The White Shores

Heartbroken

Legolas stayed with Aragorn until he awoke. The king was now quiet and distant, almost silent. His face looked as though it had been carved from the side of the mountain. Legolas attempted to make him speak, but he would only give monotonous answers and nods or shakes of the head.

"Legolas, he will heal with time," his father said that night. "First, let us speak with Lady Arwen."

Legolas reluctantly followed his father into her chamber, where she sat staring off into the distance. When she turned, she smiled brilliantly at the two elves, but Legolas did not return the gesture. She was the reason why Aragorn could not speak, why he was so lost in his own thoughts that he could not bother to share them with Legolas.

She was the reason the elf had lost him.

If Legolas thought logically about it, he knew that this was absurd. Arwen had no idea of his feelings for her husband, and it was not her fault that she had not recognized a crush from a love. All the same, Legolas could not help but firmly look the other direction as Thranduil spoke.

"Tomorrow, your father, Lady Galadriel, Gandalf the White, Bilbo Baggins, and Frodo Baggins leave for the Undying Lands of our ancestors," Thranduil began, "Do you wish to join them?"

"Yes," Arwen said with no preamble. The simple words left both Legolas and his father reeling.

"Just like that, you would abandon your promise?" Legolas burst out, "Without a thought?"

"I have already abandoned my promises," Arwen said sadly, "My Aragorn is lost to me. I have nothing left."

"He is no longer your Aragorn," Legolas could not contain his fury. "He is lost to you because you left him! You have nothing left because you pushed everything away!"

"You think I do not know that?" tears were streaming down Arwen's face, "I lost everything because I made a fool's decision with no foresight or emotional knowledge. I did not love him, I do not love him, and I will never love him!"

With that final proclamation, Legolas fled the room, leaving Thranduil in his wake. How could a women who had once seemed so wise throw away something that was infinitely more precious that immortality?

Gimli found him in the courtyard, head in hands. The dwarf plopped down next to him, and lugged a heavy arm across the elf's thin shoulders.

"You care so much about your Aragorn," Gimli said gruffly, aware that the words were not penetrating into Legolas' mind. "You love him, do you not?"

But Gimli was wrong. Legolas could hear every word as clear as day, and the words gave him a shock that sent him reeling.

"How do you know this?" Legolas asked, his face flushing.

"You talk in your sleep," Gimli grinned, "Oh, Aragorn. Yes! Yes!" he imitated poorly. His face now bright red, Legolas shook the dwarf's arm off.

"I do not," he stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And now you look like a pouty little elfling," Thranduil teased, emerging from the shadows. "It is obvious to anyone who beholds the way you look at him, Legolas. Even Arwen."

"So Arwen knows as well?" Legolas did not uncross his arms, "Oh yes, let's all make fun of Legolas for being in love with Aragorn, shall we? Sounds like fun!"

"What?" an astonished voice sounded from the other end of the courtyard. Legolas froze. He knew that voice as well as his own.

"Aragorn," he said, without having to look at the face, "What a pleasant time for you to join us."

His heart and mind were racing, his face again growing uncomfortably warm.

"Legolas - you..." Aragorn stuttered to a close, then turned on his heel and left, cloak sweeping out behind him. Legolas was frozen to the spot, half mortified half devastated. He should not have held out that maybe, maybe, love was possible from Aragorn as well, but his hopes had been shattered with a swish of that cloak. Legolas stood, needing to be alone, to calm himself before speaking.

"My little leaf-" Thranduil reached out to him, but Legolas ran away, faster and faster. He escaped the confines of the palace, wind rippling through his hair, and dashed through the forests of Mirkwood, dodging branches and leaping over logs, until he found what he was looking for.

Past a small bramble of thorns lay a miniature clearing with a brook running past. Legolas lowered himself onto one of the many logs and, for the first time in decades, wept.