The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Cuivië – awakening
Gwathel – sister
Hannon chen – thank you
Díhena nin – I’m sorry
Meldir - friend
Meldis – friend
Melethron – lover
Mellon – friend
Mir nín – my treasure
Te – yes

Chapter 54


I ghosted through the halls of Imladris, not wanting anyone to see my tear-stained face or the distressed look I was sure I wore. I made it to my room without anyone seeing me, much to my relief. I could not have handled being the object of pity on top of everything else that had happened to me that day. I washed my face and tried to compose myself, hoping to be able to face my friends at dinner. Every time I thought I had regained control, one memory or another would slip into my mind, pulling me back into despair, bringing tears back to my eyes. First, it was the day I returned to Imladris before Arwen’s Cuivië. Then, I saw her face when I surprised her with the kitten. After that, I remembered her duel with my father in Mirkwood and how proud of her I had been that day. Next, it was Aragorn, fighting Orcs the first time I saw him, controlled and deadly, even outnumbered. Finally, the memory of Aragorn’s face when we were making love crept in, not just undermining, but destroying my control. I had had years to accustom myself to losing Arwen to another lover, and almost a year with Aragorn to ready myself to move on from her, but the loss of Aragorn was immediate, only hours old. I had no space of time to help distance myself from the pain. I wanted to act as if nothing had changed, to pretend that my heart was not breaking within me, but I could not. The first sight of either of them, but especially of Aragorn, would crack any façade I could invent.

I remained in my room through dinner, asking a servant to excuse me to Elrond and to bring me a tray. I forced myself to eat when she returned with my meal, but I tasted none of it. I set the practically untouched dishes back in the hall and locked the door. I did not want anyone who might come looking for me to walk in on me without my permission. At least if I let someone in, I could try to restore my composure first.

As I expected, a gentle knock sounded on my door an hour after dinner.

“Who is it?” I asked, hoping against hope that it was one of the twins. They would see through my façade as easily as Arwen and more easily than Aragorn, but my feelings did not involve them. I could confide in them if it came to that.

“Legolas?” Arwen’s voice came through the door. “Mellon? Will you let me in?” Mellon. She had called me mellon. That meant she was no longer my lover. She had found her love. Just as I had lost mine.

“Just a minute,” I replied. I washed my face one more time, erasing the traces of the tears that had continued to fall as I dwelled on my memories. I forced my mask into place, hiding the turmoil in my soul before opening the door to admit my love.

“You did not come to dinner, mellon. Nor did you meet me at the waterfall. Are you all right?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.

“I am fine, mellon,” I lied, “but you obviously have news for me. Tell me about him.”

She blushed, lowering her head to hide it. “You will not like my news,” she told me softly.

“Because you have finally met someone to love?” I asked. “We knew this day would come, mir nín. I would hear of your love.” It was torture, but I had to make sure.

“Am I still your treasure, Legolas? I feel as if I have betrayed you.”

“Arwen, meldis, we made no promises. We have both always known that our relationship was temporary. I was your Cuivië lover. That defined what we could be to each other. You have not betrayed me.” I realized as I spoke that it was true. I did not feel that Arwen had betrayed me. She did not know what I felt for Aragorn. She had never talked of making promises to me, other than to be my lover until one of us was ready to move on. Any betrayal was on Aragorn’s part. “Who is he, Arwen, the Elf who has won your heart?” I was not trying to be cruel by reminding her that she loved a mortal. I was hoping desperately that she had fallen in love with someone other than Aragorn.

“He is not an Elf,” she whispered.

“What?” I asked. “Not an Elf? Who, then?”

“His name is Aragorn. He grew up here in Rivendell.” Though not unexpected, her words finished shringring my heart.

“I know him,” I forced myself to say. “I have traveled with him and your brothers this last year.”

“Then you must know him well,” she replied eagerly. “Tell me of him.”

I caught the sob that was welling within me before it escaped. “You would do better to ask your brothers,” I told her, trying to maintain my mask of indifference. “They know him much better than I.”

Her face fell. “They will interfere if I tell them.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

“Because he is not Elf-kind,” she responded. “They will say that I am setting myself up for heartache. They will ask what I will do when he dies.” Her voice caught as she spoke.

“They meddle because they care about you, mellon, and they would be right to ask that question.” I knew how vital a question it was, for I, too, had struggled with it, wondering how I would go on after Aragorn’s death.

“I do not know how I will cope with losing him, but we live in perilous times. Loving an Elf is no guarantee of ages of happiness,” she retorted.

“You are right, of course, but an Elf who dies will one day be reborn. When a mortal dies, his soul leaves this realm, never to return. When you lose him, it will be forever.” I felt cruel, saying what she heard many times from others before the end, but I also knew that she needed to consider these things.

“Loving him, even for a short time, would be worth it. Will you wish me happiness?”

“Te, gwathel. I wish you every happiness.”

She hugged me gratefully. “Hannon chen, gwador. You are the best friend I have ever had.”

I shrugged, feigning a yawn. “Díhena nin, Arwen,” I said. “I am tired and I want to leave for home tomorrow. I should sleep.”

“Sleep, then, meldir. And do not worry,” she added from the door. “You will meet someone to love, too.”

She left the room, sparing me the need to reply. The wail I had been holding in escaped finally. I knew she was not trying to wound me with her words, but they cut deep. I had found someone to love. Unfortunately, he did not love me the same way. I collapsed on the bed, exhausted from the emotional wringer I had experienced that day. I simply could not take any more so I ignored the next knock at my door, staying where I was when Aragorn’s voice drifted through the door. He knocked a second time. When I still did not answer, he left me alone, trapped in the destrve sve spiral of my thoughts.

That night was the longest and darkest I had ever known. As I tried to reconcile myself to what had happened and to envision a future for myself without either of my loves at my side, I sank deeper and deeper into the quagmire of depression. I had even picked up my hunting knife, running the edge back and forth across my exposed wrist. It would be easy, I thought, to turn the blade, just the smallest bit, to apply a little more pressure, then to lie back and let it happen. I could end my suffering and never have to face the long ages of the world alone. I knew what loneliness felt like. I had suffered from it since the day I met Arwen, free from its icy grip only when I was with her, and during the past months with Aragorn. I did not know how to face a loneliness that stretched out before me forever. My grip tightened on the hilt of my knife, ready to turn the blade, to apply the pressure, to cut the vein that would ease my pain forever.