Never opened myself this way

Chapter 13: Uncertain endings

Legolas shivered slightly in the cold air of the night. Too many years had passed in the comfort of Elrond's house, too many years where not only his body was warmed by the fires of Imladris but also his soul by the comfort of family and friends.

Now he had neither.

Several weeks had passed since he had fled yet still did he not dare to light a fire. He knew not if he was being pursued. If Elrond had sent someone after him or if Elladan and Elrohir saw his escape as a further proof of his culpability in their mothers passing and were even in that moment hunting him down to take their revenge. If they were he could not fault them, even though he was in no way at fault. He knew what it meant to be driven by the thirst for revenge; nearly his whole life had been dominated by this fatal thirst.

Physically it had been easy to leave Imladris and its inhabitants behind – but emotional it had been nearly as hard as burying first his son and then years later the woman he loved.

The faces and voices of those he had left only weeks before behind would hound him for the rest of his life. He did not know if he would ever see them on those shores again, did not know if he would see them once he left his life behind.

Were kin-slayers, worse yet father-murderers, even allowed entrance into Namos halls?

Sometimes he wished to be able to set the need, the thirst aside, to be able to settle down somewhere with a woman he loved and fade in to obscurity. If he tried hard enough he could imagine such a future: himself working once again in a smithy, a beautiful woman, his wife, watching him smiling while fussing over a toddler with faintly pointed ears, their child. Yet even as he watched the woman, so like and at the same time so unlike his dear Arawen, other images settled above his idyllic made up family.

Dark skies, without the sun or moon or any star as far as his eyes could see. The only sources of light, glowing terrible in the unnatural oppressing darkness were a glowing, fire-rimmed lidless eye and a mountain he had seen centuries before, Mount Orodruin. He was riding together with an edain, a wizard and – strangely enough – a dwarf who was sharing his horse, at the head of an army towards what he knew was Mordor. However it was neither the army or that they were marching against Mordor or Sauron or even the fact that he was sharing a horse with a dwarf that captivated him. He had seen the grey eyes of the edain before: Arwen's son would have those same grey eyes, the same shade and shape. So that was Arwen's future husband who was riding with him – or rather he himself was riding with this man – to wage war on the fallen Istari.

Around the edain's neck he saw a jewel that he knew belonged to Arwen. A jewel he had forged to give to his beloved Arawen on her wedding day but one that had despites his plans never left his possession till one day he had followed an impulse and had gifted it to Arwen.

Frowning Legolas shook his head clear of the vision, the first one since he had fled Elronds house. No matter how much he had tried he had –till then – not been able to see glimpses of his own future after the moment he entered his father's throne room and now that he saw something he knew that it would not, could not come to pass. Once again he tried to see the fate of his brothers – and of his father – and once again he saw nothing.

Without seeing the world around him he stared into the night, wondering if this lack of visions was a mercy or a punishment. On some days he desperately wished to see how his brothers fared; those same brothers who had loved him so fiercely before he was born. Did they still love him, whose birth had taken their mother from them or did they view him with the same hatred his father viewed him with, did they also see him as her murderer?

It would be so easy for him to hate them just as much as his father, or rather be indifferent to them and their feelings. And yet… if he could be sure that his brother still loved him would he be able to take their father from them? A father whose guilt they were unaware of and whom they loved?

He knew that he could not forsake his revenge. The thought, the wish, the need to avenge his death had been most of his life the one thing that kept him from giving up. Ever since Acharn had been completed he had to stop himself from taking it up and strike at himself. Only the knowledge that no-one but he himself could avenge his murder had stopped him all those times when his sword called to him for his own blood.

Absentmindedly Legolas trailed a hand over the bark of the tree he was resting in. He was tired, both in body and in mind. Ever since he had left Imladris he had not dared to sleep and slowly his constant watchfulness and lack of rest was causing him to become inattentive to his surroundings. Still there was no possibility for him to forget that not far from the place he had chosen to rest lay the place where his cousin had been captured and her guard murdered. For a few moments he had entertained the thought of visiting that horrible place for a last time – but in the end he had decided against it. There was nothing but painful memories for him on that particular path.

He had felt the moment something changed in the air, had felt the moment something shifted, something went missing – yet he had not immediately known what had changed. Only hours later when Legolas had – as so often – not turned up for the morning meal and he had searched for him in his rooms and found them empty had he known what had changed.

Legolas had left them.

His first impulse had been to go after him, to search for him and bring him back to his valley where he was safe but then he had allowed his mind to replay the last few months of Legolas stay and he realized with shock that he was not surprised at the younger elves departure. No, if he was honest with himself he had expected such a move for some time, ever since that fateful day Legolas had had that terrible vision of his beloved Celebrians capture. For the first few weeks, months even, had he watched the young one, ready to stop him from leaving but over time his worry had lessened till he had grown complacence and had concentrated on the time he had left with his beloved wife. Years passed without Legolas giving any indication of even thinking of leaving and he had put his fears aside till he forgot them – and now they had come to pass without him noticing till it was already too late.

No, he decided with a heavy heart as he slid his hand over his absent guests bed, he would not go after Legolas and he would also refrain from sending anyone else. He would keep this room just as Legolas had left it, hoping against better judgment that its inhabitant would soon return and tell no one of his worries. It was, he knew not his place. Slowly he walked over to the desk and opening the drawer he was not sure if he was surprised to still find the book that he had so often found Legolas writing in or if he should have expected to find it left behind. Caressing the soft worn leather with his fingers Elrond resisted his curiosity to take it out and finally learn just what it was Legolas had so diligently written. Just as his fingers closed around the book he knew that it was not yet time, that he had not yet the right to read the secrets it harbored. Maybe it would take weeks or even years before he would be able to bring himself to read the book to bring himself to confirm what he feared it contained. Till then he would take it with him to safeguard it in his study where no-one would dare to read it without his permission.

Elrond did not even look for the magnificent sword he knew Legolas possessed, he knew that he would not find it among the others belongings that could still be seen around the room.

With a last look around the room Elrond left it, softly closing the door behind himself, the thick book securely clasped in his right hand. When the time was right he would read it and would see its owner again – but how many years had to pass before then he could not tell.