A/N: Thank you millions to J.R.R. Tolkien for bringing Legolas and his friends to life, and to Peter Jackson and New Line and all the people involved in making the book into film and reality. The song "Ho! Ho! Ho!" is found on page 88 in my copy of 'The Fellowship of The Ring'. Thank you to Evanescense for their haunting words and music in "My Immortal", which you will find interwoven in this chapter. Thanks also to Styx for "Come Sail Away". I am forever grateful to all of you who have followed Legolas and his story from the very beginning almost two whole years ago. Your love and encouragement made not only his life more exciting, but my own as well. Lots of love to Yes Dear, Lil' Pip, and Grammar Laedee, and especially to leail, without whose awesome knowledge this chapter would not exist as it is. PP sent it back a dozen times because she didn't like how it ended. leail is the one who told me to just do it my way, and the whole ending as you see it evolved from that small piece of advice. Hugs and kisses to my fabulous friend and all-time best beta PuterPatty on her birthday today. . . . this one's for you, Babe.


Chapter 24      Reflections


Dear Legolas,

It's been almost three months now since your return journey to Middle-earth. Hardly a moment in your lifetime, though it seems like an eternity in mine. Not a day goes by without something reminding me of you.

Everyone's been very kind to let me know how much they miss you. You've gotten lots of 'lub ledders' from your friends saying how amazing you were in 'The Movie' and how they wished you well. Patty and leail have been keeping me entertained and busy, knowing you wouldn't want me to just sit and stare at the compy screen. Some of your fangirls have been by to read your story even though they didn't leave a letter, since they know you won't be able to reply anymore. For some of them, I think your return home is just too painful to read at all.

I was in the grocery store last week and Mrs. Helen asked how I was getting along without you. When I finally got myself back together, we reminisced about that first time I panicked when you and I got to the register and I realized all that was left of the produce I had put in the cart was four banana skins, two apple cores, three peach pits, and a plastic mesh sack that was once upon a time full of green grapes. We both laughed at her description of the look on my face, and then chuckled some more as we remembered how she suggested we solve the problem.

"Just weigh him when you come in, honey, and we'll weigh him again when you go out," she instructed. Remember that? "Then you can pay for the change in his weight times the average price of whatever you saw him eat."

The first time we tried it you wanted to ride the conveyor belt standing up, but even though I knew your superior elven balancing skills would keep you from getting hurt, the fact remains that the soles of you shoes are still dirtier than the seat of your jeans. I can still see you patiently waiting in line with the other customers, climbing up to sit on the conveyor belt and ride up to the scale that measures the produce, the evidence of how many bananas and grapes and other things you scarfed down revealed in your sudden weight gain. I'll always love Mrs. Helen for coming up with a way to keep me from worrying about fair payment for goods that couldn't be measured.

I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone

I just can't help but worry about you. I know you're a warrior, and I know you can take care of yourself and all that, but you had gotten so accustomed to the things of "Modren-erth" while you were here, like microwaves and air conditioning and television. I guess you don't really need a microwave, since you love "peenuet buddur en straewburry jaem wid braed" so much. Don't need a microwave for that. And it's not like you ever seemed to feel the heat or the cold, or that you weren't perfectly capable of entertaining yourself for hours on end walking in the woods or making up songs in your head. I still remember accompanying you the day you made up the song about the beautiful autumn sights that surrounded us as we hiked through the trees, crunching leaves underneath our shoes. While I tromped, you strolled along effortlessly ahead of me over the forest bed, humming a familiar tune aloud. When I asked what you were doing, you sang in your melodious voice to the tune of the alphabet song (or was that 'Baa Baa Blacksheep'?):

"I sea u en u sea me,
Waelkeeng hear beeneeth da treaz.
Da leevz aer culured yaelloe en read
Da broewn wonz faell uepon ur haed.
I sea u en u sea me,
Huerrie uep—I goetta pea."

Everything seemed so simple then, you know?

When I was coming back from church the other night, I got caught by the train and it reminded me of the Christmas parade when we had not one but THREE trains cut through the middle of it. That was the longest Christmas parade the town has ever seen, but I wouldn't trade it for the world because if the floats hadn't gotten separated and had to wait for each other to catch up, I would never have had the chance to see you dancing in the middle of Main Street with the high school cheerleading team, doing the Macarena and the Bird Dance with a set of reindeer antlers perched on top of your handsome blond head.

I never ceased to be amazed at how much everybody loved you.

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase…

Christmas became New Year's, New Year's became Valentine's Day. Lil' Pip won the Lieutenant Governor's writing contest at her school for the whole fifth grade, and now her paper is going to compete against the winners of the other schools in our district. Watching us working together to write up your adventures must have made a mark on her somehow. It had something to do with patriotism and what that meant to her, and your fine example of loyalty even unto the face of death was a wonderful inspiration for her. I never had a chance to thank you for being such a fine example for my child.

You used to captivate me
By your resonating light…

Yes Dear finally put the lights up over the kitchen sink. You'd like them; they're very bright, like the spotlights down at the theater. He also put a new toilet in the back bathroom to replace the one with that annoying dripping sound coming from the crack in the tank. I know that wasn't entirely your fault – I should have warned you not to eat the green tomatoes from the garden before they turned red. I know you said you've forgiven me for that, but I still feel guilty about it.

Now I'm bound by the life you left behind….

Life goes on as normal. I've been trying to stay busy and I haven't had a chance to clean your room or wash your bed linens yet—I keep thinking I'll wait until it's a nice sunny day out and hang them outside to dry so they'll smell wind-blown fresh just like you like them. It's okay that it's taking me this long, since you washed them just a few days before you left anyway. You always did like them really crisp and clean.

Your 'akshun feeguer' that I gave you for Christmas last year is right where you left him on top of my computer desk, still sporting a Lothlorien bow in one hand and a pink Barbie pocketbook in the other. He's got the mauve mirrored sunglasses over his eyes and the string of pearls around his neck too. 'Faek me' is wearing his Playboy kitten ears and Cara8's pretty bead necklace, guarding the front bay window and staring at the neighbors as they drive by, just like you must have told him to. I guess you want me to put on his St. Patrick's Day top hat now, right?

Okay, maybe normal isn't exactly the right word. Life just sort of goes on.

Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me

I've watched 'The Movie' six times now, each time in a different theater all over the state. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with relatives, once alone.

I'm incredibly proud of how you reacted to the crisis in Middle-earth. You stood so bravely against Sauron and his minions, fighting with flashing knives and singing bow, your count increasing with every movement in your dance of victory. My heart almost stopped as I watched you enter the Paths of the Dead, knowing how difficult it was for you to enter that dark and forsaken cave. You cast your fears to the wind and boldly followed Aragorn, your determination and strength evident in every step. I'm sorry about my fingernails — I didn't mean to bite them so closely, but when you took down that Mumakil single-handedly, it was either chew them or fly blindly down the aisle to the screen to help you, and I knew you didn't really need me to do that, right?

You were so handsome in so many places. So impressive standing on the rooftop in the moonlight, ever watchful as the Men of Rohan drank their way to victorious oblivion in honor of their dead below your feet. So noble standing at Aragorn's side, whether it was in the hall of Meduseld or the throne room of Minas Tirith. So lovely when Frodo awakened in the House of Healing, so pretty in fact that Frodo forgot to call your name. Everyone gasped to see your shiny ceremonial circlet and stunning attire at the Coronation. Must have taken you hours at the tailors just to have your fittings done.

But, nin caun? You remember the sign you promised to send me? It's not there. I've looked and looked, but I just can't find it.

You know the one I mean: the taletale trip, the fumbling drop, the thing you were going to do to let me know you made it back like you did before. I know you made it back safely, since your safety was never an issue. I know how well you can take care of yourself. What I needed to see was that tiny something that you were going to do to tell me everything is okay, and what I needed to know was that the vision I saw on the big screen was really you. That it really worked. That this wasn't just another case of my mind playing tricks on me, or some sort of Weta-produced special effect.

Your sign is just not there.

Patty and I were talking the other day about a picture she found on the internet of you playing a drinking game with Gimli at Edoras after Helm's Deep. Rumor has it that it's supposed to be on the Extended Edition DVD. We were wondering if that might be the sign you tried to send me. She asked me if you had ever made a face like that, and I had to laugh because it was exactly the same face you made every time you tasted my Bartles and James Peach Wine Coolers. One bottle was enough for the both of us, but I'd open one each just so I could giggle at the way you'd hold your breath trying not to smell it as you sipped it. After you got used to the little bubbles you didn't think the stuff was all that bad, so you'd suck in some air, take a sip, and then swirl it around in your mouth before you took a tiny breath through your nose and then swallowed. It took you forever to get to the bottom of one, and by the time you got halfway through it was already hot and yucky. The thing I loved the most was the way you held the bottle by the bottom like it was some kind of fancy crystal wine glass with a stem or something you could put between your fingers. No palming the side of the bottle and guzzling it down for you. Come to think of it, you usually ended up holding it with both hands because of the way you picked it up. I guess you can take the Prance out of the castle, but you can't take the castle out of the Prance, or something like that.

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
And though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

Oh, but Legolas, this isn't how I wanted it to end!

That's the problem with non-fiction, isn't it? It doesn't always turn out like we thought it should. In fiction there are all kinds of variables and alternate possibilities, but with non-fiction we're left lying in shock in the middle of the road as the ice cream truck of life rolls on over and past us.

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
I held your hand through all of these years

Sometimes I stand in the doorway of your room at night and, without turning on the hallway light, I can see you lying flat on your back in your bed, the ghosted image supported by Princess Elizabeth, who still holds fast to her own hope as she parks herself in the place that used to be between your thighs each night. I think about how defeated you felt when you came back last time, the memories of the torch carrying Uruk-Hai that wouldn't die a fresh wound on your conscience. I was so proud of you when you picked yourself up and continued on just like the warrior that you are. Sometimes I think of the reason why you gave me my own warrior braids, for such a little thing really, when I know I didn't deserve them since I was such a fool about the little green lizard. Who knew you didn't like Palmetto bugs?

I still remember your first ice cream, your first trip to Walmart, your first experience with sliding glass doors. I remember seeing you performing so amazingly at the circus, dressed in your clown costume and in the tightrope walker's suit. You had come such a long way in such a short time, learning so many things and growing so confident and fearless. The only thing you never did learn was to spell like we do here in Modern earth, but I'm hoping that fixed itself once you got back on your own turf.

It wasn't until I got home from the movie theater that night that I realized we never really said goodbye. Maybe it's better that way. I was so busy that day, I feel like I neglected you to take care of everyone else's needs. If I hadn't stayed busy though, I think I would have tricked you into going out to the van and driven you away and kept you until at least the first fifteen minutes of 'The Return of the King' had passed. Then it would have been too late, and you would still be with me right now.

You see, nin caun, the one place I don't see you anymore is in the bathroom mirror. It doesn't matter if my eyes are open or closed, you're just not there.

You're just . . . gone.

But you still have
All of me

Some how I envisioned a different ending. I'm angry with Peter for leaving it out. I want to know where the grey ship is? Where are the gulls that were calling?

This is the memory I've made up for myself. This is how I would have written it.

(Scene opens. There is a magnificent single-masted sloop made of silver-grey birchwood docked in a quiet harbor. There are no other ships in the vicinity, and the impression is that this is the final ship to be departing from this place. The morning sun is rising in the east, all magentas and pinks and blues, but the water to the west at the mouth of the harbor is still midnight blue and reflecting the pale moonlight that still clings tenaciously to its hold on the land. There is a mild breeze blowing, filling the sails that are already unfurled, and the sloop is pulling against the ropes that tether it to the land of Middle-earth.

An elf darts up the gangway, gesturing wildly.)

"Come on, Gimli! We must make haste!"

(On the dock below him, a rather reluctant person of small stature but tremendous presence moves with hesitant steps)

"Legolas, you pointy-eared bow twanger, if you think I'm in a hurry at my age to climb aboard a rattle-trap boat with the daft likes of you, you must have been swilling the brew in Edoras again. I know you elves are known for your craftsmanship as a race, but respect for that knowledge wasn't gained by anyone who has spent a moment's time in your presence watching you tinker about trying to whittle twigs and sticks with those long handled knives of yours. Any fool could see. . . ."

(Out darts the elf again, down the gangway, scurrying over to the dwarf and boldly lifting him up off his feet and tossing him gently over his shoulder.)

"Come ON, Gimli!"

(Amid much growling and grumbling and swearing in dwarvish, the elf manages to prance lightly up the gangway and deposit his charge carefully on the hardwood deck of the ship. He dusts his hands off before grinning at the still grumbling form of his longtime friend and then he rushes back to the dock and pushes the gangplank up onto the deck of the ship.)

"Wha. . . what do you think you're doing?! I can't sail this damned piece of tree all by myself! Get back here!"

"Coming, Gimli!"

(The elf gives a mighty tug on the straining hawser ropes that anchor the ship against the dock. As the sloop moves forward, the elf lifts the aft hawser from the piling and tosses it aboard, rushing to the bow hawser to do the same. The sloop begins to move away from the dock, pulled by the water's current and the wind filling the gleaming white sails overhead.)

"GAH!! LEGOLAS!"

"Coming, elf-friend!"

(The elf runs along the dock beside the departing ship, the dwarf trotting with him over the birchwood planking of the deck as he shouts curses mixed with encouragement for the elf to take some further action. As the sloop moves forward toward the mouth of the harbor, Legolas grabs the coiled length of halyard rope still lying on the dock, the far end of which is attached to the center mast of the sloop. He makes a mighty leap across the ever-widening gap, swinging by the halyard across the water and over the bulwark to land effortlessly beside the dwarf. The dwarf crosses his arms, turns his back slightly, and glares nowhere in particular. The elf leans down to whisper into his left ear.)

"Did you think I would deem you capable of having an adventure all on your own?"

(The dwarf makes a harrumphing noise, after which the two of them settle down at the helm as the elf takes charge of the sloop's wheel. Legolas stands, caressing the finely-crafted Elvish carvings in the wood. Gimli sits in an elaborately detailed chair to his right. The elf begins to hum.)

"What is that nonsensical tune you're letting escape from your head, Oh Fairest One? It sounds like something an orc maiden would choose to entice her mate."

"It is a song I learned while I was away after the Battle of the Hornburg. A song of hope and freedom, of memories, both happy and sad. Shall I sing it for you?"

"And subject my ears to the assault of your screeching until you so choose to belay your torture of me and go on with some other form of causing my permanent madness? Has the call of the gull caused your complete dementia?"

(A long pause ensues, during which the elf continues to hum, though more softly. A contented smile appears upon his face. The peaceful scene is broken when the dwarf whispers.)

"Go on."

"Call me 'Master' first."

"HARRUMPH! You dream whilst standing up!"

(There is another long pause.)

"I'll call you no more than 'Captain'."

"Agreed."

(The dwarf shifts himself about in the chair, leaning back as if to indicate his favor will be hard pressed to earn. He pulls out his pipe and lights the leaf in the bowl, inhaling deeply. The elf scans the horizon with sharp eyes, takes a deep breath of the clean salt air, and begins.)

"I'm sailing away,
Set an open course
For the virgin sea."

(The dwarf mutters under his breath as he chews the stem of his pipe.)

"We'll have a blond one to sacrifice."

(The flinch is almost invisible. . . almost.)

'Cause I've got to be free,
Free to face the life
That's ahead of me."

"Nothing quite like immortality, is there. . . ."

"Master Dwarf, do you intend to make comment about every musical phrase I utter? If so, I shall be resigned to lock you in the brig."

"I beg your pardon, Prance Legolas. Though were it darker and quieter than the middle of this boat, I do believe a dwarf could be happier there than here amidst all this buzzing noise."

"It's a SLOOP. S-L-O-O-P. Not a boat."

(The dwarf removes the pipestem from his teeth, gesturing with it.)

"Nevermind. Just go on."

(The elf's lip twitches up in a tiny smile of victory. He resumes singing as he maneuvers the sloop through the harbor, and the open water of the sea before him begins to reflect the pinks and yellows and purples of the rising sun shining upon his back.)

"On board I'm the captain,
So climb aboard.
We'll search for tomorrow,
On every shore

And I'll try,
Oh Lord, I'll try
To carry on."

"If you really wanted to carry on, and you really wanted to provide the entertainment any self-respecting Naval Officer would bestow upon his guests, you'd be offering me some ale with your whine."

(This time the tensing of the shoulders is visible, though slight, and the dwarf lets out a loud rolling bellow of laughter.)

"Whatsa matter, Prance Legolas? Don't tell me you forgot the ale?"

"No, I did NOT forget the ale. And it's CAPTAIN Legolas. C-A-P-T-A . . . ."

"Alright! Alright! CAPTAIN Legolas. Where did you hide it? Not squandering it away for yourself to imbibe in a little drinking game all on your own, are you?"

(The elf turns to face the dwarf, looking very much like a landlubber in need of the leeside gunwale.)

"I hardly see what you find at all pleasant about that vile drink. Elven wine is far superior and much more palatable to the taste."

"You know, Master Elf, I find I much prefer your company in an inebriated state, whether it be yours or my own."

"That's CAPTAIN Elf. . . ."

"Enough already! Where's the galley? It's time for some food and drink around here. I suppose I'll have to go and get it myself, since you were too pre-occupied with building this seeping bucket of a barge to secure us any servant girls."

(The dwarf hauls himself up out of the finely crafted elven chair, swaying a bit as he tries to accustom himself to the sloop's gentle rocking from side to side. He staggers a bit as he finds his sea legs and begins to walk toward the door leading below deck. The elf, now fighting back the smile and giggle that threaten to escape him, turns back to continue steering the sloop. He calls back to the dwarf.)

"You'll find the galley well stocked, Gimli, and the wine cellar brimming. The ale barrels are located just to the left of the vegetable bin. The salted pork is in the lower cabinet just beside the . . . ."

(The dwarf jerks to a stop.)

"You brought salted pork?"

(Legolas turns to face him, his eyes bright and friendly.)

"And some of Samwise's sausages. And some bacon. You'll have to smoke the Longbottom leaf that Pippin sent at the aft end on the downwind side, though."

(The dwarf raises an eyebrow, a habit that was not one of his own originally but rather a learned custom developed after many years of communicating wordlessly with the line of Thranduil.)

"You don't say?"

(The elf winks. The dwarf hesitates, considers for a moment, and then breaks into a wide grin as he waddles away down the deck and through the galley door, whistling tunelessly before breaking into a round of "Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go". The elf is left to steer and contemplate and whisper softly to himself. )

"Aiy, yes! An appropriate song, taught you by none other than the hobbits themselves!"

(He resumes the song he had been singing, now free from dwarven interruptions. He can hear pots and pans banging around in the galley, and knows he will remain undisturbed for a bit of time as Gimli explores the dark recesses of the culinary bounty below deck.)

"I look to the sea,
Reflections in the waves
Spark my memory.

Some happy, some sad,
I think of childhood friends
And the dreams we had."

(The elf sighs, his thoughts wandering over the adventures of his Halfling friends. His sharp blue eyes wander the horizon as the sloop leaves the harbor behind and heads out into open water. Overhead, the white gulls begin to thin out, tired of waiting for a handout and turning to head back to shore.)

"We lived happily forever,
So the story goes. . . . "

(The elf pauses to gaze out over the open horizon. Visions of smaller waves with heated bubbles and starlit nights pass over his memory, along with the image of a little girl holding a stack of books in one hand, a woman with waist-long hair braided just like his own, and a man with Winnie the Pooh slippers on his feet.)

"But somehow we missed out
On the pot of gold."

(A single tear slides over the elf's lower eyelid, coursing down his pale cheek and splashing soundlessly to the beautiful grey planking of the sloop's deck. He whispers softly these words, audible only to his own finely-pointed ears.)

"I tried, al. I tried to find it, but there was no magic that would carry me back to you this time. I wish that you could hear me . . . I wish that you could know that I am safe and well. That you could know somehow how much all of it means to me . . . ."

(Amid a host of loud crashing noises and the sound of stomping footsteps, Gimli reappears in the galley hatch, trying to manage a metal tankard of ale in one hand and a delicate crystal wineglass in the other without spilling any, though the sea is calm and the sloop is rolling ever so gently toward the West. Legolas quickly brushes his hand over his cheek, wiping away any evidence of his indiscretion. He squares his shoulders, gains an inch in height, and continues singing. . . .)

"But we'll try,
Best that we can
To carry on."


The End