AFTERWORD

I. On the Plot, and Themes of Returning and Parenting

II. On Thranduil

III. On Legolas

IV. Preview: Walking Wounded

I. On the Plot, and Themes of Returning and Parenting

So… I've been away from fandom for six years, and Lord of the Rings specifically for a decade. I've been so busy I didn't think I would ever be back - moved countries multiple times, started a family, etc. – but random things bring you back somehow, or you get a certain feeling you want to replicate, and here I am again with a new offering, and much uncertainty as to whether or not anyone will even bother to read or review or do any of the other new stuffs is up to these days (there are "Follows" and "Forums" now, or did I just never notice before...?). I even had to Google some canon terms and information, just to check myself.

What drew me back, I think, are the Thranduil and Legolas scenes of the Hobbit films. Interactions that fans could only imagine in fanfiction before were suddenly more fleshed out on screen and readily imaginable in Peter Jackson's visualization of Tolkien's world. It stimulated my curiosity. At first I wanted to know more and read more, and then eventually I found my own inspirations, and my own motivations to create what I sought but could not exactly find.

I also decided to channel my own experiences in this piece, specifically (1) my apprehensions about returning; and (2) what I now know of children and parenting now that I am raising my own.

(1) I am a stranger coming home to this fandom, ten years gone and not even completely sure of offering up more works here or just dropping this one off and skulking away again. This old-timer doesn't quite have the time she used to, plus I've lost e-mail, correspondence and various other things from lack of activity. It's odd how my last work for LOTR before this was "For Every Evil 3" which was about goodbyes, and my first one back is "A Stranger Comes Home" which is about returns. But of course RL (do people still say that?) creeps into writing inextricably, and all I can do is draw what I can from it and channel it into the work.

(2) Speaking of Real Life… I think fellow parents will understand what I mean here when I say you meet various iterations of your child again and again. This is my new thing, the large significant thing that changed from when I was writing fanfiction before to my return now: parenthood. Kids change as they grow, and it is a lovely process watching someone bloom and thrive in the world. This little nugget of thought naturally crawled its way into the "A Stranger Comes Home" too.

II. On Thranduil

Lee Pace is a scene-stealer, and while his and Peter Jackson's take on the Thranduil character is something I never quite imagined, I took to the version easily, and this is how I choose to imagine and expand on the Elvenking in A Stranger Comes Home.

I depicted him as kind of like, that horrible boss you end up being devoted to in the end, haha. He can be mercurial, he is definitely used to getting his way and detests defiance, he conceals his vulnerabilities, covets control, and he is always so sure of things. But he has great caring too, be it for family or kingdom – he just isn't equipped with the best way to convey it. He's a fine machine, like a purring sports car, perfect in every way except sometimes what you need is a trusty pick-up truck. There are just some things he cannot do. The history of his hard life has made him strong and formidable, almost god-like, except it also handicapped him from being able to show open compassion or generosity.

The one dent in this armor is his son, who is passionate, idealistic, just-as stubborn and generally unintimidated by him. The dynamic between them was fun to see on film, and just as fun to play with on "paper" here.

III. On Legolas

I was intrigued by how Orlando Bloom played him in the Hobbit films. He was much darker, more militant and formidable. In the LOTR trilogy there were some parts where he looked like a puppy (as best exemplified in that infamous mumak scene in ROTK, for example, you see how he looks at the beast and kind of blinks before he makes a decision to move forward). I understand that this impression owes much to physicality - i.e., the actor's age rather than a characterization. This is unavoidable, and I am not saying the actor is any less of a Legolas or any less hot now that he is older (I prefer the older, actually!). But I guess what I'm saying is that I wanted to play with the idea that he was darker and hardier in Mirkwood before, but his time with the Fellowship has opened his mind and softened him. So... how would he return after that shift?

I wondered about that, especially say, when I think of such contrasting scenes as his arrest of the dwarves in Desolation of Smaug vs. Return of the King where he talks about 'dying side by side with a friend' with Gimli. His time away had softened the edges, and I wanted to see how he would be received at a home hardened by a lifetime of struggle.

The other part of A Stranger Comes Home that I really enjoyed writing was describing Legolas as "singularly creative." The description came to me randomly, and I actually decided to build a story where this could be said because it was such a special characteristic.

Anyways, I hope the depictions are acceptable, and I hope you found the story a good read, one way or another. Thank you for your time, and as always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome!

IV. Next LOTR Project Preview: "Walking Wounded"

May or may not be posted. More or less concluded already, a one-shot at around 6,000 words, but I am still contemplating its kind of jagged flow. I am not yet satisfied. At any rate, for the curious, here's a clip that can also somewhat stand alone -

Title: Walking Wounded

Summary: Danger does not stop for grief or injury. There is no rest, no respite, no relief. On the road between Moria and Lothlorien, the Fellowship have no choice but to get up and move forward, even hurting and heartbroken.

"I hope you do not think me indifferent to what you suffer."

Aragorn's feet were inhumanly light, but the elf's ears were sharp to begin with and even more so at that moment, attuned and hyperaware of his surroundings. The Fellowship, after all, was still being chased and hunted. All his senses reached out broadly - a net cast wide - for signs of threat.

Legolas let the ranger come up beside him without bothering to move from his position. He was stooped over, one palm planted on his knee and the other clutching at his middle, trying to catch his breath. The rest of the company was trailing a minute or two behind.

For a moment he considered continuing with the ruse, but it was too trifling a thing to bother with, especially after all the greater things they've thus far suffered. After all they've lost…

"I thought I was being discreet."

"You are clever," Aragorn conceded with a sigh. "The excessive scouting, the distance you keep. It stood to reason you kept trying to be alone for… for your grief. But I realize now you must have been tending to your wounds, seeking particular herbs perhaps, or as now, bent over trying to breathe."

The elf had claimed enough rest and humor to ask, ruefully, "So what gave me away?"

"The smell," replied the adan, "It is very distinct."

"Ah." Legolas' brows rose in realization, "That would do it."

He had used a salt wash to clean the wound, a salve of sap, spice and ground leaves and flowers as coagulant, willow bark for the pain, a bit of mint to ease the head and stomach from the willow, a leafy stimulant to chew on for alertness against the disarming comfort of the mint… There was an herb to counter another herb to counter one more that helps contain a wound, Legolas realized. Or maybe it was weakness from blood loss and the general weariness of overwork that was giving him such a macabre sense of humor. Either way… he should have known a healer of Aragorn's caliber, with experience in the treatment of soldiers and warriors, would recognize the iteration of smells anywhere.

"There are herbs on my person," Aragorn said, "they might be of some use to you."

"I've learned to travel with some myself," Legolas said, "As our warriors have been trained to. The forests are generous with things that help."

"Poison?" Aragorn inquired.

Legolas winced. "Enough to incapacitate, not to kill."

Yet, they both thought. Neither one voiced it.

"It is getting worse," Aragorn said quietly, conclusively. There was a storm brewing in his gray eyes.

But we cannot stop, came another unvoiced, shared thought.

"I swear on my name the injury does not interfere with my duties to the Ringbearer," Legolas said vehemently, straightening up to illustrate strength of will – if not necessarily body. He stifled a cough. "Otherwise I would have made it known."

"I expect nothing less of you."

Legolas nodded and glanced behind them. Elf and man stood at a descent from a small hill, their companions not yet within eye line but close behind.

"Do you trust me?" he asked the ranger suddenly.

Aragorn hesitated, which made the elf's lip turn up in a grin.

"Yes," the man replied heartily before Legolas could tease him. They were old friends, and trusting each other meant they had a host of memories doing something extreme or odd for the other at some point in their lives.

"Then trust my judgment," Legolas implored, seriously. "There is nothing further to be done with the wound that will not incapacitate me, and we do not have that luxury. We are barely ahead of our foes, Aragorn, their feet shake the very ground we stand upon, they are so close. But we are nearing our refuge. We must move forward and to move forward, we must let it be. I tended to it as best I could. I swear to you this body will hold."

Aragorn's stormy gaze bore into his. There was no decision to be made here, they both knew it. Only assurances. There was no way but forward and no time to waste.

"Lorien is at least a day away," Aragorn said quietly.

"It will hold," Legolas promised.

"But at what cost?" murmured Aragorn. Still, he set his jaws and nodded. In a firmer voice, he commanded – "Take no unnecessary excursions. I will watch you carefully. Stay in my sight. I beg you not to hesitate to speak to me of any further difficulty. Understand that I will interfere with you as I see fit, but know that when I do, it is only out of absolute necessity."

"Thank you, mellon-nin," Legolas said. He hesitated to add something else, glancing in the direction from which their fellows would soon emerge. Aragorn read clearly what he had in mind.

"I will speak of this to no one," he promised.

Legolas winced and rubbed the back of his neck in chagrin. "It is not from some vanity though when it comes to the dwarf I can confess to some. The halflings… have had quite a shock. I do not want them to have any further reason to fear for their safety. They must find me able."

Aragorn winced. There was little anyone could do to return the hobbits' carefree innocence after the fall of their beloved Gandalf, but he understood the elven warrior's compulsion to try.

Side by side, the elf and man watched as each of their remaining company – but six, now – trudged down from the hill in their direction.

Frodo led the way, pensive, burdened, somewhat detached from the others. Sam trailed after him with a soft clanking of pots and the padding of clumsy feet, never too far away. Behind him were a weary Merry supporting Pippin, who had his heart on his sleeve and grief marring his ever-expressive face. The dwarf came up behind the hobbits, eyes fiery red from tears and determination. The man from Gondor brought up the rear. Strangely, he looked extraordinarily strong and in his element – no stranger was he to danger and mortality – but his gaze was concerned for the young ones he had always seen as misplaced children.

"You have my trust and my silence," Aragorn promised Legolas, before any of the others could hear. He pressed a hand upon the elf's shoulder reassuringly, before joining their other companions.

TO BE CONTINUED (MAYBE)…