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curiouswombatAnother chapter of the story that tells of Legolas, Gimli, and a few others, preparing to leave Middle Earth and sail West... This is the chapter in which we are reminded that Tindómë was once known as Dawn Summers - and we see a scene from the epilogue of 'Return of The Key' from the other side of the screen, so to speak.
Chapter Three – She Once Meant the World to Me
I saw her again last summer
Where the hard rains fall
The grass grew long around her feet
Where the years took their toll
She once meant the world to me
But we by-passed destiny
On the road not taken
The road unknown
Things That Are. C & R MacDonald.
It was good, Legolas thought, to be back amongst his trees. Even as he planned to leave them for ever, their gentle presence soothed him, strengthened him, helped him think straight and begin to make plans for what was to come.
He had tried to get the twins to agree to travel West with him, within the next couple of years, before they had left Minas Tirith; himself to return to Eryn Ithil and them to Imladris. But they could not be persuaded. ‘Not yet’, they had said. At least they had not said ‘not ever’. He thought that Tindómë would surely try to persuade them, too. His ‘little sister’ was very close to the sons of Elrond.
But, for now, the twins had ridden back to Imladris – their sorrow still wrapped, cloak-like, around them. Legolas wondered how long it might be before Glorfindel returned to his post in the hidden valley – how long it would take Arwen to fade away and join her Estel.
For the past few years Legolas had been able to see clearly only as far as the moment that Aragorn would breathe his last and his friend would be lost to the elf for ever. He had expected to be weighed down by sadness and loss, haunted by the gulls, expected to feel at least as heavy hearted as the twins had looked. And yet, now that he knew he would see Aragorn no more, that the time had come to move on, his mind was clearer than he had expected, even though his heart was heavy.
The pull of the sea was less acute now than it had been for a long time; as if the gulls knew that his decision was now made, and soon, soon, he would be theirs. As if they were happy for his trees to have him to themselves, for a little while, provided that he did not try to stay here for too long.
He remembered the trees of the Golden Woods; they slept now, they did not fret for the elves who had left them. And these trees of Ithilien were now healthy, their roots fast in healthy soil – they would not suffer when the elves departed. The memory of the sleeping mallyrn brought Arwen to his mind again. He could not envy her the slow fading – even though he knew that, if it was possible, Aragorn’s fëa would be with her as her hroar became less and less a part of her.
Valar be praised, he thought, that the deep, deep, friendships he had formed with mortals had not led him to find love in the way it had for Arwen. No, Legolas was sure his heart would be given to an elleth, already he was aware of a new note beginning to harmonise with the song of his soul. It was… it was, well ‘scary’ as Tindómë might say. Although, he thought shaking his head ruefully, she might also say quite a lot more… but not just yet.
The Telerin shipwright, who had come when he had asked Círdan for help, was still here. He had decided that he would like to sample life amongst trees and Wood Elves for a little; he seemed to be forming a bond with one of the ellyth, too. It was time, Legolas thought, to talk seriously to the shipwright, to find out how long it would take to build a suitable vessel – perhaps, first, it might be best to find out just how many elves that vessel would need to hold – along with one Dwarf and The Key.
Yes – first a meeting of everyone so that plans could be discussed openly not, as he was sure they were at present, only out of his hearing. Then decide on a time-scale. Gimli was not, yet, really old – a two or three year timetable should give everyone time to get organised, and the gulls would surely allow him to remain sane enough to do all that was required if they knew he would be theirs so soon.
He ran his hand lovingly down the bark of the tree, as one would down the flank of a favourite horse, and jumped down to the ground.
……………………………..
It was almost summer again. The leaves were all unfurled so that the trees provided shadow and shelter, quiet places to sit and contemplate, or simply sit and soak up the warm sunshine. Today Tindómë was curled up against the trunk of the tree near the practice ground, where she had ‘seen’ the young Ithilienne even before her conception. News had come that Arwen was no more. That she had spent the winter in the silent, snow covered, Golden Wood and had finally drifted away from ‘the husk of her hroar’ when the niphredil had begun to bloom on Cerin Amroth.
Her grandfather and Glorfindel – ever her protector – had remained near her over the winter. They made sure she knew they were there for her and had ensured that she was safe from predators. When she had finally died (or faded, who could tell?) they had buried what little was left of her there, under the circles of trees on the hill in the centre of the Golden Wood, where she had first pledged herself to Aragorn.
Tindómë hoped Aragorn’s spirit had been there with her; had welcomed her to him when she was finally able to shake off her body. Arwen and Tindómë had said their farewells in Minas Tirith and, although Tindómë knew that she would miss Arwen for a long time, she could not, really, be very sad that the elleth had finally achieved what she had wanted.
The twins would know by now, too. Suddenly Tindómë had a deep longing to see them again. Surely they must come to see Eldarion, now settled into his new role of king, soon? Surely they would come to see Legolas before he left for the west? Surely, for that matter, they would want to see her, too?
The keel was laid for the ship, now, and her ribs were beginning to be formed; the plan was for the boat to be built, fitted, and loaded by late summer in just over two years time. The Teleri shipwright was to sail with them, but he would also need to teach some of the others the basics of handling a sea-going vessel in that time; although he seemed confident that the Valar would guide the ship he also thought it sensible not to be totally unprepared. Wood elves should at least be good at handling the ropes and climbing the rigging… Tindómë hoped she wouldn’t be sea-sick.
Truth to tell, she would have put the voyage off for longer if it had been her choice. Suddenly two years seemed too short. But Legolas sometimes went down to the ‘boat-yard’ by the river at night, when he thought he would be alone, and gazed longingly as if he could see the ship there already. That he had not noticed Tindómë following him, at least once, spoke volumes for how deeply the sea-longing must affect him.
She thought again of the twins, finally being able to mourn their sister; they must have been mourning her ever since Aragorn died, as well as mourning the king who they thought of as a brother, and yet it would have been as if they mourned her in limbo, mourned the idea of her death rather than the reality. She would write them. Yes, she would go now and write. Post that reached people in a day or two was something she would happily have imported from that brief life in the other dimension.
The thought of the twins’ sorrow, and the memories from that other dimension, made her think of the girl who had been her sister during those few years in California. The last time the ‘window’ Radagast had made for her had ‘opened’ Buffy had looked very old. Her hair had still been pale gold – but now the colour hid white rather than the mid-brown of her youth, and she had been using a stick when she walked. Tindómë wondered whether Buffy was still alive. She hoped there would be another chance, or two, to see The Slayer. There was too much loss right now. Too much change.
……………………………..
Oddly, it was only a few days after she wrote to the twins that she was aware of the faint glow from her bedroom that meant Radagast’s window could be opened. Rumil and Haldirin were out working in the forest – there was still a need to harvest more wood, and to nurture young trees to make sure the forest would survive even if all the elves left. But right now it meant that Tindómë’s husband and their son would not be there to support her if she found that Buffy had died.
Ithilienne, however, was close at hand and understood.
“If she… if she has died, Naneth, what will you see?”
Good question, but not one that Tindómë had any real answer for.
They sat, mother and daughter, side by side on the settle in their cottage as Tindómë quietly chanted the words Radagast had taught her, as she had a dozen or more times before. Then a picture formed between Radagast’s window and the real one, hazy at first, but becoming clearer. As always, the first thing she saw was a sleeping figure – the window could only allow her to communicate with Buffy when she was asleep.
Tindómë gasped, the figure in the bed was white haired – it reminded her of the last time she had seen Éowyn only weeks before her death.
“Buffy? Buffy?” she called, as she always did.
In the past what had happened was that the sleeping figure became more indistinct and she would see, instead, Buffy standing or sitting talking to her. The ‘dreaming’ Buffy could move around, and even change her own surroundings to ‘show’ things to ‘Dawnie’. This time the only difference seemed to be that dreaming Buffy was propped up more in the bed than the sleeping form.
“Dawnie? Oh Dawn – you came.” The voice was soft, and sounded tired. “I’m so glad. I’m very tired, Dawn. Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, Buffy. This is Ithilienne. Rumil and Haldirin are out in the forest, working – I didn’t think they’d get back before the window would close.”
Ithilienne was simply sitting, quietly; she didn’t speak English, of course.
“So like you…” Buffy said.
She was right. Ithilienne was very like Tindómë – the same heart shaped face, the same wide eyes, even her body was a little curvier than the average elleth. Her hair was different from Tindómë’s, though; just as thick and wavy, but it was hard to describe the colour. Rumil said it owed much to her time and place of conception; rich brown that glowed red in sunlight (as Tindómë’s did sometimes), but flicked and threaded through with pale blonde that glowed in moonlight – the colours found in a newly shelled chestnut. Her mother had given up trying to work out the genetics and just accepted that Ithilienne had beautiful hair.
Tindómë passed on Buffy’s comment to Ithilienne, and then continued her conversation with Buffy for some time. She told her about the preparations to sail West; ‘You know – like Europeans did to come to America?’, but Buffy seemed almost too tired to listen.
Eventually Buffy spoke. “I’m dying, Dawnie. I am over ninety and my body is almost done for. It’s gonna be hard to leave Spike, but I’m no good to him like this anyway, and I’ll see Mom again.”
There was no point in trying to contradict her – it was clear that she was, indeed, pretty frail.
“I… I guess so,” Tindómë said, “tell Spike to take care of himself when… when you’ve gone. Uh – uh, give Mommy my love.”
Somehow these encounters with Buffy made her feel like an adolescent again, and this one especially.
“I will. I guess I’ll not see you again, Dawn. I’m glad you were my sister for a while there.”
“Me too, oh me too…” and suddenly Tindómë really meant it – more than she had for the past few years, to be honest. She could feel tears running down her cheeks, and Ithilienne put her arm around her and held her tight.
“I’m ready,” Buffy said, “I hate this stupid body!” For a moment she sounded like her old self, and then she finished, “I’m too tired to talk more.”
And the two ‘Buffys’ Tindómë could see became one again; a sleeping figure in a hospital bed. Both mother and daughter sat, waiting, but there was no more movement. Slowly the picture faded. Tindómë thought, again, that there was too much loss right now. Too much change.
That night Rumil held her close as she cried. Cried for Buffy, for Arwen, for all the people she had known that were gone. For the home she loved that would soon be gone. She knew that, because of their soul bond, he really felt her pain and she felt worse for inflicting it on him – but, as always, his love wrapped around her. Then he reminded her of the time, at Helm’s Deep, when he and Orophin had mourned their brother.
“You were there for me, meleth. Even though we were not yet bound you felt my sorrow and soothed me. Now, and until the end of time, I am here for you. I will always be here for you, no matter what.”
And that was something that would not change. She clung to that thought as he gently began to steer her down a happier dream path.
………………………………………………………..
Disclaimer as chapter one. Artwork by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellynn_ithilwen.
For then next chapter click here.
Someone asked me about Legolas' saying "...Galanthir will keep me from melancholy, nethig, Rumil; I will see you at breakfast.” in the last chapter - they wondered just how Galanthir might have kept him from melancholy. It sparked off the muse and I found myself writing what happened in Legolas' rooms as Galanthir kept Legolas from melancholy. My question is do you think I should post it over the next couple of days - so that it is not long since the relevant chapter, or wait until the whole story is posted?
ETA - that scene is now written and can be found here.
I saw her again last summer
Where the hard rains fall
The grass grew long around her feet
Where the years took their toll
She once meant the world to me
But we by-passed destiny
On the road not taken
The road unknown
Things That Are. C & R MacDonald.
It was good, Legolas thought, to be back amongst his trees. Even as he planned to leave them for ever, their gentle presence soothed him, strengthened him, helped him think straight and begin to make plans for what was to come.
He had tried to get the twins to agree to travel West with him, within the next couple of years, before they had left Minas Tirith; himself to return to Eryn Ithil and them to Imladris. But they could not be persuaded. ‘Not yet’, they had said. At least they had not said ‘not ever’. He thought that Tindómë would surely try to persuade them, too. His ‘little sister’ was very close to the sons of Elrond.
But, for now, the twins had ridden back to Imladris – their sorrow still wrapped, cloak-like, around them. Legolas wondered how long it might be before Glorfindel returned to his post in the hidden valley – how long it would take Arwen to fade away and join her Estel.
For the past few years Legolas had been able to see clearly only as far as the moment that Aragorn would breathe his last and his friend would be lost to the elf for ever. He had expected to be weighed down by sadness and loss, haunted by the gulls, expected to feel at least as heavy hearted as the twins had looked. And yet, now that he knew he would see Aragorn no more, that the time had come to move on, his mind was clearer than he had expected, even though his heart was heavy.
The pull of the sea was less acute now than it had been for a long time; as if the gulls knew that his decision was now made, and soon, soon, he would be theirs. As if they were happy for his trees to have him to themselves, for a little while, provided that he did not try to stay here for too long.
He remembered the trees of the Golden Woods; they slept now, they did not fret for the elves who had left them. And these trees of Ithilien were now healthy, their roots fast in healthy soil – they would not suffer when the elves departed. The memory of the sleeping mallyrn brought Arwen to his mind again. He could not envy her the slow fading – even though he knew that, if it was possible, Aragorn’s fëa would be with her as her hroar became less and less a part of her.
Valar be praised, he thought, that the deep, deep, friendships he had formed with mortals had not led him to find love in the way it had for Arwen. No, Legolas was sure his heart would be given to an elleth, already he was aware of a new note beginning to harmonise with the song of his soul. It was… it was, well ‘scary’ as Tindómë might say. Although, he thought shaking his head ruefully, she might also say quite a lot more… but not just yet.
The Telerin shipwright, who had come when he had asked Círdan for help, was still here. He had decided that he would like to sample life amongst trees and Wood Elves for a little; he seemed to be forming a bond with one of the ellyth, too. It was time, Legolas thought, to talk seriously to the shipwright, to find out how long it would take to build a suitable vessel – perhaps, first, it might be best to find out just how many elves that vessel would need to hold – along with one Dwarf and The Key.
Yes – first a meeting of everyone so that plans could be discussed openly not, as he was sure they were at present, only out of his hearing. Then decide on a time-scale. Gimli was not, yet, really old – a two or three year timetable should give everyone time to get organised, and the gulls would surely allow him to remain sane enough to do all that was required if they knew he would be theirs so soon.
He ran his hand lovingly down the bark of the tree, as one would down the flank of a favourite horse, and jumped down to the ground.
……………………………..
It was almost summer again. The leaves were all unfurled so that the trees provided shadow and shelter, quiet places to sit and contemplate, or simply sit and soak up the warm sunshine. Today Tindómë was curled up against the trunk of the tree near the practice ground, where she had ‘seen’ the young Ithilienne even before her conception. News had come that Arwen was no more. That she had spent the winter in the silent, snow covered, Golden Wood and had finally drifted away from ‘the husk of her hroar’ when the niphredil had begun to bloom on Cerin Amroth.
Her grandfather and Glorfindel – ever her protector – had remained near her over the winter. They made sure she knew they were there for her and had ensured that she was safe from predators. When she had finally died (or faded, who could tell?) they had buried what little was left of her there, under the circles of trees on the hill in the centre of the Golden Wood, where she had first pledged herself to Aragorn.
Tindómë hoped Aragorn’s spirit had been there with her; had welcomed her to him when she was finally able to shake off her body. Arwen and Tindómë had said their farewells in Minas Tirith and, although Tindómë knew that she would miss Arwen for a long time, she could not, really, be very sad that the elleth had finally achieved what she had wanted.
The twins would know by now, too. Suddenly Tindómë had a deep longing to see them again. Surely they must come to see Eldarion, now settled into his new role of king, soon? Surely they would come to see Legolas before he left for the west? Surely, for that matter, they would want to see her, too?
The keel was laid for the ship, now, and her ribs were beginning to be formed; the plan was for the boat to be built, fitted, and loaded by late summer in just over two years time. The Teleri shipwright was to sail with them, but he would also need to teach some of the others the basics of handling a sea-going vessel in that time; although he seemed confident that the Valar would guide the ship he also thought it sensible not to be totally unprepared. Wood elves should at least be good at handling the ropes and climbing the rigging… Tindómë hoped she wouldn’t be sea-sick.
Truth to tell, she would have put the voyage off for longer if it had been her choice. Suddenly two years seemed too short. But Legolas sometimes went down to the ‘boat-yard’ by the river at night, when he thought he would be alone, and gazed longingly as if he could see the ship there already. That he had not noticed Tindómë following him, at least once, spoke volumes for how deeply the sea-longing must affect him.
She thought again of the twins, finally being able to mourn their sister; they must have been mourning her ever since Aragorn died, as well as mourning the king who they thought of as a brother, and yet it would have been as if they mourned her in limbo, mourned the idea of her death rather than the reality. She would write them. Yes, she would go now and write. Post that reached people in a day or two was something she would happily have imported from that brief life in the other dimension.
The thought of the twins’ sorrow, and the memories from that other dimension, made her think of the girl who had been her sister during those few years in California. The last time the ‘window’ Radagast had made for her had ‘opened’ Buffy had looked very old. Her hair had still been pale gold – but now the colour hid white rather than the mid-brown of her youth, and she had been using a stick when she walked. Tindómë wondered whether Buffy was still alive. She hoped there would be another chance, or two, to see The Slayer. There was too much loss right now. Too much change.
……………………………..
Oddly, it was only a few days after she wrote to the twins that she was aware of the faint glow from her bedroom that meant Radagast’s window could be opened. Rumil and Haldirin were out working in the forest – there was still a need to harvest more wood, and to nurture young trees to make sure the forest would survive even if all the elves left. But right now it meant that Tindómë’s husband and their son would not be there to support her if she found that Buffy had died.
Ithilienne, however, was close at hand and understood.
“If she… if she has died, Naneth, what will you see?”
Good question, but not one that Tindómë had any real answer for.
They sat, mother and daughter, side by side on the settle in their cottage as Tindómë quietly chanted the words Radagast had taught her, as she had a dozen or more times before. Then a picture formed between Radagast’s window and the real one, hazy at first, but becoming clearer. As always, the first thing she saw was a sleeping figure – the window could only allow her to communicate with Buffy when she was asleep.
Tindómë gasped, the figure in the bed was white haired – it reminded her of the last time she had seen Éowyn only weeks before her death.
“Buffy? Buffy?” she called, as she always did.
In the past what had happened was that the sleeping figure became more indistinct and she would see, instead, Buffy standing or sitting talking to her. The ‘dreaming’ Buffy could move around, and even change her own surroundings to ‘show’ things to ‘Dawnie’. This time the only difference seemed to be that dreaming Buffy was propped up more in the bed than the sleeping form.
“Dawnie? Oh Dawn – you came.” The voice was soft, and sounded tired. “I’m so glad. I’m very tired, Dawn. Is that your daughter?”
“Yes, Buffy. This is Ithilienne. Rumil and Haldirin are out in the forest, working – I didn’t think they’d get back before the window would close.”
Ithilienne was simply sitting, quietly; she didn’t speak English, of course.
“So like you…” Buffy said.
She was right. Ithilienne was very like Tindómë – the same heart shaped face, the same wide eyes, even her body was a little curvier than the average elleth. Her hair was different from Tindómë’s, though; just as thick and wavy, but it was hard to describe the colour. Rumil said it owed much to her time and place of conception; rich brown that glowed red in sunlight (as Tindómë’s did sometimes), but flicked and threaded through with pale blonde that glowed in moonlight – the colours found in a newly shelled chestnut. Her mother had given up trying to work out the genetics and just accepted that Ithilienne had beautiful hair.
Tindómë passed on Buffy’s comment to Ithilienne, and then continued her conversation with Buffy for some time. She told her about the preparations to sail West; ‘You know – like Europeans did to come to America?’, but Buffy seemed almost too tired to listen.
Eventually Buffy spoke. “I’m dying, Dawnie. I am over ninety and my body is almost done for. It’s gonna be hard to leave Spike, but I’m no good to him like this anyway, and I’ll see Mom again.”
There was no point in trying to contradict her – it was clear that she was, indeed, pretty frail.
“I… I guess so,” Tindómë said, “tell Spike to take care of himself when… when you’ve gone. Uh – uh, give Mommy my love.”
Somehow these encounters with Buffy made her feel like an adolescent again, and this one especially.
“I will. I guess I’ll not see you again, Dawn. I’m glad you were my sister for a while there.”
“Me too, oh me too…” and suddenly Tindómë really meant it – more than she had for the past few years, to be honest. She could feel tears running down her cheeks, and Ithilienne put her arm around her and held her tight.
“I’m ready,” Buffy said, “I hate this stupid body!” For a moment she sounded like her old self, and then she finished, “I’m too tired to talk more.”
And the two ‘Buffys’ Tindómë could see became one again; a sleeping figure in a hospital bed. Both mother and daughter sat, waiting, but there was no more movement. Slowly the picture faded. Tindómë thought, again, that there was too much loss right now. Too much change.
That night Rumil held her close as she cried. Cried for Buffy, for Arwen, for all the people she had known that were gone. For the home she loved that would soon be gone. She knew that, because of their soul bond, he really felt her pain and she felt worse for inflicting it on him – but, as always, his love wrapped around her. Then he reminded her of the time, at Helm’s Deep, when he and Orophin had mourned their brother.
“You were there for me, meleth. Even though we were not yet bound you felt my sorrow and soothed me. Now, and until the end of time, I am here for you. I will always be here for you, no matter what.”
And that was something that would not change. She clung to that thought as he gently began to steer her down a happier dream path.
………………………………………………………..
Disclaimer as chapter one. Artwork by
ellynn_ithilwen. For then next chapter click here.
Someone asked me about Legolas' saying "...Galanthir will keep me from melancholy, nethig, Rumil; I will see you at breakfast.” in the last chapter - they wondered just how Galanthir might have kept him from melancholy. It sparked off the muse and I found myself writing what happened in Legolas' rooms as Galanthir kept Legolas from melancholy. My question is do you think I should post it over the next couple of days - so that it is not long since the relevant chapter, or wait until the whole story is posted?
ETA - that scene is now written and can be found here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 08:50 pm (UTC)So a little in the future yet...
no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 10:35 pm (UTC)Hah! I thought there was a hint of that earlier! Ithilienne! Those cross-generational relationships are what immortality can do for you...
(What light, though, does that cast on the potential Galanthir/Legolas sidebar? I know, I know, "delights of the body" =/= soul-bonding, but the potential juxtaposition amuses my evil mind... Post the sidebar anyway, though. I can never resist Hot Elf Sex...
no subject
Date: 17/08/2011 10:54 pm (UTC)Absolutely!
I think I might well post the short Legolas/Galanthir comfort fic tomorrow - it is a little less melancholy than the Arwen chapter, or this one!
no subject
Date: 18/08/2011 07:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 18/08/2011 07:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 18/08/2011 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 19/09/2011 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 19/09/2011 10:33 pm (UTC)