The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Cuaren – my archer
Daro – stop
Dartho – wait
Mae govannen – well met
Díhena nin – I’m sorry
Ion nín – my son
Mellon – friend
Ala – no
Pen-neth – young one
Ae syntrea chen – please

Chapter 55


‘Daro!’ my father’s voice cracked in my mind, cutting through my pain, staying my hand.

‘Ada?’ my mind called back feebly. My father had occasionally reached out to farspeak me before that night, but always because he needed me to come home or because he wanted to give me information of some kind. Never before had he farspoken me because of my need, and I had never been able to initiate contact, only respond to him.

‘I know you think it is hopeless, ion nín, but do not give up. There is always hope, though it may not come in the form that you imagined.’ As he spoke, I could feel his love and care washing over me, soothing the rough edges of my shattered heart.

‘I am so tired, Ada. I had learned to live alone most of the time, knowing that I would lose her some day. I had accepted that, Ada. And then I met…’ Even in my thoughts, I could not form the words, could not say his name, but my father understood.

‘You hoped again, and having those hopes dashed is terrible. I know, pen-neth. I know what it is to lose the one you love, and I also know that it is possible to go on. You must trust me.’

‘How?’ I cried.

‘Come home, Legolas, and let me take care of you.’ Ided,ded, though he could not see me, but he felt my assent through the bond he had created with my mind. His love flowed back to me across the link that he maintained, even in his silence. It strengthened my flagging reserves. I let the knife fall from my hand, wrapped in the cocoon of my father’s love. I did not slip into reverie, but the roiling emotions that had ruled me all afternoon subsided, calmed by my father’s control, allowing me at least to rest.

I spent the night cradled by his care, his thoughts a buffer to mine each time I began a new descent into depression. Every time the temptation to reach for my knife came again, I felt a surge of love, of support, and I was able to resist it. I survived the night because of him.

When Arien rose, I felt the link ease, as if the light would protect me just like he had done. I bathed and dressed, making my preparations to leave. Then, I went to the kitchen to ask for breakfast and supplies for my trip home. I was leaving the kitchen when I came face to face with Aragorn. Of all the people I did not want to see that morning, Aragorn topped the list.

“Mae govannen, Legolas,” he said hesitantly.

“Mae govannen,” I replied, though I would have preferred not seeing him.

“I came to your room last night, but you were not there,” he told me.

“I was there. I did not want company. I am going home, Aragorn. I wish you well,” I answered.

“Dartho, cua… mellon,” he stuttered. “I need to tell you…”

“Ala,” I said. “You do not need to tell me anything. I saw Arwen yesterday after dinner. She told me all I needed to hear. You want her; you do not want me. That is your choice. There is nothing left for me here, so, at the risk of repeating myself, I am going home.”

“Díhena nin, Legolas. I never meant…”

I was suddenly tired of this conversation, of the farce that we were playing out in the halls of Imladris, where any could come and overhear. “It does not matter, Aragorn. She can give you what I would never be able to. Just let me go. Ae syntrea chen?” The despair of the previous night welled back up inside me. I had to get away from him before I embarrassed myself. Then, just as it had the night before, I felt the bond my father had created hum with his thoughts, steadying me, helping me react reasonably toward Aragorn. And so I dared to say to him what I had not said to Arwen.

“Have you thought carefully about what you are doing?” I asked Aragorn, wanting to spare Arwen any heartbreak, even if, at that moment, I would have joyfully ground Aragorn’s heart beneath my heel.

“You are going to tell me that she is an Elf, that I am too young for her, that I set my sights too high. Elrond has told me all these things already. In my mind, I agree, but they do not touch my heart,” he told me honestly.

Before I could frame a reply through the renewed pain that coursed through me at his words, I heard a shriek from the courtyard. It was Arwen’s voice. Setting aside my own feelings, I ran toward the courtyard, ready to defend my love from whatever was upsetting her, even if that was no longer my right. I was vaguely aware of Aragorn following in my wake

“What is it?” I asked, reaching her before Aragorn did.

“My father,” she said through clenched teeth. “He meddles in my life, trying to deny me the one I have chosen.”

“You said you could bring him around,” Aragorn interrupted, his voice concerned.

“He says you are too young, too far below me in the world. As if that mattered to me!”

I blocked out the rest of the conversation, though they stood right in front of me. I could not bear to listen, choosing instead to drift in my thoughts to Mirkwood and the peace I hoped to find there. I came back to the present when Aragorn stormed off.

“I will have him,” Arwen muttered, turning to me, “with or without my father’s blessing.”

Her dismay was obvious, and it was more than I could stand. For a moment, I set aside my own feelings and focused on hers. I did not know what I could do, but I would at least try to speak to Elrond. For her sake. I excused myself to her, telling her that I would probably be leaving for home that day and asking her to give my regards to her brothers. She embraced me gently and placed a sisterly kiss on my cheek. “Be safe, mellon” she told me, “and come visit me soon.”

“Will you stay in Rivendell or return to Lorien?” I asked, wanting to know so I could see her or avoid her depending on my state of mind.

“That depends on my father,” she replied and left me. I made my way to Elrond’s study, enraged at the whole situation. I could not blame him for my feelings, at least not the ones for Aragorn, but I did hold him responsible for upsetting Arwen.

I tapped at his door and waited for him to bid me enter. He seemed surprised to see me. “Legolas, what brings you to my door so early in the morning?” he asked.

“I am leaving soon,” I told him, “but I have something to ask you before I go.”

“Ask, then,” he replied, gesturing for me to take a seat.

“Since the week before Arwen’s Cuivië, you have told me that her choice of whom to love would determine the fate of Arda. You refused me my heart’s desire so that she would be free to choose when the time came. Why, now that she has found someone to love, are you stopping her? If this is the fate you have foreseen for her, why keep them separate?” I asked.

“I will give my daughter to no less than the King of Arnor and Gondor.” I heard traces of the High King’s herald in that voice. Here was the Elflord of great power who rarely showed himself in the usually placid façade of the Lord of Imladris. I had hoped, foolishly perhaps, to smooth Arwen’s path with her father, but I was beginning to realize that this was one mission doomed to fail. Still, I had to try.

“And if he has no desire to take the throne?” I countered.

“He will do for her what he would not do for himself,” Elrond replied calmly.

“You would use their hearts this way?” I asked incredulously.

“I will use whomever, whatever I must to defeat the Shadow. Even my daughter.” I heard both determination and resignation in his tone.

I did not know how to reply to that statement. Finally, I asked, “And if they will not be used?”

“Then we will all perish under Sauron’s hand,” Elrond replied with terrible finality. “Return home, Legolas. You are weary, and I know your father worries about you.” It was a dismissal that I could not refuse. I gathered my pack and my horse and rode for home.