The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Hamio – sit
Mae govannen – well met
Meldir – friend (male)
Meldis – friend (female)
Mellon – friend
Thranduilion – Thranduil’s son


Chapter 58


My conveion ion with my father did not immediately heal me of my bitterness. Nor did it make me accept that I had some responsibility in what had gone wrong between Aragorn and myself. It took time and distance to gain that perspective, but eventually, I was able to let go of those feelings and remember instead the months of bliss that had been our courtship.

Thirty years passed in relative tranquility when my father decided he needed me to travel to Lórien. He would never admit to me if he had known that Arwen was there, just as he never admitted that he had healed the rift between himself and Elrond, but I suspect that he knew. I knew, though, as I left home, that there was every possibility she would be there. Elrond had not relented concerning Aragorn, and Arwen was stubborn enough to return to Lórien as a way to express her displeasure. I saw it as the chance to test my newfound tranquility. Or at least, my newfound control. I just had no idea how much of a test it would be.

The Wardens of Lórien greeted me at the border, as they always did, arrows drawn until they had identified me. Then, they welcomed me and led me to Caras Galadhon where I would await my audience with Galadriel. Arwen arrived while I was waiting.

“Legolas, mellon,” she called, coming across the clearing to stand beside me. She looked as if she wanted to hug me but was unsure of her reception. I wondered at that as I replied.

“Mae govannen, meldis,” I replied, drawing her into a friendly embrace.

“I am glad to see you,” she told me quietly. “It has been a long time.”

“Long indeed,” I answered. “Are you well?”

“Very well,” she said with a smile. Before she could say more, a servant was calling my name. “My grandmother wants to speak with you now, but come to my talan when you are done. I have much to tell you.”

I agreed and followed the servant up the stairs to the flet where Galadriel received visitors. I had stood there once before, and would later stand there once again. It remained unnerving, watching her float down to greet me.

When my business with her was concluded, I made my way to Arwen’s talan, curious to see what news she had to impart. As always, her talan was disorderly. She presented the perfect picture of serenity to the rest of the world, but her own little corner of it was perfect chaos.

“What is this news that you have for me?” I asked her when I entered.

“Hamio,” she instructed, “be at home and tell me how you have been.”

I did not reply at first. I did not think Arwen would want to hear of my struggle to put my life back together after she and Aragorn had unintentionally tu it it upside down. “Life in Mirkwood goes on as it always has,” I told her, “fighting the spiders and the Orcs, hoping to keep the Shadow from advancing any farther into our home.”

It was not a real answer, but it was the only one I could give. “And King Thranduil? Is he still as haughty as ever?”

I laughed at that. “You never saw him haughty, meldis. He liked you too much to be haughty to you. But he is fine as well, though I know the fighting wears on him. Now, what is this news that you have for me?”

“I… That is…” she trailed off, unable to finish. Finally, she simply held out her hand. There, on her finger was a silver ring, a ring that I recognized when I looked at it closely.

“That is the ring of Barahir,” I said softly.

“Aye,” she replied. “It is Aragorn’s ring. He gave it to me last summer.”

“You have seen him, then,” I commented, not ready to deal with the reality to that ring on her finger.

“I have. He tarried here for a time last year. He was weary from war and the ways of the world.”

“War?” I asked, surprised. Arwen explained to me how Aragorn had joined the armies of Rohan and Gondor, how he had fought for the kings of both nations and had been accepted as a powerful warrior.

“You would hardly recognize him if you saw him again, Legolas, for he is much changed. Where before he was a young man, barely out of his youth, now he is grown to full stature of body and mind. I almost mistook him for an Elf-lord when I saw him again.”

Her words cut, though she meant me no harm. I had had my chance with Aragorn and I had foolishly waited to speak. I had no claim on him anymore. “You have bound yourself to him, then,” I said, trying to keep the pain out of my voice.

“Not in anyone’s eyes but our own,” she admitted. “Ada will not budge. The King of Arnor and Gondor or not at all, he says, but I do not care. I love him, Legolas. He is the one for me. I know it in my heart.”

“And what does Aragorn say about your father’s insistence?” I probed.

“That the time is not right. That he does not want that power. He fights with himself, fearing his heritage, afraid of losing himself to the Shadow. Yet he is an able warrior. I would fight beside him if I could, but my father forbids it. I can stay tucked away safely here or I can return to Imladris, but I cannot fight beside the one who holds my heart. It is not fair,” she exclaimed.

“Ala. It is not fair, but it is perhaps wise. It is easy enough to be distracted in battle when you have only yourself to look out for. If you are trying to protect one you love as well, it can have dangerous consequences. Aragorn knows that,” I cautioned her.

“He learned it trying to look out for you,” she said with a smile. I gaped at her, not knowing what to say. “He still bears the scar in his side from where he focused too much on you and not enough on himself.”

I really did not know what to say then. “I never scolded him for that the way he deserved,” I said finally.

She laughed at that. “Never fear. Though it is nothing but a fine white line now against his skin, I scolded him enough for both of us.”

They had been intimate. That was the first thought that crossed my mind. If she knew what that scar looked like, they had been at least intimate enough for him to remove his tunic. Otherwise, how could she know? And if they had been that intimate, it was entirely possible that they had shared everything that could be shared between lovers. I could not stop the spike of jealousy that I felt at the thought. If I had been having this conversation with anyone but Arwen, I would have sworn she was gloating, reminding me that she now had what I had foolishly failed to claim. But Arwen had never been that way. She might have known that Aragorn and I were lovers, but she did not know of my feelings. And how could she? I had never told Aragorn, the one person who needed to know. No, like a fool, I had told the twins, I had told my father, but not Aragorn. Some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face. “Legolas?” she asked hesitantly.

“What did he tell you of that time?” I asked in reply.

She regarded me carefully before answering. “That you were lovers for a time, before he met me. That you taught him the ways of desire. Much as you taught me,” she commented. “Why do you ask?”

Why did I ask? What could she possibly have said that would ease my heart? If he had told her that he had loved me, it would mean that my foolishness was greater even than I had already realized. And if he had told her that it had meant nothing, that would have destroyed me just as completely. She had said neither of those things, but her answer did not assuage the pain I was feeling.

“We never spoke of what those days meant,” I answered noncommittally. “That was more my fault than his. I cannot help but wonder how he viewed our time together.”

“He speaks of you as a friend, meldir, when your name comes up in conversation. He told me once that you had kept him from losing faith in Men. For that alone, I am grateful, else how could he even consider taking the throne that is his birthright,” she told me gently.

It was beginning to seem that everything that had passed between Aragorn and myself had been a preparation for his life with Arwen. It made me angry, but the anger was not at them. It was directed at the Valar, who played with lives to suit their purposes. Leave me out of the rest of your plans, I thought angrily, though, of course, they did not listen.

“It seemed the right thing to do at the time,” I answered Arwen lamely. We talked a fea few more minutes, but it was quickly obvious that I wanted to be elsewhere. She sent me to my rest, admonishing me to seek her out when I had time to spare from my duties. I promised that I would, unable as always to deny her anything she asked.

I drew strength from the mallorn trees that night, something I had not had to do in years, having reached an equilibrium that rarely required my attention in those days. The conversation with Arwen had stirred up all the memories of Aragorn and love lost through my own cowardice and pride. The balance was restored by morning and I was able to face my appointed task and the time with Arwen with an aplomb I had never imagined possible, but the whole experience brought home to me that I still loved them both. I honestly wished them happiness together, since I knew neither would now find it with me, but I regretted what I had lost. I would have to deal with that before I could do what my father said would need to be done.

I was leaving Lórien a week later when I heard the Lady’s voice in my head. “Do not despair, Thranduilion. You know what you will need to fulfill the tasks appointed to you. You must believe in yourself once more.” Her words were more of a mystery than a comfort, but I trusted that they were true. The Lady rarely spoke of what she saw for the future. So much was unclear or uncertain. If she spoke to me of my future, it was because she was certain of that much.