Chapter 8: The end of many- Finale

            Note on time:  The letter that Elrond sent he actually sent only hours after Legolas left.  I expect that Legolas and Aragorn rested for three days in the forest on the border of the City, and it took them another three to reach Ithilien.  There, they wandered for a day, and when they finally reached their camp, another day had passed, making a total of seven days.  By this time, the messenger had reached Thranduil and delivered Elrond's message.  I will sometimes jump around in time, so, I will use ~~~~~~~~~~~~ as a passage of time marker (for long periods of time, jumping into the future and such, while the other scenes commence).

            The end comes.

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            Thranduil pounded his fist on the table as he reread the message, cursing every being within ten feet of him (and farther, in the case of Elrond).  He ripped the letter to shreds and scattered them in the hungry fire in his study; the weak parchment caught flame and shriveled to little black stubs.  He kicked out from his deck, standing, and threw his chair.  It clattered to the floor, along with an assortment of papers and such.  With a roar, he threw open the door and thundered down the hall.  Servants stepped away; his advisors (who had heard his anger) came to assist him, but he charged past all of them, intent on one destination. 

            He reached the stable without a thought other than to save his son from death.  Never would he dare kill Arwen!  They were friends before.  Yes, it was an awkward relationship, what with Aragorn loved by both (and only returning it to one), but never should it have led to this.  It didn't! 

            He found his white steed in a stall, munching happily on some feed.  A stable hand came to help the enraged king, but he needed no help.  He grabbed a pack, kept ready for messengers and containing a weeks worth of food, and he strapped it on his back. 

            "M'lord, where it is you travel?" the stable hand asked, astonished by the king's behavior.  Thranduil waited outside the stall to let his horse finish the last bit of feed, for he would need all the strength he could get. 

            "Elrond summoned me to Minas Tirith with all due haste," he spat at the unfortunate boy, "and with all due haste I travel.  Tell me advisors I shall return soon, and they should watch Greenwood in my absence, like normal."  With that, he sprung onto his horse with elvish grace, not lost in his many years of existence, and he sped to the south, feeling every moment he tarried took him farther from his precious son. 

***

            Elrond's scouts returned once again with no sighting of the king, or Legolas, or Haldir even.  He rested his head in his hands on the desk in his room and sighed, letting out all his frustrations of that day.  His head pounded from the stress and his eyes stung, a feeling he had not felt it many weeks.  They were tears.  For a half-elf, tears came easier, and not with the signs of impending death of grief.  No, these were tears of anger and old pains reawakened.  His daughter flashed before his eyes, smiling, then singing with her fair voice under the moonlight, then weeping for the loss of love, then smiling again, a little girl now, running and playing in her youth.  Then, he saw the recreation of the scene of her death, playing as he thought it would.  She and Aragorn sat at the base of a great cypress, Aragorn weeping, Arwen trying vainly to comfort him.  There was a shadow though, lurking to the side of them, a shadow with a bow.  Sunlight fell on his face, illuminating just the corner of it...

            Elrond gasped and shook himself from the trance.  That was no vision he created, but a vision of the truth, seen from the outside.  He knew who's face that was, and suddenly, every piece fell into place.  He leapt from his chair, calling for the nearest servant.  He must change his scouts' orders.  Word must travel of who the real hidden bowman was.  Leave Legolas alone!  Another runs free, and he is more dangerous by far, and the murderer.  Bring him justice by death!  Legolas' justice is to let him free! 

            Elrond stopped now, his eyes growing in size as another vision came to him.  The two bodies, slumped over each other, clasped hand in hand, rested in a clearing.  A few leaves stirred but no more.  There was an arrow through one's heart. 

            With all the more urgency, Elrond called for the servant. 

***

            "There is no way..."  Legolas silenced Aragorn, putting his finger to the man's lips. 

            "Whisper," he commanded, warily throwing about his piercing gaze.  "I feel another presence."  Aragorn shifted so that it was easier for him to get his hand on his sword hilt, which lay next to him on the ground. 

            "What you say must be wrong.  He would never dare something like that," Aragorn, pleaded more to himself than to Legolas.  Legolas glared at him. 

            "Then you once again lay the blame upon my shoulders," he whispered harshly, his cold eyes boring holes in Aragorn's heart.  "It is true.  Only arrows from Lothlorien would have that type of tip."  Aragorn, even when the words came from his dear lover's lips, could not let it sink in.  It should not be an elf who did the inexcusable deed.  Maybe it was a human.  Yes, it was a human. 

            "It was an elf," Legolas said, reading Aragorn's scrunched up face correctly.  "You know what elf it was, and I know."  Suddenly, Legolas stopped.  "He is here," he breathed, taking Aragorn's hand.  "Do not turn, but look to the fire, for I feel him behind me."  His body shook, and Aragorn clutched him tighter to stop the chill that ran through the elf's body.  "Dear love, what will he do now?" 

            "I will protect you, no matter what I must do," Aragorn vowed, kissing Legolas on the cheek. 

            "You will not die," Legolas also vowed in that moment.  "If you die, I shall die with you, by your side, in your arms.  We will not part."  He took up Aragorn's other hand and clasped it tight, putting it to his heart.  Aragorn did the same.  It was an old gesture they did in times of peril, when one's life was in question. 

            "Will he shoot, as before?"

            "He aims for our hearts, and his eye is sharper than mine.  Now, be silent, and hold me but loosely, for if we must spring away, I want to also.  Listen for his arrow.  It will come."

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            Thranduil reached the gates of Minas Tirith in a week and did not pause when he reached the city, only to let the guards check him and allow him passage through.  They knew Elrond awaited him, and the king would not wish them to impede on Elrond's wishes. 

            When he reached the palace, he dismounted from his weary horse, handing him to a stable boy to care for. 

            "Please, I treasure this horse, and I fear I may already lose something dear to my heart, so care for him well."  The stable boy nodded understandingly. 

            "I will, Lord," he said before leading the horse away.  Now, Thranduil's path to Elrond was clear, and he strode up to the palace, intent on finding the elf Lord's room. 

            It was there, just as the maid said it would be.  Thranduil might have found another to give him directions, but she was the only person moving in the halls.  Nothing stirred, as if a great cloud of mourning hung over the entire palace.  Now that Thranduil thought about it, the City was also silent, many people dressed in black, many weeping on the sides of the streets, and calling up to the heavens.  He was in such a rush he did not hear what they had to say.  Now, as he knocked on the door, he winced, for it was the only sound in a silent corridor beside the swish of the maid's dress on the floor. 

            Elrond opened it a crack to peer out before throwing it wide and embracing Thranduil, though he did not return it.  Elrond let go and beckoned him inside.  Thranduil noted, with concern, that his face was quite pale. 

            "Elrond, my son, Legolas, where is my son?  Tell me everything you left out of your letter!  I demand to..."  Elrond silenced him, and when Thranduil fell quite, he pulled out a chair at a table for him to sit at.  Thranduil sat gratefully and put his hands on the table, leaning in towards the weary elf.  Elrond closed his eyes, sighing deeply, and Thranduil prepared for the news, begged for it.  His eyes pleaded for Elrond to speak, and when he opened his eyes, Thranduil almost cried at him to start. 

            "Thranduil," Elrond began, and he plunged into retelling all of the events that he could of the previous times. 

            When he finished, Thranduil sat in stunned silence, choking on the great lump in his throat.  So much happened to his dear Legolas, yet he was not there by his son's side to comfort him, not there to help him when of all times he had lived he needed it most. 

            "By the Valar," he whispered.  Elrond put a hand on Thranduil's shoulder to comfort him, squeezing it a little, as the elf pounded the table.  "Why my son?" he cried.  "Why was it my son who had to go through this?  You say you suspect he moves to the Grey Havens now, correct?"  Elrond remained silent though, barely controlling his own shaking.  Thranduil understood with horror. 

            "Tell me, what did your scouts find that you sent away?  Did they scour every part of this land, even the forest of Ithilien?  What news did they bring?  Tell me, damn it, what did they find?  Was there an elf?  Did they find Haldir?  Did they find Aragorn?  Was my son with him?  Did.they.find.my.son?"

            Only the painful silence came from Elrond's tear-stained lips. 

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            Mlina fell to the ground, panting, tears streaking her face from the burning in her legs.  She massaged the muscles, biting her lip to focus the pain elsewhere.  She had to stand though and get to the King, even if she died in the process.  Haldir was probably already to them, and she had to stop him from...She had to stop him. 

            Leaning against a tree, Mlina rose, tottered a little, and then fell back down with a cry of pain.  She sobbed hysterically now, her eyes glowing with determination, sadness, and pain all at the same time.  She shook her hair out of her eyes and wrapped her arms around the tree trunk, this time clinging to it until the world stopped spinning.  Then, she took a hesitant step forward, then another, and soon, she found she could walk, in fact, if she steeled her mind against the intrusions of the searing that traveled up her leg with each step.  She gritted her teeth and hobbled forward.  She felt that something was going direly wrong, and she was close enough to stop it, but if she rested much longer...

            "I am coming, my lord," she called with the strength she had left, leaning on a tree to catch her breath.  "I am coming to protect you from Haldir.  I will make it to you in time, and Haldir will not do his evil deeds.  He will not harm you, my lord, my King.  He will do you no harm."  She drilled those words into her mind, making a rhythm for them.  "I will save my King.  I will save my King."  She stepped to that beat, shuffling forwards faster and faster.  The pain in her legs she forgot as her mind focused on those words, engrossed in what was in front of her, not herself. 

           Suddenly, there was a displacement of air, somewhere far ahead, and Mlina heard, in the deep silence of night, the swoosh of an arrow.  She cried out and forced her legs to run, all too fearful of what this could mean.  She tripped, but she got back up, not caring about the bruises that now covered her, the prospect that ahead would also be Haldir, the vile Haldir, who did to her so much evil.  She did not even feel the pounding fear, the need to curl up in a ball and hide from everyone who touched her delicate skin.  All she knew was that the King was there, and whatever the outcome, she needed to stop it. 

            She stumbled once more, this time into the clearing, and fell on the grass, her chest heaving in air.  Her legs did not respond when she tried to scramble up, so she lifted her head and peered through her brown tangles to the scene in front of her. 

            Shock ran through her veins as she saw the King's eyes glaze over, though his body the other elf still supported.  The arrow pierced him directly in the heart.  Slowly, as if all time stopped, the body slumped to the ground, his face hidden in the grass.  Beside him, the elf sat paralyzed, his arms frozen in the mold of his lover. 

            Rage overtook Legolas in that last moment as he stood, a knife in his hand, and with a great cry that shook the very heart of the wood itself, he rushed forward, intent on killing the evil that waited in the shelter of the wood.  He threw his knife into the body, bringing it out, and then stabbing again.  Blood splattered across his hands and face, on his tunic, blending with his tears and running down his cheeks.  He felt hands try to seize him, but he held those at bay, cutting through one wrist and splattering even more blood over both of them. 

            Panting and weeping, Legolas fell with the body to the ground, pounding the blood with his fist.  Haldir, though, did not feel as Legolas beat him, for his spirit already faded into the lands far away, in the realm of Mandos.  Legolas could not contain himself, and he frantically beat, screaming, cursing, crying, all the while intent only on revenge of his lover's death. 

            Suddenly, he stopped, looking down at the face caught in a moonbeam, and he saw Haldir's face, frozen in fear, twisted by pain, longing for the end.  Legolas gulped, and great grief overcame him as he took his long time friend and cradled him, despite the blood.  He rocked back and forth, whispering maniac words to himself, to the trees, and to the dark.  He did not care if the blood covered all of him now, as he laid the body to rest.  Instead, great urge overcame him, and he walked back to the clearing, his pain escalating tenfold when he saw the lifeless body of the King. 

            "Aragorn," he whispered as he kissed the cold lips, pleading.  "Aragorn, come back to me.  You are not dead.  There is not way you can be dead."  Shock and denial engulfed him, and he held Aragorn, as if the man was alive.  "Aragorn, you see, over there, what have I done?  I killed Haldir, that's what I did!  I brutally killed him, killed another elf.  I am a murderer, just like you said!"  He sobbed onto Aragorn's shoulder, but with his weight, the lifeless form fell to the ground.  Legolas lay down beside it.  "Aragorn, what happened to us?  What happened to me?  Aragorn, do not die on me now!"  His eyes glazed over, and his tears ceased to fall as he reached the desperate stage of elvin grief.  His spirit slipped from his body, ready to depart in peace to the halls far away, but something held it back, bonding words, a grasping of hands, holding them to each other's chest, vows taken that he could not break. 

            "I vowed," he whispered as he picked up the dagger.  "I vowed, my love Aragorn, and I am an elf of my word."  With one hand, he clung to Aragorn, and with the other, he held the knife to his heart.  He fell upon the blade, splattering his blood on the floor of the clearing, and came to rest in the embrace of his love. 

***

            That was how the scouts found them, lying together in the clearing.  They too found Mlina, overcome by exhaustion and grief, out cold on the ground near them.  The body of Haldir they discovered, with the trail of blood leading from it, and all four they returned to the City.  Women wept as they passed, and men bowed their heads.  Children ran to see the procession, some crying and clinging to their mothers, others sobbing alone.  Still, the precession marched on, through the City, until they reached the Palace.  The guards stepped aside, seeing the great stretcher upon which the king was laid, made of branches, constructed the evening they found him.  They knelt, not daring to disrespect their great King on his deathbed. 

            Elrond watched the procession from his room, tears streaming down his face.  News came last evening by another scout to tell of the horrors that returned to the City.  That spread quickly, and when the King came back, a room had been prepared for him before they took him to the resting halls of his ancestors. 

            Beside him stood Thranduil, crying out to his son, his heart breaking as he saw the lifeless and bloody face of Legolas.  He turned away and ran inside, unable to watch any long, and Elrond followed soon after. 

            They brought Haldir to his room of resting, a small, simple place where they would keep his body until the time they would burn it.  He deserved little treatment or fair accommodations. 

            Legolas they brought to rest though in an adjoining chamber with Aragorn's, a cloth drape separating them.  His room they had decorated with elegant mourning flowers of the elves, and dark cloths hung around the room.  There were also branches, bent to form garlands, crowning the top of the walls.  Leaves covered the floor, and in the center was a bed, white and pure.  Legolas they laid to rest on that. 

            Aragorn they laid to rest on a great bed also.  In his hands, they put Andúril, the blade that was broken, re-forged anew by the elves of Imladris.  They put his crown upon his head so that he could reside as a King, and the room around him they decorated with black drapes, the emblem of the tower guard upon them. 

            And so, many things came to pass, and many things faded from the world, purity that should not have been lost, love broken, bloodlines disappearing forever.  The last of the Kings was gone, fading away into the night without a sound. 

            Maybe it happened that in fact, this was what Galadriel, the great prophesier, meant, when she intoned her words that fateful night.  Maybe, in fact, she warned of this downfall, the loss of these great powers.  Much did come to pass in that time, none for good, and tragedy befell the White City.  But also, maybe, the sun would someday rise again on the White Tower, and men would have their dawn again, to grow and thrive as they once did, in the glory of Númenor.

            Though nevermore would the sun rise upon the faces of the King Aragorn and his beloved, the fair Legolas.  

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Can I face the dark now? 

Without you by my side

Was the pain for the better?

For, in my heart, I knew you were there

It was that little voice in my mind

That spoke to me in the dark

Your voice, comforting words

Soothing out my pain

I would die a million times over

If I could somehow then live

And live in peace with you

Away from all this pain

Even as blackness consumes me

The freedom I've begged for so long

I clasp your body closely

I will never let go

Though all I went through

I can never forget

You were willing to love me

You always were

And I was willing to start over

I could let go of my heart

Tear it out for you

Lay it bleeding on the ground by your feet

How much I would give for you

I am ready to forgive

I may never forget

But I will always love

~*~*~*~*~The End~*~*~*~*~

            *runs and hides* Please don't kill me!

            I am sorry about the ending, but it had to go this way!  I just have a problem with stories that end all happy, and after everything that happened, it COULDN'T end that way.       

            Thanks to all the people that reviewed and read this story!  I am so happy I finished it!  ^_^ Even if it was kinda sad and depressing....correction, VERY SAD AND DEPRESSING! 

            Anyway, thanks for reading! 

            Please review!  If you do, I might actually write a HAPPY slash story (never done that before).