Holly Golightly
sleepyjean@dublin.ie
Where the Blue of the Night
I apologise now for any mistakes. My uncle has my LotR book, and if I could wrench it from his hadns this story would be much more accurate. No plot nit-picking please, as I will fix it when I can secure the book.

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Why must I live in dreams

Of the days I used to know?

Somehow, it all seemed rather frivolous to Legolas now. He was staring out over the Great River, Anduin, and watching the ripples of water smooth themselves out after each stone he threw into the river sank. He sighed, and raised a hand to his eyes, squinting into the sun. It was waning; soon, it would be night, and he would pass out of Ithilien, in which he had set up his home, and he would pass out of Middle Earth forever. He would bid farewell to the Elves of his homeland, and he would lay his last touch on the silver-barked trees of Ithilien. He remembered when he first saw these trees, and when he told his companions, with a smile, that he would yet renounce the pine-trees of Mirkwood and lay his head to rest in Ithilien.

Why can’t I find real peace of mind,

And return to the long ago?

Oh, how he had longed for this day! Ever since he had burst from the Paths of the Dead with the Grey Company triumphant, and heard the cries of the gulls he had longed for the smooth waves, rolling onto the shore, calling him like a forbidden mistress with it’s siren call of no words but the sweet echoes resounding in his heart. As soon as Middle Earth had been put to rights he had blundered ahead like a fool, making haste to build the ship that would take him from Middle Earth, across the waves, and to Elvenhome. Now, he and Gimli would go together to Elvenhome, and though Gimli was a Dwarf, he was the one of the dearest things in the world to Legolas. They had long been friends, and no seas, however stormy, could separate them. Except…

Where the blue of the night,
Meets the gold of the day
Someone waits for me…

With a guilty jolt, Legolas remembered – well, it would be wrong to say he remembered, for this had been in his thoughts every second of every day for many years. Legolas realized what he was leaving behind; Èowyn. Suddenly it seemed as though he was being awfully stupid, and he hated it when he felt as though he would do better to throw himself into the river and resist all urges to swim. It had been years since he had laid eyes on the Lady Èowyn, and the last time he saw her, she was wedding Faramir, Lord of Gondor, but he could still see her as though she was standing before him. She had been clad in a mantle of silver-white, and her girdle, wrought of silver leaves, had been clasped about her slender waist. Her wimple, a silver-grey, covered her golden hair. How he longed to touch her hair, each single strand worth more than all the treasures he himself had collected in his long lifetime. She seemed a snowdrop to him; as white and fair as it’s petals, and barely upright, her slender head drooping towards the ground.

And the gold of her hair
Crowns the blue of her eyes
Like a halo, tenderly

He had watched her, when she was not Èowyn, but the Rider Dernhelm, and he had guessed that she was he. He had watched her swing her sword and fell the Witch-king, and through all this, he had gathered feelings for her. She was exquisite, a beautifully crafted piece of bone china, and hair more lovely than Lady Galadriel’s. Her eyes were beautiful, also, gems under her milk-white brow. When he saw her first, he deemed her icy, and had no second thoughts about the Lady until he had seen her receive the corslet and sword from Thèoden, and seen her blue-grey eyes well with tears as she accepted the faith of Rohan, and watched her quivering lips speak the pledge that had been forced upon her. It was at that very moment, that Legolas wanted to kiss her rose-pink lips and console her, and calm her fitful form. It was at that moment that he fell in love.

If only I could see her,

Oh how happy I would be!

But now, it was too late. He had left his love wed the Captain Faramir, and without a word he had passed from her blissful knowledge. Legolas was an Elf, the First-born; he would not age, and he could not die. Lady Èowyn was a mortal; the years, by now, would have stained her milky skin and stolen the gold from her hair. He thought that it would kill him to see Èowyn at anything less than the vision he had departed with.

"Legolas?" A gruff voice inquired at his side. Gimli.

"Hello, Gimli."

He snorted. "You’ve been staring at the river for an hour. The ship is getting ready to leave."

"Alright. Let us go." With a last skip of a stone over the water, he left.

*

Some people were waiting at the dock where the Grey Ship was tied. As Legolas came nearer, he saw that these people were not Elves, but some Mortal inhabitants of Ithilien. Legolas gazed up at the Ship, the final Grey Ship in Middle Earth. He had long outstayed his welcome in Middle Earth. It was now the winter of the Elves, as there were little of the Fair Folk still in this corner of Arda. He looked up at the pure white mast, and then at Gimli. He smiled.

"You first, dear friend." Gimli smiled and ascended the steps to the ship. Legolas was about to board the ship when he heard a familiar voice.

"Legolas Greenleaf?" He had heard that voice before.

Where the blue of the night
Meets the gold of the day
Someone waits for me…

Turning around slowly, Legolas hoped that it would not be she. Little by little, it became apparent that it was. Èowyn. The Lady of Rohan. To both his delight and sorrow, she had not aged. The years had not taken a toll on her, and it seemed almost uncanny. Her hair was as vibrant and as beautiful as ever, her skin as pale and her eyes as beautiful as he had ever seen.

"Èowyn?" he asked, as though he was uncertain, but he was utterly sure. She nodded, and beamed. He forgot, for a second, about the Grey Ship, and ran to her, embracing her tightly. He soon came to his senses, however, and released her. He glanced quickly around. Faramir was not here, which was quite lucky, as Legolas wasn’t sure that he could have taken that in the context in which it was not meant.

"How wonderful!" he breathed, and looked upon her. In her eyes there was an element of shock, which gave way to a look of passion.

"The last Grey Ship." She said, and her voice was noble and sorrowful. "The passing of the elves."

Legolas bowed his head.

"I feel that you are more than capable of managing Ithilien, my Lady."

She nodded, graciously.

"Farewell, then, dear Legolas." She said. "Your memory will echo in all corners of this land forevermore."

At that, he was overcome, and kissed her, upon her forehead.

"Namaarie."

He boarded the ship, then, and the anchor was raised. The ship took leave of the dock, and sailed from it’s port, down the Great River, and so over sea. No sight was ever deemed more sorrowful, for both a Fellowship had been extinguished in Middle Earth, and an unrequited love had been carried over a distance than could never be travelled again.

Where the blue of the night
Meets the gold of the day
Someone waits for me.