Title: Frodo's Letter (Part VI of Arwen's Book of Secrets)
Author: Esmeralda (water_from_esmeralda@mac.com)
Type: M/M Slash
Fandom: LotR
Pairing(s): Legolas/Frodo, Aragorn/Legolas (implied)
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Warnings: Angst.
Beta: Libitina
Summary: The inevitable occurs. Main header is found at Part I.
I have seen Legolas with a broken heart, and it is a sight to wish never to have seen. I know that his parting with Frodo does not indicate that he loves Aragorn more. Frodo knows this as well. But Legolas feels terrible remorse and believes with certainty that the Ring-bearer will die ere he holds him again. Their few years together have been altogether too short.
I am struck by Frodo's wisdom in forbidding Legolas to ride with him to the ships, as much as Legolas cannot understand the command. How dear it was for Frodo to call the pain his own and too great to bear. He knows that our elf would endure anything to guard him on the way and hold his hand to the last, but the sea and the parting there would harm Legolas in deeper ways.
Not that Frodo releases him lightly; far from it, for Frodo has no other great love. He only knows that he has no other choice except to die now, too soon, and Legolas would not abide that either.
Gimli rode with a trading caravan to the Shire to stand by and bring Legolas home. With eyes brimming, Gimli told me that Frodo kissed Legolas goodbye and left him weeping in their bed at Bag End. The ever-present elven dignity had given way.
And Gimli would not speak of the days during which he rode home with Legolas. When they arrived, sharing Arod's back, I took this as an encouraging sign.
Losses are mine as well. I parted with my father here, and my way is bitter as I know that we will not meet again. I did not go to watch the ships leave.
My loss redoubled as Galadriel went with him. She tried to comfort me, speaking of her own parting with Celeborn, but I know her pain is lessened by the joy of returning home at last. And she does not speak of her husband's future. They have spent long years apart before, and she is somehow at peace with his choice, whatever it may be.
Her only enduring wounds are that she knows Lórien will fade to sorrow, and she will be ever without me. My certain mortality weighs upon her soul. But for her sight, I know she would dare to hope that the Valar would give me another chance. But I would not seek it.
We clung to each other, and I told her that she had soothed me with her words of love and hope. In reality, Legolas and I have no such hopes. We may send letters with the ones who go later, but there will be no letters in return for us.
The weeping in our household cannot continue much longer, for the soul is strong enough, most times, to wish to go on to further happiness. But these separations must be counted their due. I hold in my hand a letter, scrawled in Frodo's arcane hand, borne to me by Legolas himself yesterday in grief. He was innocent of its contents, for the packet was sealed, and he did not break that trust. I shuddered to see his eyes, and though I put the package aside, and he let me hold him for a time, he was not with me. In my distress, I failed to open the letter until this morning, after matters had grown far worse.
My Queen,
I write to you and not another, in part, that if this letter should go astray, it should not come to harm anyone. Forgive me for being cryptic.
Yet, I also write to you as yourself. In a way, you were my first elf love, touching my already shadowed heart with your strange and great beauty, opening my eyes to love those beyond my Shire. I was more prepared for meeting him after knowing you.
You were open with me at the end of the war, about your part and mine in what was unfolding among our friends. I am ever grateful for your words.
I leave so many loved ones for this journey, but I have decided to live. That you have asked me to go in your place breaks my heart. You have given me so much of yourself already. You know of what I speak.
I hope that you will change your mind when the time comes for Aragorn to leave this world, for I am told that there is room enough where we are going. My love has vowed to build a ship to bring you there himself if all the others have gone, though I do not think it is for lack of ships that you would stay. I confess, My Lady, I do not understand your gods.
Legolas seems so strong in his agelessness and grace; yet, I know that he is fragile in his heart. No one has ever held him safe for long. He is quick to lust and slow to love, but when he loves, there is no breaking his bond.
From the start, I have known that he would be my one great love. For him, it was a different matter, something lighter when we began. That has changed, and he despairs to loose me from his flesh. Although his heart holds more than one abiding love, each is none the weaker for it.
He does not understand why I have forbidden him to follow me. Please hold him fast and help him. I have enclosed here something for this purpose. In loving mortals, you and he share a particular grief that others cannot understand, and you are the right person to receive this knowledge. Give it to whom you will.
Aragorn has always been good to me, a protector, healer, and friend. What he and I have in common may not be expressed in a letter. Please share a kiss from me. Tell him for me that although he has well earned peace and love, he is nevertheless the most fortunate being under the stars and should never forget that.
I wish you all the greatest of happiness, and I am sorry that I will not look upon your faces or hear your beloved voices again. Were I not so wounded, I would stay and play with your children when they come, tell them stories of their noble parents, and laugh with all of you as we should. But I am bound for one more journey, it seems.
With deep love and respect,
Frodo Baggins
I can scarce read the words past burning tears. Frodo will not know that Legolas has already left us.
He saw Aragorn in private, their voices quiet in discussion. Then he came back to me and sat with me in the big chair we often share. We did not speak, but I sang to him. I listened to his heart, grateful for his arms around me, and I worried for him.
Legolas slept in his own room. Neither Aragorn nor I took rest, but spoke long into the night. Near midnight, I had a sudden terror and ran to Legolas' chamber. I need not have been concerned, as I found Gimli there, wrapped around Legolas and sleeping fiercely as if a guardian of his friend's dreams. I had to smile then, for although Legolas was naked as he often sleeps, Gimli was dressed in all but his boots, as if his haste to join Legolas in sleep was too great, or as if he might need to rise at a moment's notice, ready for the day.
Even at rest, Legolas' face bore pain I had not seen in him before. I risked to kiss him then, wishing I could smooth away the hurt. He did not stir. I did not know it was to be my only farewell.
Somehow, he slipped away in the morning without waking Gimli. No one saw him leave. His bow still hangs on his wall, and Arod cries for him from the stable. Where he has gone, none of us knows. I only sense through our thin thread of a bond that he lives, and I feel grateful, for it is no small knowledge.
I push the fear away and reach into the packet for the small but thick book that remains. It has a cover of beaten silver, a special book indeed. It is entitled simply Teaching Old Elves, and I grin at the unmistakable stamp of hobbit humor in Frodo's choice of words. I can feel him smiling as he writes, and I imagine that a special inspiration is fresh on his lips as he composes.
Clearly, a dwarf has fashioned this book cover for Frodo, and I can guess the handiwork. The spine is ingenious, a cylindrical shape of silver grasped within the hinges. The cap of the spine is chained to the book, which seems something beyond decoration. I find a clasp and withdraw a glass vial from the hidden chamber. It sparkles and glows in the light from my window. I do not remove the cap, instead, I put the vial back with care, hearing it click into place.
At last, I open the book. Resting inside the front cover are letters to Legolas, carefully folded and labeled for the future, according to significant events. What follows in the book itself is a chronicle of whimsy, passionate art, and tenderness, a veritable recipe for pleasing our elf many times over.
My laugh rings out through the courtyard, through the tears, and I am certain that despite the innumerable miles already between us, Frodo can hear me.
*******
Type: M/M Slash
Fandom: LotR
Pairing(s): Legolas/Frodo, Aragorn/Legolas (implied)
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Warnings: Angst.
Beta: Libitina
Summary: The inevitable occurs. Main header is found at Part I.
I have seen Legolas with a broken heart, and it is a sight to wish never to have seen. I know that his parting with Frodo does not indicate that he loves Aragorn more. Frodo knows this as well. But Legolas feels terrible remorse and believes with certainty that the Ring-bearer will die ere he holds him again. Their few years together have been altogether too short.
I am struck by Frodo's wisdom in forbidding Legolas to ride with him to the ships, as much as Legolas cannot understand the command. How dear it was for Frodo to call the pain his own and too great to bear. He knows that our elf would endure anything to guard him on the way and hold his hand to the last, but the sea and the parting there would harm Legolas in deeper ways.
Not that Frodo releases him lightly; far from it, for Frodo has no other great love. He only knows that he has no other choice except to die now, too soon, and Legolas would not abide that either.
Gimli rode with a trading caravan to the Shire to stand by and bring Legolas home. With eyes brimming, Gimli told me that Frodo kissed Legolas goodbye and left him weeping in their bed at Bag End. The ever-present elven dignity had given way.
And Gimli would not speak of the days during which he rode home with Legolas. When they arrived, sharing Arod's back, I took this as an encouraging sign.
Losses are mine as well. I parted with my father here, and my way is bitter as I know that we will not meet again. I did not go to watch the ships leave.
My loss redoubled as Galadriel went with him. She tried to comfort me, speaking of her own parting with Celeborn, but I know her pain is lessened by the joy of returning home at last. And she does not speak of her husband's future. They have spent long years apart before, and she is somehow at peace with his choice, whatever it may be.
Her only enduring wounds are that she knows Lórien will fade to sorrow, and she will be ever without me. My certain mortality weighs upon her soul. But for her sight, I know she would dare to hope that the Valar would give me another chance. But I would not seek it.
We clung to each other, and I told her that she had soothed me with her words of love and hope. In reality, Legolas and I have no such hopes. We may send letters with the ones who go later, but there will be no letters in return for us.
The weeping in our household cannot continue much longer, for the soul is strong enough, most times, to wish to go on to further happiness. But these separations must be counted their due. I hold in my hand a letter, scrawled in Frodo's arcane hand, borne to me by Legolas himself yesterday in grief. He was innocent of its contents, for the packet was sealed, and he did not break that trust. I shuddered to see his eyes, and though I put the package aside, and he let me hold him for a time, he was not with me. In my distress, I failed to open the letter until this morning, after matters had grown far worse.
My Queen,
I write to you and not another, in part, that if this letter should go astray, it should not come to harm anyone. Forgive me for being cryptic.
Yet, I also write to you as yourself. In a way, you were my first elf love, touching my already shadowed heart with your strange and great beauty, opening my eyes to love those beyond my Shire. I was more prepared for meeting him after knowing you.
You were open with me at the end of the war, about your part and mine in what was unfolding among our friends. I am ever grateful for your words.
I leave so many loved ones for this journey, but I have decided to live. That you have asked me to go in your place breaks my heart. You have given me so much of yourself already. You know of what I speak.
I hope that you will change your mind when the time comes for Aragorn to leave this world, for I am told that there is room enough where we are going. My love has vowed to build a ship to bring you there himself if all the others have gone, though I do not think it is for lack of ships that you would stay. I confess, My Lady, I do not understand your gods.
Legolas seems so strong in his agelessness and grace; yet, I know that he is fragile in his heart. No one has ever held him safe for long. He is quick to lust and slow to love, but when he loves, there is no breaking his bond.
From the start, I have known that he would be my one great love. For him, it was a different matter, something lighter when we began. That has changed, and he despairs to loose me from his flesh. Although his heart holds more than one abiding love, each is none the weaker for it.
He does not understand why I have forbidden him to follow me. Please hold him fast and help him. I have enclosed here something for this purpose. In loving mortals, you and he share a particular grief that others cannot understand, and you are the right person to receive this knowledge. Give it to whom you will.
Aragorn has always been good to me, a protector, healer, and friend. What he and I have in common may not be expressed in a letter. Please share a kiss from me. Tell him for me that although he has well earned peace and love, he is nevertheless the most fortunate being under the stars and should never forget that.
I wish you all the greatest of happiness, and I am sorry that I will not look upon your faces or hear your beloved voices again. Were I not so wounded, I would stay and play with your children when they come, tell them stories of their noble parents, and laugh with all of you as we should. But I am bound for one more journey, it seems.
With deep love and respect,
Frodo Baggins
I can scarce read the words past burning tears. Frodo will not know that Legolas has already left us.
He saw Aragorn in private, their voices quiet in discussion. Then he came back to me and sat with me in the big chair we often share. We did not speak, but I sang to him. I listened to his heart, grateful for his arms around me, and I worried for him.
Legolas slept in his own room. Neither Aragorn nor I took rest, but spoke long into the night. Near midnight, I had a sudden terror and ran to Legolas' chamber. I need not have been concerned, as I found Gimli there, wrapped around Legolas and sleeping fiercely as if a guardian of his friend's dreams. I had to smile then, for although Legolas was naked as he often sleeps, Gimli was dressed in all but his boots, as if his haste to join Legolas in sleep was too great, or as if he might need to rise at a moment's notice, ready for the day.
Even at rest, Legolas' face bore pain I had not seen in him before. I risked to kiss him then, wishing I could smooth away the hurt. He did not stir. I did not know it was to be my only farewell.
Somehow, he slipped away in the morning without waking Gimli. No one saw him leave. His bow still hangs on his wall, and Arod cries for him from the stable. Where he has gone, none of us knows. I only sense through our thin thread of a bond that he lives, and I feel grateful, for it is no small knowledge.
I push the fear away and reach into the packet for the small but thick book that remains. It has a cover of beaten silver, a special book indeed. It is entitled simply Teaching Old Elves, and I grin at the unmistakable stamp of hobbit humor in Frodo's choice of words. I can feel him smiling as he writes, and I imagine that a special inspiration is fresh on his lips as he composes.
Clearly, a dwarf has fashioned this book cover for Frodo, and I can guess the handiwork. The spine is ingenious, a cylindrical shape of silver grasped within the hinges. The cap of the spine is chained to the book, which seems something beyond decoration. I find a clasp and withdraw a glass vial from the hidden chamber. It sparkles and glows in the light from my window. I do not remove the cap, instead, I put the vial back with care, hearing it click into place.
At last, I open the book. Resting inside the front cover are letters to Legolas, carefully folded and labeled for the future, according to significant events. What follows in the book itself is a chronicle of whimsy, passionate art, and tenderness, a veritable recipe for pleasing our elf many times over.
My laugh rings out through the courtyard, through the tears, and I am certain that despite the innumerable miles already between us, Frodo can hear me.
*******