Night Is Falling Chapter 1 LOTR
Title: Night Is Falling - Chapter One - Troubled Sleep
Author: Piratelf
Type: Fictional Person Fic - Mixed Bookverse and Movieverse
Warnings: Angst
WIP (Work In Progress - Unfinished)
Beta: CaptainoGondor
Many Thanks -
To CaptainoGondor, for Beta reading, support, compliments and love.
To Jeanne, for encouragement and interest, and generally being a sweetheart.
To Agt. Spooky for positive feedback and ego boosting.
To Lisa C. Williams for much help and info on such diverse things as the lifespan of the House of Stewards, and the weather in the Undying Lands.
To Magic Rat and everyone on the Axe and Bow Yahoo Group for great discussions and lots of laughs!
Disclaimer: Legolas and Gimli belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit will be made from this work.
Night is falling,
You’ve come to journey’s end.
- Into The West
(Lyrics by Fran Walsh)
Chapter 1
Troubled Sleep
Legolas slept, and he dreamed of a tomb. Upon it was written -
Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lassgalen, Lord of Ithilien, Last of the Nine Walkers, and all that is left of the Fellowship of the Ring.
Suddenly all of his memories were blown away in a great gust of wind, like so many papers, portraits and dust. And the tomb was empty. It crumbled and fell into the sea. A white gull cried.
He awoke with a start. He brought his hands to his face and felt tears on his cheeks. His breath came in rough gasps.
"Legolas?" Gimli called from his bed across the room.
"I'm well, Gimli," the Elf responded, calming his breathing. "Go back to sleep."
But, of course, Gimli had already thrown off his covers and was making his way across the room. In earlier years his gait would have been quicker and perhaps a bit steadier, but never more determined. "Elves sleep little enough, when what they do take is disturbed by nightmares, something's amiss, laddie." He reached Legolas' bed and reached up to wipe a tear from his friend's face. "It's all right. This has been a difficult week for us all," he said gently.
"I . . ." Legolas began, but found he couldn't speak further, else he would begin to sob. He nodded.
"It will be easier after tomorrow, once we've put him to rest." Gimli patted the Elf's shoulder.
But it wouldn't be. Legolas could not control the sobs that broke loose then. How could Gimli understand? Before he became one of the Fellowship, Legolas had never seen death. Now it seemed as if it was all around him, stalking his dearest friends and taking them away from him, one by one. And who would be next but Gimli, his most beloved. Then what would he do? Sail to Valinor? Why? To endure eternity without those he most cherished? For what reason?
"Ach, now," Gimli said, sitting on the bed and pulling Legolas into his arms. "That's better. That's a lad. Let go of it now. What have I always told you? Grief is to be released, not kept in and hoarded as if it were precious, like silver and jewels. Tears wash away pain. If you swallow them, they'll only strangle you. I'll never understand your pointy-eared ways!" Gimli gave a long-suffering sigh.
Legolas laid his head down on Gimli's shoulder and allowed himself to be held while his body shook and cried out his grief, seemingly of its own accord. Gimli spoke to him, sometimes softly, sometimes gruffly, but continuously. Legolas took comfort in his friend's voice, though he didn't register the words themselves. It was as if he was in some sort of limbo, aware of his body, yet not in control of it.
He thought of Gimli wailing in sorrow at his cousin Balin's tomb. He wished so often that he'd truly understood then what the Dwarf was feeling, that he'd laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, as Boromir had. He remembered Boromir holding Gimli back, when he furiously insisted on going back into Moria after Gandalf. Legolas hadn't understood that anger then. He was in such confusion over what it even meant that Gandalf had died as it was, that he could hardly respond when Aragorn called his name. He understood the anger now. The denial. The compulsion to do something when a loved one is lost.
He remembered seeing Boromir, dead. He couldn't believe it. Literally. It was just beyond his reckoning to lose two such friends so quickly. How could they simply die? He understood being wounded, of course, he was a warrior. But to be wounded so badly that you just stopped living? The concept was so foreign, so horrible, he couldn't accept it. But he knew he wanted to do something for Boromir. He couldn't abide just leaving him there, exposed, and among those foul Orcs who had taken his life. So they had put him into a boat and given him to the care of Anduin.
Legolas had always thought burial was a fitting way to honor the bodies of the deceased. Few Elves died, but when they did they were buried so that their bodies would nourish the trees. His Grandadar, Oropher, had died at the Battle of the Last Alliance, and his body had been brought back to Mirkwood and buried beneath a lindon tree. That was before Legolas was born. When Gilraen, Aragorn's mother, had died in Rivendell, Lord Elrond had buried her and set up a memorial statue, so her son could still see her, as human memories are not as vivid, nor as enduring as Elven ones. Legolas had never known her, so he'd never given any thought to her body. But he'd wondered, when Paladin Took, the 19th Thain and Pippin's father, had died and they'd laid him to rest under the earth, if the river wasn't a better way. Legolas knew the way of the earth. Leaves fall and disintegrate. They lay upon the earth and insects crawl on them. Worms eat their way through them. The rain and snow break them down until they are part of the mud. He couldn't bear thinking of these things happening to poor little Pippin, and then to Merry, as this was the Hobbit way. But Thain Paladin had a resting place. There was a stone there, to say who he was, what he'd done, to keep his memory alive. His children and grandchildren had a place to go and remember him. Perhaps that was better. Legolas wasn't sure.
But then, when King Eomer felt his death was near, he called for Merry, to see him again, and Pippin traveled with him to Rohan. After the death of Eomer, the Hobbits had traveled with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, back to Gondor, and stayed there until their deaths. So they were laid to rest in small coffins of stone which were set in the Hallows of Gondor.
Each death had taken its toll on the Elf. He had grieved each friend, and every one got more difficult. But this terrible drawn out mourning ritual for Aragorn, King Elessar rather, was becoming unendurable. There had been an announcement the day of his death. Then a day of private mourning. Then public mourning. Then a day of Memorial, and finally, tomorrow would be the funeral. It was finally coming to an end. Almost. Legolas knew something Gimli didn't. He knew that the next death wouldn't be long in coming. As Aragorn had laid down, and given in to his mortality, so would Arwen. She had given up her immortality for love, and now she would follow him into death, and wherever that may lead. She would follow them all, where Legolas couldn't go.
His throat hurt. He could feel Gimli's fingers carding through his hair. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, wiped his eyes and realized he was exhausted. He rested his forehead against the Dwarf's.
"Hannon le, Gimli, mellon nin," he said softly.
"Hmph," Gimli acknowledged the thanks. In truth, he understood enough Sindarin to get by very well, but he'd never admit it. It was in deference to the Elf's present emotional state that he didn't upbraid Legolas for speaking 'that ridiculous sing-song prattle' to him. He pushed Legolas back and looked into his eyes. "Elf, you need . . ." he began seriously, then faltered.
"Need what, Dwarf?" Legolas asked.
But Gimli seemed to have decided against whatever he'd been about to say. "Wine!" he answered, but it was obviously not his original thought. He got up from the bed, shouting orders, "Turn around and sit up."
Legolas obeyed, rearranging his bed clothes. He watched as Gimli poured wine for them and brought the cups back to the bed.
"Here," Gimli thrust a cup into Legolas' hand, and kept one for himself. "Drink that down, it'll help you sleep." He drained his own.
Legolas obeyed. He was thirsty, and too tired to do much else.
"Good!" Gimli took the cup the minute it left Legolas' lips and set it on the window ledge. "Now lie back," he put his hand on the Elf's chest and pushed his friend down, thus negating any opportunity for argument. "CLOSE your eyes," he very lightly brushed his fingers down the Elf's eyelids, conscious, as always, of how rough and calloused axe wielding had made his hands, and how they must feel to the Elf's petal soft skin. "And SLEEP!" The Dwarf turned his back on his friend, emphasizing that he'd said his last word on the subject, and crawled back under his own covers.
Legolas smiled over at Gimli, who pretended not to see it, and then, as ordered, he slept.
Chapter 2 - Quiet Harmony
Author: Piratelf
Type: Fictional Person Fic - Mixed Bookverse and Movieverse
Warnings: Angst
WIP (Work In Progress - Unfinished)
Beta: CaptainoGondor
Many Thanks -
To CaptainoGondor, for Beta reading, support, compliments and love.
To Jeanne, for encouragement and interest, and generally being a sweetheart.
To Agt. Spooky for positive feedback and ego boosting.
To Lisa C. Williams for much help and info on such diverse things as the lifespan of the House of Stewards, and the weather in the Undying Lands.
To Magic Rat and everyone on the Axe and Bow Yahoo Group for great discussions and lots of laughs!
Disclaimer: Legolas and Gimli belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit will be made from this work.
Night is falling,
You’ve come to journey’s end.
- Into The West
(Lyrics by Fran Walsh)
Chapter 1
Troubled Sleep
Legolas slept, and he dreamed of a tomb. Upon it was written -
Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lassgalen, Lord of Ithilien, Last of the Nine Walkers, and all that is left of the Fellowship of the Ring.
Suddenly all of his memories were blown away in a great gust of wind, like so many papers, portraits and dust. And the tomb was empty. It crumbled and fell into the sea. A white gull cried.
He awoke with a start. He brought his hands to his face and felt tears on his cheeks. His breath came in rough gasps.
"Legolas?" Gimli called from his bed across the room.
"I'm well, Gimli," the Elf responded, calming his breathing. "Go back to sleep."
But, of course, Gimli had already thrown off his covers and was making his way across the room. In earlier years his gait would have been quicker and perhaps a bit steadier, but never more determined. "Elves sleep little enough, when what they do take is disturbed by nightmares, something's amiss, laddie." He reached Legolas' bed and reached up to wipe a tear from his friend's face. "It's all right. This has been a difficult week for us all," he said gently.
"I . . ." Legolas began, but found he couldn't speak further, else he would begin to sob. He nodded.
"It will be easier after tomorrow, once we've put him to rest." Gimli patted the Elf's shoulder.
But it wouldn't be. Legolas could not control the sobs that broke loose then. How could Gimli understand? Before he became one of the Fellowship, Legolas had never seen death. Now it seemed as if it was all around him, stalking his dearest friends and taking them away from him, one by one. And who would be next but Gimli, his most beloved. Then what would he do? Sail to Valinor? Why? To endure eternity without those he most cherished? For what reason?
"Ach, now," Gimli said, sitting on the bed and pulling Legolas into his arms. "That's better. That's a lad. Let go of it now. What have I always told you? Grief is to be released, not kept in and hoarded as if it were precious, like silver and jewels. Tears wash away pain. If you swallow them, they'll only strangle you. I'll never understand your pointy-eared ways!" Gimli gave a long-suffering sigh.
Legolas laid his head down on Gimli's shoulder and allowed himself to be held while his body shook and cried out his grief, seemingly of its own accord. Gimli spoke to him, sometimes softly, sometimes gruffly, but continuously. Legolas took comfort in his friend's voice, though he didn't register the words themselves. It was as if he was in some sort of limbo, aware of his body, yet not in control of it.
He thought of Gimli wailing in sorrow at his cousin Balin's tomb. He wished so often that he'd truly understood then what the Dwarf was feeling, that he'd laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, as Boromir had. He remembered Boromir holding Gimli back, when he furiously insisted on going back into Moria after Gandalf. Legolas hadn't understood that anger then. He was in such confusion over what it even meant that Gandalf had died as it was, that he could hardly respond when Aragorn called his name. He understood the anger now. The denial. The compulsion to do something when a loved one is lost.
He remembered seeing Boromir, dead. He couldn't believe it. Literally. It was just beyond his reckoning to lose two such friends so quickly. How could they simply die? He understood being wounded, of course, he was a warrior. But to be wounded so badly that you just stopped living? The concept was so foreign, so horrible, he couldn't accept it. But he knew he wanted to do something for Boromir. He couldn't abide just leaving him there, exposed, and among those foul Orcs who had taken his life. So they had put him into a boat and given him to the care of Anduin.
Legolas had always thought burial was a fitting way to honor the bodies of the deceased. Few Elves died, but when they did they were buried so that their bodies would nourish the trees. His Grandadar, Oropher, had died at the Battle of the Last Alliance, and his body had been brought back to Mirkwood and buried beneath a lindon tree. That was before Legolas was born. When Gilraen, Aragorn's mother, had died in Rivendell, Lord Elrond had buried her and set up a memorial statue, so her son could still see her, as human memories are not as vivid, nor as enduring as Elven ones. Legolas had never known her, so he'd never given any thought to her body. But he'd wondered, when Paladin Took, the 19th Thain and Pippin's father, had died and they'd laid him to rest under the earth, if the river wasn't a better way. Legolas knew the way of the earth. Leaves fall and disintegrate. They lay upon the earth and insects crawl on them. Worms eat their way through them. The rain and snow break them down until they are part of the mud. He couldn't bear thinking of these things happening to poor little Pippin, and then to Merry, as this was the Hobbit way. But Thain Paladin had a resting place. There was a stone there, to say who he was, what he'd done, to keep his memory alive. His children and grandchildren had a place to go and remember him. Perhaps that was better. Legolas wasn't sure.
But then, when King Eomer felt his death was near, he called for Merry, to see him again, and Pippin traveled with him to Rohan. After the death of Eomer, the Hobbits had traveled with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, back to Gondor, and stayed there until their deaths. So they were laid to rest in small coffins of stone which were set in the Hallows of Gondor.
Each death had taken its toll on the Elf. He had grieved each friend, and every one got more difficult. But this terrible drawn out mourning ritual for Aragorn, King Elessar rather, was becoming unendurable. There had been an announcement the day of his death. Then a day of private mourning. Then public mourning. Then a day of Memorial, and finally, tomorrow would be the funeral. It was finally coming to an end. Almost. Legolas knew something Gimli didn't. He knew that the next death wouldn't be long in coming. As Aragorn had laid down, and given in to his mortality, so would Arwen. She had given up her immortality for love, and now she would follow him into death, and wherever that may lead. She would follow them all, where Legolas couldn't go.
His throat hurt. He could feel Gimli's fingers carding through his hair. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, wiped his eyes and realized he was exhausted. He rested his forehead against the Dwarf's.
"Hannon le, Gimli, mellon nin," he said softly.
"Hmph," Gimli acknowledged the thanks. In truth, he understood enough Sindarin to get by very well, but he'd never admit it. It was in deference to the Elf's present emotional state that he didn't upbraid Legolas for speaking 'that ridiculous sing-song prattle' to him. He pushed Legolas back and looked into his eyes. "Elf, you need . . ." he began seriously, then faltered.
"Need what, Dwarf?" Legolas asked.
But Gimli seemed to have decided against whatever he'd been about to say. "Wine!" he answered, but it was obviously not his original thought. He got up from the bed, shouting orders, "Turn around and sit up."
Legolas obeyed, rearranging his bed clothes. He watched as Gimli poured wine for them and brought the cups back to the bed.
"Here," Gimli thrust a cup into Legolas' hand, and kept one for himself. "Drink that down, it'll help you sleep." He drained his own.
Legolas obeyed. He was thirsty, and too tired to do much else.
"Good!" Gimli took the cup the minute it left Legolas' lips and set it on the window ledge. "Now lie back," he put his hand on the Elf's chest and pushed his friend down, thus negating any opportunity for argument. "CLOSE your eyes," he very lightly brushed his fingers down the Elf's eyelids, conscious, as always, of how rough and calloused axe wielding had made his hands, and how they must feel to the Elf's petal soft skin. "And SLEEP!" The Dwarf turned his back on his friend, emphasizing that he'd said his last word on the subject, and crawled back under his own covers.
Legolas smiled over at Gimli, who pretended not to see it, and then, as ordered, he slept.
Chapter 2 - Quiet Harmony