Arwen hurried downstairs to where she had left Faramir the night before. He and Éowyn sat together by the window watching the dawn. It was obvious neither had slept all night.
She wasted no time in soft words or greetings. “Éowyn, Faramir, I need you to come with me. We are making a terrible mistake, I must go to Aragorn at once.”
Hope flared in their faces. “You mean –,” began Faramir.
He face saddened. “No. Not that. Forgive me, I should have thought. Come with me, I will explain when we meet Aragorn and Gimli.”
She led them through the streets of Minas Tirith. They were followed at a discreet distance by two guards. It was very early and only a few people were about. They stared and hurriedly bowed as they watched their Queen pass by. Behind her, Faramir and Éowyn were exchanging mystified looks. Overhead the sky was a clear blue, and the day was already warm. It was an incongruously beautiful morning.
The guards on duty saluted as they passed through the walls, and at length came again to Rath Dinen. At the end of the street was the House of the Kings, the doors flung open. Arwen ascended the steps, then for the first time faltered. “Aragorn. Gimli.” She spoke quietly, but they both turned at her voice.
“What is it? Is anything wrong?” Aragorn sounded strained.
“Nothing else. But I realised there is something I have to tell you, so you understand.”
Now all four looked mystified, but they followed Arwen back onto the steps where they sat down. Gimli cast a look over his shoulder at the still figure within. Aragorn could not suppress a sigh of relief after standing during the long night’s vigil.
Swiftly she told them of the incident far under Lasgalen, so long ago. “I think he never talked to anyone else about it, ever. You all know how stubborn he can be – could be” she corrected herself.
Aragorn picked at a loose thread on his tunic. “I see. It explains a lot. I knew he was uneasy when we travelled through Moria, but none of us was comfortable. Except Gimli. But he never said what was wrong.”
“He thought that his fear was a weakness. He would never admit to it.” Beside her, Gimli had listened in silence. She could feel a barely suppressed anger in him, which suddenly erupted into words.
“Why did he never say anything? All the way through Moria I tormented him about the mines. I teased him about cave-ins! And yesterday I laughed with you about our visit to Aglarond. Why did he never say anything? Blasted Elf!”
As his anger and grief ran out the last two words caught up with him. He stopped, horror struck, and tried to take them back. “Arwen – Aragorn – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –.”
Arwen caught his hand. “It is all right. We know what you mean.” From somewhere she found a small smile. “It was what you always called him when he won an argument or you were exasperated with him.”
Now she addressed herself to the other three as well. “I did not say anything before, because it was not my secret, not my business to talk of his fears. But now – Aragorn, I know you mean to honour him. But the Tombs of the Kings are not the place for him. He – he would not want to be entombed in cold stone.” She stopped, exhausted by the vehemence of her words. She saw Aragorn, Gimli, Faramir and Éowyn all nodding in agreement as they pondered her words.
“Yes. You are right, of course. I should have thought. But what do we do instead?”
Arwen paused then, shooting an apologetic look at Faramir. As she continued, Aragorn understood her hesitance.
“I think we should give him to the flames. Let the fire and smoke carry his spirit to the four winds. He was always a wanderer. Let him wander now.” She finally ran out of words, and stopped.
Faramir had tensed at this reminder of his father’s death and his own near immolation, but as he considered what she said he found it made more and more sense. Aragorn and Gimli, too, initially reluctant – it was how they disposed of orc carrion – found themselves approving. It was fitting. There was no shame in it, and it was truly a better tribute for Legolas than a dark tomb, or even the cold earth.
There was silence for a moment. All five were tired after the long sleepless night, and grief and strain were etched on their faces, even Éowyn, who perhaps knew him less well than the others. Then Faramir rose to his feet and pulled Éowyn to hers. “Aragorn, go home. Talk to your son. The guards can take the vigil, and I can do all that is necessary. I will see you later. Go.”
Gimli spoke his agreement. “Aragorn? He’s right. There’s nothing more we can do for now. And if the rites are to be officially observed, you need to be more formally dressed.”
Aragorn looked down at himself. His tunic was frayed at the edge, and his leggings had a muddy grass stain on one knee from when he had been playing with Ithilia. He sighed. “You’re right, Gimli. This has to be done properly. And I need to see Eldarion.”
When they returned to their tower the household was waking. Aragorn went to find Eldarion. He was awake, listlessly staring out of the window and kicking the stone wall. He did not turn as his father approached and stood behind him. The window faced west over the city. Roofs, walls and towers fell away before them, down towards the Anduin. In the distance the first peaks of the Ered Nimrais shone in the early sun.
Eventually Eldarion spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, father. I shouldn’t have gone up to the tower. I stayed too long, and the wind blew the door shut. I tried, but I couldn’t open it. It’s all my fault!”
Aragorn closed his eyes at the naked anguish in his son’s voice, and rubbed the boy’s back, soothing him the way he had done when Eldarion was very small. “No. It’s not. I said you could go, does that make it my fault?”
Startled, Eldarion turned to face him for the first time. “No. Of course not.”
“And instead of coming down immediately, Legolas stayed on the roof, to feel the rain and the wind. Is it his fault?”
“No!”
Aragorn continued his gentle rubbing. “So what makes it your fault? It’s not, you know. There’s nothing anyone could have done.”
“That’s exactly what mother said,” Eldarion murmured.
“And did you believe her?”
Eldarion shook his head. “No. Not really.”
Aragorn continued stroking his son’s back, holding him close. “And now? Do you believe me?”
Eldarion paused. “I’m – not sure.”
At least he didn’t say no, Aragorn thought. “Think about what I’ve said. And believe it. It’s true.” He moved away then, deciding not to pressure Eldarion any more at this time. “I’m going to see your mother and Gimli. We’ll be leaving for Rath Dinen soon, but I’ll see you before we leave.”
Eldarion turned suddenly. “Can’t I come?” he cried.
“No. NO,” he repeated, as Eldarion looked at him rebelliously. “You’re too young. I’ll see you later. And don’t worry.” He left then, heavy hearted, afraid of the effect all this would have on his son.
When he returned to the main rooms downstairs, Faramir had come back. They ran over the details of the morning’s ceremony together, then Aragorn called Arwen and Gimli over. “I’ve arranged an escort to go with Faramir to Ithilien, and to Lasgalen with you, Gimli. Are there any other messengers to send? Anyone else who should be informed?”
Arwen nodded. “My brothers in Imladris. They have known Legolas since we were children. They will be greatly saddened by this news.”
Aragorn cursed. How could he have possibly forgotten Elladan and Elrohir? “Yes, of course. Gimli?”
“Sam, Merry and Pippin. And there is a lady in Lothlorien. Alyssia. Legolas spent a great deal of time with her when we went to Lorien some years ago. And I know he has been back several times since then.”
Arwen looked amazed. “Alyssia? I had no idea! I knew her well when I lived in Lorien, but I had no idea Legolas had seen her again.” She gave a sad smile. “I remember Elrohir was jealous, though.”
Aragorn was saddened. It seemed there were several things he had never known about his friend, but in a lifetime of thousands of years he supposed he could never know everything there was. Now he never would. “Alyssia? I wish I could have met her.”
A door at the far end of the room opened, and Eldarion came towards them with a purposeful expression. “Mother? Father? I want to be there this morning when – when you bury him.”
Aragorn and Arwen exchanged worried glances. “No, Eldarion. I explained. And it is not to be a burial. There will be a funeral pyre instead,” Aragorn explained firmly.
He looked at them speechlessly. “Burning? But why?”
“Legolas hated being enclosed, or underground. We think this is what he would want,” Arwen explained gently. “But Eldarion, you cannot be there. You are too young; I think you would be too upset. Your father is right, you cannot come.”
There was a soft cough behind them. “My Lord, my Lady – if I might talk to you?”
It was Faramir, being formal. That meant they would not like what he was about to say. Aragorn gave a sigh of resignation. “Eldarion, see if Ithilia is awake yet. Bring her down if she’s ready.” Eldarion, with a dark look at his parents – he knew when he was being got rid of – turned and left with Gimli. “What is it, Faramir?”
“Aragorn, I was only five years old when my mother Finduilas died. I was not permitted to attend her funeral – they said I was too young. I never quite forgave my father for that, for not allowing me to say goodbye. I think you should allow Eldarion to come. In the circumstances, I think he needs to. He loved Legolas. Yes, he will be upset, but he will bitterly resent it if he is prevented from going.”
Aragorn sank into a chair, his head in his hands. “Perhaps. Arwen, how can I be so wrong? I though I knew Legolas, knew my son. Yet it takes others to point out what is best for both of them. All that I do goes amiss!”
Arwen sat on the arm of the chair and leaned against him. “Not wrong. Just overwhelmed. Trying to think of too many things at once. The vigil was your idea. Gimli was proud to do it. I think it helped both of you to sort out your thoughts and feelings.”
Aragorn gave a short laugh. “Yes. I was remembering the first time we met. We had some wild adventures!”
“Adventures, father? Can you tell me about them one day?”
Aragorn twisted round. Eldarion stood there, having returned silently. He had his mother’s gift of approaching noiselessly and startling him. “Yes. But not now. You’d better go and get ready if you’re coming with us.”
“I can come? You mean it? Thank you!” He turned and ran out of the room.
Arwen looked down at Aragorn, still slumped in the chair, still in the clothes he had been wearing the day before. “You had better go and get ready too. If you are coming with us,” she told him gently.
As Aragorn changed into formal robes he wondered who this was for. Legolas wouldn’t care a brass farthing what I wear, he hated ceremonials nearly as much as I do, he thought. But this would be a public ceremony; the Elf was a hero of the city, and well loved.
In the end he selected sombre black. Black trousers, a black silk shirt, and a tunic stiff with black and silver embroidery. Over this he wore a black cloak with a lining of grey silk. The only ornaments he wore were the winged crown, used only for ceremonial occasions, and the Evenstar Arwen had given him, which he never removed.
Downstairs, all were ready. All were dressed in their most formal clothes, Faramir with his badge, and Steward’s Sword of Office. Arwen wore a dress of plain, soft grey, and again a long cloak of black silk. She had the ornate mithril coronet of her rank, and a necklace, a single white stone that shone like fire. Her dark hair was unbound, and streamed down her back to her waist like a waterfall.
Eldarion was very pale, but seemed resolute. He stood to one side, gazing out of the window silently. He, too, was dressed in formal clothes, and for the first time voluntarily wore his narrow silver circlet as Prince of Gondor. Aragorn moved to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You honour Legolas. I am very proud of you. Remember, there is no shame in tears today.”
They walked slowly through the streets, escorted by two ranks of guards. Word had spread like wildfire, and the streets were lined with people as they returned to Rath Dinen. At the House of the Kings the bier was lifted by the same guards as before, and the procession wound its way to an open patch of green behind the city. There the pyre had been built. Wood was piled under it and the bier was placed in the centre. Kindling was built high all about it, and all was drenched in sweet oil. Legolas lay peacefully, remote, all cares gone.
Aragorn approached the pyre and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Today we gather to say farewell to Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Ithilien, member of the Fellowship of Nine Walkers, a hero of this city, and my dear friend. He died to save the life of my son Prince Eldarion and is worthy of the highest honours the White City can confer. He will not be forgotten, and his memory will live on in my household for all time.”
A guard held two torches ready. He gave one each to Aragorn and Gimli, who approached the pyre steadily. On Faramir’s signal they lit the pyre. Aragorn thrust the brand into the fuel and at once it crackled and roared into flame. Gimli did the same, with a hand that betrayed only the slightest tremor.
They stood back and made the elvish gesture of farewell, right hand placed over the heart, head bowed. It was a mark of respect in the city, too, and all gave the same salute. Softly, Arwen spoke the words of an ageless Elvish blessing, a prayer to Elbereth.
“Deep peace of the shining stars to you
Deep peace of the flowing wind to you,
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you
Deep peace of the still waters to you
Aragorn spared a glance at Eldarion. His head was bowed, but his eyes were fixed on the pyre. There were tears on his face, but also a new pride and determination. A maturity. Aragorn realised sadly that he was no longer a child.
All was wreathed in fire and smoke, and nothing else of the pyre could be seen, for which Aragorn was thankful. As the flames climbed higher, plumes of smoke rose into the air, billowing towards the clouds. A slight breeze blew the smoke into streamers, which drifted towards the north. North, across Ithilien, towards Mirkwood – Eryn Lasgalen now.
The flames were fiercer now and the thick smoke rose still higher, a great cloud spreading out over the city. The breeze strengthened, and ash and smoke were blown away on the wind, spreading north and west across the lands they had travelled together.
Aragorn watched the smoke and ash drift across the sky. He could feel the heat of the flames on his face, but it was not that, or the smoke, which caused his eyes to burn and sting. Goodbye my friend. I’ll miss you. We could not have achieved the quest without you, without your archery skills, your eyesight, your unfailing good humour, your friendship. Goodbye.
At the other end of the pyre, Gimli stood motionless. His thoughts were chaotic. I thought you were immortal, that you would be left when I died. I never considered that I would be the one left behind, never thought you could die. I’m sorry, so very sorry for tormenting you about Moria and Aglarond. I never knew. Why did you never tell me? And now – I have to tell your father this news. It will destroy him.
Éowyn stood still as a figure carven in stone. I never really knew you, even when you ruled Ithilien with Faramir and me. You were always – remote. Perhaps I was in awe of you. But I recall the first time I saw you, at Edoras. I had never seen such beauty in anyone. I think I loved you a little – until I met Faramir. I know he will grieve for you – but I wish I had known you better.
Beside Éowyn, Faramir stared at the pyre. We worked well together in Ithilien. I cannot imagine who will take your place there, who could ever take your place. I wish I was not the one to take word to your people. I dread this task, this duty I have undertaken, they will find it so hard to accept.
Eldarion, although his head was dutifully bowed, stared unblinkingly at the flames. If only I had not gone up to the tower to watch the storm. If only the door hadn’t slammed shut. If only we hadn’t stayed on the roof. Legolas, you said you were going to teach me archery. Father said it isn’t my fault, but still, I’m sorry, so sorry. Hot, scalding tears ran down his face and he sobbed.
Arwen held her son close as he cried. Maybe Faramir was right, and he needed to be here, but it was not easy on him. Or her. Legolas, I miss you so much. I love you. I know father wanted us to marry, but I always knew you too well for that. You were always a brother to me, not a lover. But I will always love you. And I will never forget that you saved Eldarion. And Aragorn. Without them, I know I could not go on. Thank you, my brother.
They watched the smoke billow and drift across the city, across the land. The wind blew northwest, over Gondor, Rohan, towards Fangorn, Lórien and Eryn Lasgalen. In the end it would carry the smoke and ash over the misty Mountains to Rivendell and Eriador. And when the flames died and the fire was cold, the ashes would be scattered on the Anduin to carry him to the sea he so loved and yearned for. He would indeed travel to the very ends of Middle-earth. And perhaps beyond.
The End
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