THE OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:  Legolas, Gimli, Pippin, Gandalf, Galadriel, Arwen, Elessar, Gondor, elanor, and the Bay of Belfalas DO NOT BELONG TO ME!!! they belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, and since i'm not trying to make any money off of this, i don't really see why the estate should care.

However, Dolenheruiel and Ringrûnion ARE mine, ALL MINE!  you CAN'T HAVE THEM!

nitpickers will also note the title of this fic being borrowed from a C.S. Lewis text.  given that titles alone are NOT copyrightable, you shouldn't care either.

SPOILER ALERT:  there is a slight spoiler in here for "The Two Towers" and an even smaller one that you won't pick up on unless you've already read "The Return of The King."  but i thought i'd give you warning anyway.

A WORD ON THE TEXT:  i am not sure where this came from.  well, i take that back, i know where Dolenheruiel came from (::cough cough:: feminist reaction to sexist 1950's male oriented text ::cough cough::).  and a very large inspiration credit goes out to Orlando Bloom for his acting abilities, because without him, this Legolas would not exist.  if you have read the books, you know what i'm talking about.  but the rest of it... well, it wanted to be written.  it wouldn't let me go to bed. and, to be frank, it's the first thing i've written in a very long time, so it's been rather cathartic for me.  feedback is appreciated, especially if you want me to flesh out the events prior to and after.

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To hear you say my name, to see you search my eyes
To feel you touch my hand, it more than satisfies
If I was not the first, just say I'll be the last
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask

Now I can only dream of being all you need
I can only try to be the reason why
You think about today and forget about the past
It's too much to expect, but it doesn't hurt to ask

It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask

Not Too Much To Ask, Mary-Chapin Carpenter

A Grief Observed

The river was quiet, barely revealing the travelling of its contents to the Bay of Belfalas. The full moon had made itself evident in the white glow reflected off the water, and with the funeral pyre still giving off orange heat at his back, Legolas felt as if the darkness that had fallen upon their party might be starting to lift. The twinkling of the stars, almost merry in their delicate chiming, soothed the sorrow in his heart. And then he saw her.

He had not realized that she had left the burning pyre, nor had she spoken a word since her son had died in her arms the night before. The last sound he remembered coming from her mouth had been that horrible wrenching scream, the desperate anguish of a soul tortured at its very core, where no physical weapon can ever reach. He had not even been nearby, had not seen the death of Ringrûnion. Pippin had been the only one. But in the heat of battle, the cry of a mother for her son had stopped both sides, leaving them all staring off in the distance, searching vainly for the creature in such terrible pain. But only Legolas, with his elven ears, knew it for what it was. And then he had run, as fast as his body would take him, but he had been too late. Again.

He knew that there was nothing he could have done, nothing any of them could have done, not even Pippin. The little hobbit's guilt was palpable, it rolled off him like sweat. He had been forced to watch as another of his comrades was slain in front of him, and tonight he could not even look at her. Not that she was even thinking of Pippin; she was obviously still in shock and gave no reaction to anyone or anything. Legolas thought he might have shot her with an arrow and she would have kept staring into the fire.

Standing by the river, she looked... vacant. There was still no hint of he and Gimli's beloved friend, of where she had gone. He walked up to her, hesitantly, like one would a feral animal. He chanced a hand on her shoulder, but she gave no indication that he was even there.

"I share your grief, Dolenheruiel."

He waited, standing close enough to see the tear streaks in the grime still on her face and the brown remnants of blood dried on her tunic. Just when he was about to turn away, she spoke for the first time since her son's death.

"No, Legolas." She turned to look at him. "For if you knew the fullness of my grief you would surely be dead from it."

He stared into her eyes, and saw there such a black pool of despair that his first instinct was to recoil. The only light in her face came from the moon reflecting in her unshed tears; all her hearty laughter, her sheer joy at the living of life... it was simply missing. And Legolas knew that she was right, that it was only her mother's human blood that was forcing her heart to keep beating. While he was reeling from the weight this put upon him, she suddenly grabbed his hand and placed it on her abdomen.

"He began here, Legolas. You are a male, not even a father, you cannot imagine what it feels like to carry a life inside you. To know that your every breath, your every bite of food is nourishing this whole other person. To feel it moving, kicking, to know that there are two hearts beating under your skin... and then to be forced to push it out, into this world... into this world where you cannot protect him like you once did. To see him grow up, to smile and laugh, to fall down and cry. To occasionally see yourself in him, in not only his face but in his actions. I take solace that he died in the service of the honor and duty to which I taught him, that he gave his life for the throne of Gondor. But that does not make this anguish any less."

She paused as the tears, waiting impatiently for their turn, finally broke free and tumbled to their doom down her cheeks. His hand was still pressed firmly against her, and the heat was a sharp contrast to the coolness of the breeze coming off the water. He did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

"I know you loved him, Legolas. But he was my son. I held him in my arms as his blood, my blood, poured out of him and onto the ground... I would have reclaimed it and restored it to him had not the very earth herself stolen it from me."

With these words, Legolas began to worry about her even more than before. Once she had started talking, he thought she was finally coming out of her shock. But her voice now spoke of some deeper breaking that none of them had even thought possible. Legolas was suddenly reminded of Gandalf, after he had returned from Shadow. They had cried his name in joy, and he seemed only to recall it from a distant past.

"Even my own clothing betrayed me," she said, letting go of his hand and looking down at her front, tracing the dried bloodstains as if they were the most delicate of elanor, and then turned her gaze back to water.

"I have been wondering if I shall take it upon myself that which my human half has denied me, or if I shall leave the service of the King and find a way to heal. My life is ended either way, but I do not know whether I have the strength to make a new one."

As the meaning of what she had said struck him and he began a protest, she quickly placed a hand over his mouth. Their eyes met, and he hoped that she saw the words she would not allow him to speak. The hand upon his mouth began to move, and she slowly traced the lines of his face, breaking eye contact and following her fingers instead. He kept his sight on her, and watched as she explored what had to have been a very familiar face.

First, he felt the light touch move down onto his chin and continue to his jaw, and then float gently up to his right cheek. The sensation moved across his nose to the other cheek and then trickled up to his forehead and across again. He had the terrible feeling that she was trying to burn him into her memory, before... but he didn't want to think about that. He concentrated instead on her fingers, impossibly soothing despite the dirt and the calluses. It was her sword hand, after all. But she had also used it to brush the hair back from her son's forehead when he was sick and sweaty with fever, and it was one of the same hands that had carefully tended some of the few wounds he had ever received in battle. He did not want to lose the hand of such a dear friend.

He realized that she had stopped, and that his face was now cupped in that same hand that occupied his thoughts. The whole of the forest it seemed had gone quiet, and the sounds of camp were not to be heard. And then, with the quickness that only her elven blood could provide, she was suddenly the whole of his vision, her lips pressed against his, and the rest of the wood disappeared.

Whatever Legolas was expecting, it most certainly was not this. But his heart and his body did not give him time to think, for as soon as the kiss began he felt as if a dam inside of him had broken. He had not once engaged the idea of being with Dolenheruiel in such a way; Gimli had told him to, yes, and even Ringrûnion himself had stated his approval if Legolas would ever take in interest in his mother, but--

And he could not finish the thought, for he was swept away by the immense ache rising in his chest... they had laughed together, fought together, bled together... he had seen countless turning of leaves, and he had never, never experienced anything like the emotion that was flooding him now. He responded to her kiss in full, and enveloped her to him, needing her as close as possible. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and something that could not possibly have been the river roaring in his ears, and the heat from her body told him only how real it was.

While lost in her, in seemed as if days flowed by, but when it broke, it was if he had had her for only a moment. She pulled away gently, and cupped his face again in her hands. He saw in her eyes the same anguish as before, but while staring into the depths he caught a flash, a small twinkle of the Dolenheruiel he realized he had fallen in love with somewhere along his path. Hope filled his heart, and then she spoke.

"Yes... I think I have a life in me yet to live."

She then looked away, and proceeded to shock him again.

"And now I must leave."

As she turned towards camp, Legolas felt as Gimli must have the first time he laid eyes upon the Lady Galadriel... he had experienced something magical, something beautiful, something very few people can ever claim to have had... and he damn well was not going to let anyone else say otherwise.

"STOP!"

And she did, but did not turn back towards him.

"I love you."

At these words, she came around to face him, and slowly walked forward.

"Do you say this because you wish me to know before I leave... or because you hope it will make me stay?"

He waited a moment, trying to pick one or the other, and could not.

"Both."

She gave up a small smile at that, and it gladdened his heart. And then she touched his face again, like before, when it seemed she was trying to remember it.

"I loved you yesterday," she whispered, "And the day before that. I know I did, I have a memory of it. I even know when it began. You were teaching Ringrûnion how to shoot, do you remember?"

That day came so easily back to his mind, it might have been just the week before... the sun falling on the walls of the training ground, and the musk of the earth heavy in the air, for it had rained the previous night. He had carefully guided the young boy through several exercises to increase his aim, and near the end, had caught sight of his mother watching them intently. Leaving Ringrûnion to practice, he had walked over to her. She had smiled at him, a sight most had come to expect from the joyful and ever youthful Dolenheruiel.

"You must think me a terrible mother," she had said, only half-joking.

He had looked at her in surprise, and was quick to disagree.

"On the contrary, my lady, I find your efforts quite admirable. You have willingly taken on the roles of both mother and father, and have taught your son the value of having both a strong warrior spirit and a kind gentle heart. He knows already at a young age the time for laughter and the time for composure, and shows an innate sense of honor. I would not be surprised in the least if he himself took up your old mantle of captain of the King's Guard."

He had then paused for a moment, as if chewing on his next words to see how they would taste.

"I can only hope that one day he also sees his mother for the most excellent and beautiful woman that she is, who can blend with such ease two lives which many would limit to one gender or another. I, for one, shall make every effort to impart to him how much I value both your abilities and your friendship."

And she had looked at him with such wonder in her eyes, he had known that, respected though she was in the Kingdom of Gondor and beyond, it had been a distant regard. Not even her students in the training compound had seen all sides of her like he and Gimli had in the years since King Elessar had reclaimed the throne. A female warrior, half-elf, niece to Queen Arwen, once the leader of the King's personal guard, and when she had had Ringrûnion, choosing to step down and teach the next generation. Gimli himself, one night after much revelry and even more ale, had gruffed that he would accept no other female as a worthy mate for his elf friend. Legolas had smiled and caught his unlikely dwarf companion as he had fallen over from the drink after making such a declarative statement.

The montage of memories passed before his eyes in only the briefest of seconds, and he said, "Yes, I remember."

She took a step back, but did not look away.

"I have let many touch me, Legolas, though none since I found myself with child. Once I realized what magic was growing in me, the desire to be touched simply for the sake of itself went away. I had no need for it. I became a mother to one, and remained the warrior and the friend to many. And I was fine in that manner, until you said those words to me, with the power of sincerity in your voice and the sun upon your face. I wanted to be a lover, but only if you would have me. So I remained your friend, and now I am here. And you say that you love me, and I believe you."

Then she turned her eyes, and her body.

"But I do not think my heart now capable of bearing that love, my dear Legolas. I am in so many pieces, I can hardly recall."

"Let me help you through your grief; do not leave, not when we are at such a beginning," he pleaded.

"But I am in the midst of such a baneful end. Legolas, I cannot rebuild my heart by any means other than myself. It would be so deceptively easy to allow you to place the pieces back together and spend much energy holding them as one. But I wish to be with you as a whole, like I once was. And if it is you holding me together, what will you do when you need me to be your strength? For if you should falter but once, then so will I, and I do not think my heart could bear another breaking, especially of such a fresh kind of wound. And I would not want you to rein in your emotions for the likes of me... because the movement of your heart is one of the reasons for loving you."

With that, she kissed him again, lightly, as if to go deeper would prevent her from ever coming back up, and then she removed her tunic. The shirt underneath was an almost unatural white, shining in the light of the full moon, and showing none of the blood that tainted the fabric in her hand. She handed it to him, and leaned into his ear,

"Throw this on the remainder of the fire for me. I cannot go back through camp, for I have no wish to explain such a goodbye. And... tell Pippin not to mourn so. Ringrûnion would not have wanted it, and neither do I. He cannot claim himself as the cause for my son's death, and should therefore not punish himself for it."

"Please do not be angry with me for going. Soon you will realize that I am only leaving to find a way to love you again. I can never be the Dolenheruiel that all of you remember, for I will always carry a scar upon my soul. But perhaps I can bring back my joy, and love you in the manner in which you deserve."

"Goodbye."

And with that, she was gone. One moment, her lips were against his ear, and then it was cold, empty space where her breath had just been. The river was still quiet, the moon was still full, and he could feel the fire again at his back. He wondered briefly if it had all been a grief-induced dream, thrown onto his open elven eyes by the exhaustion of the past few days, but then he saw her blood-stained tunic in his hands. And knew that he loved her, and that now she was gone.

His own words came back to him, more poignant than ever before: "Few can foresee whither their road will lead them, til they come to its end."

He had not seen her coming. And he knew that he would not let this be the end.

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