Work Text:
How long have you resided here in the undying lands? A thousand years? Two thousand? Perhaps even longer than that. Time does not matter here. You are surrounded by friends and family, yet you feel so alone. You have seven generations of ancestors to spend times with, your siblings and their children, as well as numerous friends, but your heart still aches.
“Perhaps they will come soon.”
You doubt it. “I appreciate the words of comfort, Mellon, but I am not as lucky as you.”
Your friend smiles at you from beside your position on the balcony. She had felt the pull a week or so ago, and knew that someone was making the crossing. She was certain it was her husband. “Perhaps they will bring news, then. Our husbands were always quite close.”
“Perhaps.” You force a smile but your heart aches. If Lord Elrond cannot tell you of the fate of your husband or son, then surely your heart will break.
Celebrían waits patiently at your side until a boat appears on the horizon, then she excuses herself and hurries down to the harbour.
You watch as she greats her husband, clinging to him as though he is the only things keeping her alive. Lord Elrond looks up and nods to you, before returning his attention to his wife. After Elrond come Galadriel and Celeborn, who greet their daughter.
Lord Elrond and Celebrían retreat for a few days, which is expected. After a week or so you’re reintroduced to the Lord of the Last Homely House.
“It is good to see you again.” Elrond smiles, extending a hand in greeting.
“Likewise.” You smile. “It is nice to see a smile on Celebrían’s face.” You lead the other two elves over to a table within the private library that you’ve built over your time here.
“I see the same smile is missing from your face.”
You wave a hand. “It will come in time.” You offer your friends a drink, amazed that they’re able to handle the cups so easily whilst still holding hands.
“You have been greatly missed.” Elrond tells you once the cup is back on the table.
You take a breath and meet his gaze. “I image,” you say quietly, “that he has been rather insufferable.”
Elrond nods sadly, before recounting all the years that you’ve missed.
Your heart grows light as you’re told how Thranduil has raised your song into a strong, beautiful elf with impeccable archery skills and a sharp mind. Your heart grows heavy when you learn that Thranduil has mourned from you since the day has died, and the grief has only become more controllable as Legolas has grown. But there are stories that make you smile too, that make your heart swell with pride and your cheeks colour in embarrassment.
Perhaps the most interesting story, the one that brings out all your motherly pride, as well as a good dose of horror, is the story of your son’s recent adventure.
“I do not know which I am most concerned about.” You admit when Elrond has finished his story-telling. “The fact that my son decided to join such a small party to destroy the One Ring, the fact that my husband allowed it, or that my son appears to have given himself to a dwarf.”
With your son having apparently pledged himself to a dwarf, you realise that Thranduil may be a long time coming. He will rule his kingdom until the fall of the elves, which may never come. You also realise, with a heavy heart, that your son’s soul may now lay with the dwarves.
Life carries on in the undying lands. More and more elves arrive, among them Celebrían’s sons, who bring the last information of her daughter and grandson that she may ever have. They also bring information on your husband and son, telling you how they’re slowly changing Middle Earth for the better.
It is many, many years later when you wake to a strange feeling in your heart. It’s beating hard and heavy against your chest, and a single word is repeating over and over in the back of your mind.
Legolas, Legolas, Legolas, Legolas.
Celebrían is busy with her family and your parents are with family, so you turn to the only person who might be able to explain the feeling; Oropher.
The father of your husband is in his study and is more than happy to help you with your problem. “It sounds as though your son has decided to sail.” He says with a warm smile.
“He has pledged himself to the dwarf!” you object. “How can he sail here?”
Oropher shrugs. “Perhaps the dwarf comes with him.”
You would laugh at the suggestion, but you know love makes people do foolish things.
You write to your parents and to Celebrían before leaving for the harbour. Oropher accompanies you, eager to finally see his grandson.
It takes four days to reach the harbour, by which time you are certain that Legolas is sailing. The only problem is that you cannot see a ship on the horizon. It’s most confusing. “I don’t understand.” You frown in frustration. “He is coming. I feel it. But where is the boat?”
“Could that be it?” Oropher points towards the horizon, where a small dot is visible.
“That’s too small to be one of the boats!” you object.
However you appear to be wrong. As the object grows nearer you see that it is indeed a boat. A boat with a blond occupant. If it weren’t for Oropher’s restraining hand on your shoulder you would have thrown yourself into the water and swum to the boat.
The years you have been here seem to pale in comparison to the ten minutes it takes for your son to dock the boat. The minutes seem to stretch on for an age, and Legolas seems in no hurry to disembark.
The dwarf comes first. He’s short, stocky and has a ridiculously large amount of hair. It was once red but is streaked through by silver. There’s also a copious amount of gold, silver and other precious gems woven into it. His gaze finds you quickly and a single bushy eyebrow raises.
“Found your mother.” He says gruffly.
Finally, finally, Legolas disembarks the boat.
He looks so much like Thranduil that you briefly forget that it’s not your husband stood before you. A protective hand comes to rest on the shoulder of the dwarf, the other tentatively lifting to his chest then extending in front of him.
“Henig.” You smile, blinking away the tears of joy. “Ionneg.” Oropher’s hand slips from your shoulder and you take a tentative step forwards. “You look so much like your father. I always knew you’d look like him. From the moment you were born, I knew. I’ve heard you’re not quite as smart though.”
“Most would disagree with you on that.” The corners of Legolas’ mouth twitch slightly.
“Yes, so I’ve been told. But joining a party of four hobbits, a ranger, a human and a dwarf on a journey to destroy the Dark Lord Sauron isn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever heard.”
A smile breaks out across Legolas’ face and he has the decency to look a little guilty. “Ah, so you know about that?”
“Did you think Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel wouldn’t tell me about your life?” you laugh at your son, shaking your head. “You grow more like your father with each passing second.” You pause and turn your attention to the dwarf. “Though I daresay your father would never marry a dwarf.”
“This is Gimli, son of Gloin.” Legolas informs you, pride and love swelling in his voice. “He saved my life on many an occasion and I have had the privilege to call him both friend and lover.”
“At your service.” Gimli grunts from somewhere under an impressive beard. He bows, but doesn’t move away from Legolas’ side.
“You look well, amal. Not a day different to how I remember you.” He smiles softly. “Truly, I have missed you.”
“And I have missed you, Ionneg.”
Legolas continues to smile at you for a moment longer before he breaches the distance between the two of you and sweeps you into a hug.
It feels strange to hug someone again. The last time you hugged a person was shortly after arriving here. The last time you had embraced Legolas he could barely stand.
“You have been greatly missed, amal.” Legolas smiled as he steps away.
“As have you, Henig. But come, there are more people for you to meet.”
You take your son’s hand and lead him and the dwarf from the dock. It takes a few days to introduce Legolas to your family and to Oropher and his wife, and even longer still to convince them that Gimli was a welcomed guest amongst you. The days following were spent with Legolas recounting the days of his youth, telling you things that Thranduil did not even know. Gimli chipped in with the more recent events, and was later encouraged to tell his own stories.
Life carried on in the Undying Lands, as it always had and as it always would. The elves became accustomed to Gimli’s presence, and Gimli grew accustomed to the idea of living forever alongside the elves.
Years stretched by until you had been with your son for nearly a thousand years. Those who had family in the Greenwood began to give up hope of them sailing. If Thranduil could keep them safe in Middle Earth, then there was no reason for them to sail.
But, nearly a thousand years to the day of Legolas’ arrival, you found yourself pressed against hundreds of other elves on the docks.
Seven large ships loomed on the horizon, white sails billowing in the wind and bows breaking the waves.
The reign of the elves was truly over now, and the approaching ships carried the last remaining elves to the arms of their families.
Nobody knew which boat their family would be on until the ships docked. Each boat was identical to the next, bearing no indication as to which one carried the lords and which one carried the common folk.
The crowds swelled greatly as the boats docked and the passengers began to disembark. There was scarcely room to move on the walkways as families were reunited with each other.
Elves pushed along the outside to the boats, whilst reunited elves pushed down through the middle and towards the shore.
Slowly, ship by ship, the crowd began to dwindle, until there were only a hundred or so lonely elves.
Thranduil must have disembarked in the confusion, as all of the boats are now completely emptied. You scan the crowds for him, desperately seeking out the fair hair and the face you haven’t seen in so long.
“Looking for me?” a voice, soft and melodic, floats over your shoulder.
You twist and he is there. Right in front of you.
The face you have not seen in so long smiles, the eyes lighting up with a love and a happiness that reminds you of long ago.
“I have longed to see you again, Melamin.” Thranduil smiles. “It has been far too long.”
A smile splits across your face and you throw yourself at Thranduil, colliding painfully with his chest. You ignore the small stabs of pain and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your hands in his hair.
Your husband’s shoulders shake with laughter as he holds you close.”I am so sorry.” Thranduil murmurs into your hair. “If I had only argued.”
“Then it would be you who has been waiting so long. No, I am glad that it was you who raised our son.”
Thranduil mutters something about dwarves and the nature of their after dark activities, but you laugh and pull Thranduil in for the first kiss you’ve shared in nearly four thousand years.