paces to rock me into a kind of reverie, where I could remember happier times with Aragorn. These were times before he was on the point of being crowned, when the only loyalties he held were to himself and to me.
I am not altogether comfortable with my fierce love for Aragorn, not at first. Often we meet in the place he has showed me to speak freely with one another, sometimes for only a few minutes and sometimes nearly all day, before I allow him to lead me behind the waterfall and love me, in all his passion and glory, as only he can. I seem to become a different person to myself behind that thin curtain of water.
On occasion we talk after lovemaking, him cradling me gently in his arms, offering me the warmth of his body as protection from the cold of the stone and water, and the words I utter there are unlike any that have ever passed my lips before. Gone is the slow and deliberate manner of speaking, so characteristic of the Eldalië, and it is replaced by a bold impetuosity, a bare-breasted honesty, that would be hopelessly out of place even in a hall of the most forthright of Men, let alone in the palaces of Thranduil or Elrond. He laughs aloud when I permit myself these times of complete and genuine clarity in speech, this unabashed frankness, and draws me closer to him as I speak, sometimes stopping my words with kisses and caresses and loving me all over again.
I know that my language may arouse him on those occasions as much as his strong body and steady hands excite me. It certainly brings us closer, and I often think to myself that never since the days of Beren and Lúthien has a Mortal Man been permitted to know and understand an Elf as Aragorn Arathorn's son knows Legolas of Mirkwood.
But in my father's palace, out of necessity, I am another person altogether. It is common knowledge throughout the realm that King Thranduil is less than pleased with his son's unwise friendship with a Ranger, one of the Dúnedain. And if ever it comes to light that I have sought out the embraces of a Mortal Man in the secret places of the wood instead of the advances of some of the fairest women in Elvendom, I would have to leave my home entirely. Yet I loathe myself for my subterfuge, for my unwillingness to bring Aragorn back to the palace with me, for my inability to be as honest with the outside world as I am with him.
"Sometimes I wish I could live all my life behind this waterfall," I exclaim to him once in frustration, after it has grown very late and we have begun the inevitable talk of dressing and leaving. He does not reply; he only continues running his fingers through my hair and kisses my shoulder, but I am sure he understands.
My thoughts of Aragorn carried me nearly halfway across the county, out of shadow and into a dark and quiet wood whose name I knew not. Shadowfax still moved swiftly among these trees, but quietly, almost respectfully, as if he did not wish to disturb the forest. The day had grown dark indeed, and so I was startled, and not a bit unsettled, to see a warm, faint light emanating from a valley up ahead. I wondered if Shadowfax would avoid it, but he seemed to be heading directly toward it instead.
"Well met, I say to you again, Legolas," came the mirthful, unhurried voice. It echoed all around me, but its owner, tall and white, stepped out of the murky gloom to my right, and the White Rider, good Mithrandir himself, stood before me.
His name leapt unbidden from my lips. It had been only a short time since he had left Gondor, yet long, too long. He had become dearest among all my friends and companions save Aragorn. I sprang from the back of his beloved Shadowfax to greet him.
"So soon gone from the East, Legolas?"
His admonishment halted my embrace of him and my light-hearted greeting. I cast my shamed eyes downward. "I have much to do."
"As do I," Mithrandir responded. "But even I have not yet forced myself to bid farewell to that which I hold to be fairest, and dearest."
I knew not his exact meaning—even the Elves rarely understood Mithrandir fully—but I knew that the sentence implied a reproach in my direction. I saw then that he knew what I had done, even if he did not yet understand why I had done it. "I do not suffer needlessly," I told him, but I could not tell if I meant it to be a statement or a question.
Mithrandir began to walk the path I had been following, uttering a low whistle to Shadowfax, who followed at a significantly subdued pace behind us. "And what of Aragorn?"
"He was to be King."
"And you were to rule at his side."
"The people of Gondor would not have stood for it. They would not have wished the line of Isildur to be broken, and for this I blame them not."
Mithrandir's laugh was short and entirely without humour. "The line of Isildur matters little to Gondor now, my friend, and the chieftains of Gondor know this as well as you or I. If we are to learn anything from the Ringbearer, it is that blood is all but inconsequential in determining one's capabilities. Dozens of brave men exposed themselves as leaders in the our last battle. Their blood knows little of Númenor, but their hearts much. Too much, if your exile is any indication."
I could not bear his steady gaze, his calm judgment. "I was not exiled."
"How came you here?"
"I left of my own accord."
Mithrandir's smile was bitter. "It is few of your people who have been called upon to make the choice of Lúthien," he murmured. "It is even fewer who have chosen as bravely as she."
I cried out in my pain and his condemnation, his damned unfairness. "I chose this for him!" I cried. "I chose this so that he could have his throne – so that he could fulfil the prophecy! I chose this for Gondor, for all the peoples of Arda, not for my own life. I care nothing for my own life when he is gone from it. I only wish to see him conceive the heir they all desire from him – how can you think otherwise, how can you – "
"You are a fool, Legolas Greenleaf," Mithrandir said calmly. "Do you really believe that Aragorn has simply risen this morning, taken note of your absence, and proceeded to set himself upon a careful search for a pure-blooded woman by whom he can conceive this ill-desired heir you speak of? Know you him not?"
I stared back at him wordlessly. I could think of no retort better reasoned than his, but I knew it was not so simple. The East had just survived an age of uncertainty, of growing shadows. Now there were things that the people needed to know. They needed to be sure of a future for the line of Isildur. Aragorn and I could promise them no future.
"Aragorn will die alone if he does not die at your side. He loves you. Do you not understand that?" Mithrandir's voice had turned incredulous. "Has he not taught you that, if nothing else?"
At this I broke down into familiar tears, and at last Mithrandir took me into his arms to console me, his face suddenly filled with mercy. I cried, for what exactly I do not know, but mostly for the loss I had inflicted upon both Aragorn and myself, the leagues I had placed between us that day. I cried for the dear King that Gondor would receive and the heir that they would be denied, for the uncertainty of Gondor's future, should I elect to place myself beside Aragorn on the throne. I cried for the stories Aragorn had told me of his days before me, of the brief night meetings he had spent with men and women whose names he knew not, and the emptiness they left him with, always. I cried until I feared myself to be on the point of weakening. Only then did I allow Mithrandir's calm hand to raise my chin from his shoulder and look straight into my eyes. "Legolas son of Thranduil," he said tiredly. "Do you hear me?"
I nodded slowly.
"Tonight you will stay with me here. You will eat and sleep well, and think on this no more. Tomorrow morning I will grant you the speed of Shadowfax one last time. You will mount him and you will ride east or west. East to Gondor or West to the Undying Lands. You need not tell me of your decision, nor of the reasons for it. But there must be a decision. Do you understand?"
I nodded once more. "I thank you."
Mithrandir dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "You can thank me only by making the correct choice."
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