14: Remember How to Live

The next few weeks passed without incident in Fornost, with patrols going out every morning to scout the foothills around the village for any sign of orcs or other foul creatures. Day after day, the Rangers returned having nothing to report, and life for the Dúnedain took on an almost relaxed feel. The Peredhil twins decided that they were no longer required in the short term and announced that they would return to Rivendell. Strider accompanied them on horseback for business with Elrond, leaving Beringil in charge. In the third week of Strider's departure, when spring should have merged into summer, the skies went as grey as slate, and the winds blew down the mountains with an icy bite, reminiscent of winter and it began to rain without ceasing.

There was nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass and the heavy downpour to stop. Legolas however noticed Wren would frequently brave the outside elements to visit the cabin that he shared with Strider, as she had often done so prior to his absence. The fact that Strider was not there, did not seem to be a deterrent, and Legolas was glad of her company. There did not seem to be a suggestion of impropriety, but Legolas did not know if she was exempt from human customs.

Wren would sit with her legs curled under her on one of the chairs near the fire and beg him to tell her the old stories of elves and battles, as the wind howled around the cabin and the pouring rain battered the roof. He re-lived the Battle of the Five Armies, Wren's face despairing at the conflict of elves and dwarfs, delighting in the destruction of orcs and goblins. Although he was careful to omit extraneous details involving interactions with his father and a particular she-elf. They discussed the finer points of elven history, immortality and eternity. As they talked, Legolas searched her face, but all he saw were inquisitive eyes rather than any lingering pain from conversations past. She in turn educated him about the ancient bloodlines of men, and a significant piece of the mystery regarding Strider's identity and lineage fell into place for Legolas.

After two weeks, he began to worry that he had told her nearly all he knew of the old stories, and so was almost relieved when the rain looked like it was abating. Almost but not quite. The more time he spent with her, the more he started to feel the pain from the past being replaced by something new. Laughter was becoming more commonplace for him. Legolas began to realize that he did not want the storm to end.

However, it was not long before time spent sequestered indoors, began to wreak havoc on the health of the village. When the winter sickness, the common cold, finally presented in full force, it seemed that no household got away without at least one person falling ill. Legolas by virtue of being an elf, had no fear of mortal sickness. It seemed that Wren was immune as well, he noted. Although perhaps not, he worried, after she did not pay him a visit for two days.

He decided to go and check up on her.

He went to the cabin where he knew Wren lived with her mortal mother Nerwen. He was surprised to see Wren open the door in full health.

She greeted him with no hint of her usual humor. It was the first time that Legolas had ever seen worry in her brown eyes.

I was hoping perhaps Strider might be back?" She inquired hopefully. "It's my grandmother. She's been ill for the last few days, but over the past day or so she's taken a turn for the worst..."

Legolas reluctantly shook his head. He had heard of Strider's reputation as a healer as well as a Ranger, and so small wonder that people would turn to him for dire cases. Still, it was unlikely that he would be returning any time soon.

A sudden idea seemed to occur to Wren. "Is there anything you can do, Legolas?"

Legolas was taken aback. He tried to explain that he knew little to nothing about healing. The look of sadness on Wren's face wrenched at his heart as he fumbled his excuses. Unable to disappoint her further, the prince of the Greenwood stepped inside the small thatched home and out of the Fornost rain.

"Mother, Legolas has called in to see if he can be of any use," Wren said.

The large, dark-haired figure of Nerwen, wrapped in a shawl, straightened up from beside where she had been tending the ailing elder on the bed. The woman studied Legolas, looking him up and down. Even in the low light from the hearth and the candles set about the room, Legolas could see that she had once been a beauty. Laugh lines surrounded her eyes, eyes that at this moment, looked rather tired and had a sadness in them. Her dark hair, shot with streaks of silver, was escaping from the bun where it had been tied back, and she brushed them away carelessly.

"Very well. Thank you Master Legolas for coming." She turned and shook her head slowly over the figure who lay upon the bed. "I have tried herbs, compresses, salves, everything. Grandmother has only worsened since she first took ill."

A fragile sounding cough rose from within the bundles of furs and blankets.

"Hush Nerwen. You will make yourself ill from worry..." The voice was papery thin and rustled like dried leaves, but still undeniably steady. Wren took Legolas by the hand and brought him closer to the sick woman. The sensation of such direct physical contact with her surprised him, but he refrained from showing it.

"Grandmother, this is Legolas. You remember, he came across the mountains several months ago?"

"Of course I remember him, child." A coughing spell delayed the old woman's next words. "My breath may be spent but my eyes are not. I saw that head of silver through the trees before you entered our village, good elf." She added after another cough, "Furthermore, you do not stop talking about him."

Wren blushed and Legolas had the courtesy not to notice. Nerwen moved back to make way for the prince, and Legolas cautiously sat down in a chair next to the bed. Close up, he could see Grandmother's face in detail. He had never before met a human with so many wrinkles, or with hair so pure white. This woman was very old by mortal reckoning, very old indeed. Her surprisingly clear blue eyes focusing on Legolas, Grandmother made a sound in the back of her throat.

"Could you brew me some tea, my child? This cough does make the throat ever so dry."

Nodding, Wren stepped away from where she had been hovering at Legolas's arm, joining her mother at the hearth.

"It was good of you to come, but I am afraid Nerwen and Aletheîa are avoiding what everyone here already knows," She whispered. "I am too old to weather another winter...It is my time."

Legolas frowned imperceptibly at her words and the casual use of Wren's true name. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know. After one hundred and sixty-eight years of living, you get to know yourself well enough to recognize these things."

Legolas recalled that the since the ancient blood of the Númenor flowed through their veins, the Dúnedain were renowned for living two to three times the length of mortal men. Glancing over his shoulder at where Wren and her mother were murmuring with their heads close together over the kettle, Legolas felt his lips press together in discomfort. It sounded like fading. Although elves could not die by the passage of time or illness, they could certainly die of a broken heart or grief. The latter had very nearly befallen Thranduil, following the death of the queen.

Grandmother was looking at him with an expression that seemed to understand more than could ever have been said. A hand, twisted with age but somehow softer than silk found its way to rest on Legolas's.

"What saddens you, child?"

Legolas had to take a deep breath to compose himself before he trusted his voice enough to speak. "I do not understand...and wish I did, how you can be so peaceful and full of grace on the threshold of death itself. I have always thought death to be a terrible thing, and worse so for mortals who know not what lies beyond!"

With a toothless smile, Grandmother narrowed her bright blue eyes kindly at Legolas. "Why should I be afraid? It's been some years since I went on an adventure, and I think my spirit is as ready as it will ever be to set out."

The old woman shifted her shoulders, clearly uncomfortable for having been in bed so long. "Besides, my husband has been waiting for me quite long enough by now I should think!"

Thinking of Wren's beautiful smile and Nerwen's laugh lines, it was hard to imagine grief on their two faces. "What about your family? Will they not mourn your passing?"

Now Grandmother did frown, but it was more a frown of kind exasperation. "I taught Nerwen all she need know to care for this household. Since she was six years old, Aletheîa has never really needed anyone to look after her. These old bones are tired, and if they begrudge me my rest, then I have words for my family!"

"Don't think I can't hear all you say, Grandmother! Even though you intentionally rid yourself of me, in order to have some quiet words with a handsome elf!"

Legolas started in surprise at Wren's words. Indeed he had forgotten that she had exceptional hearing much like his own. She pulled a chair up next to him and sat holding one of her grandmother's hands. Both pairs of eyes twinkled as they looked at each other. As he witnessed their deep love and affection, Legolas felt like he was intruding. Then Wren looked at him, and he realized that she had known the moment that she invited him in that there was nothing he could do.

Grandmother took his hand, laid it upon Wren's, and held them together.

"Young ones," she said, "Do not mourn for me; you have your lives ahead of you. I am only sorry I will not get see it. Death is not so terrible for those who are undertaking the journey. It is those who remain behind that must remember how to live."

Looking once again at that wrinkled face, strangely beautiful in its inner wisdom, Legolas wished he could tell this remarkable woman just how right she was. He was an elf, and he was forever bound to this world whether that be here on the shores of Middle-Earth or beyond in the Blessed Realm. For one single moment in time, the prince of the Greenwood envied the freedom of mortals to pass beyond the world. Now he understood why death was called The Gift of Man.

The tears were running down Wren's cheeks. He held her hand tightly, as he found his own eyes becoming glassy. Her grandmother slowly raised her hands and cupped each of their faces, like one would do with small children.

"Remember how to live. That is the hardest thing to do, but the very best thing as well."



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The twins have left, I know some of you love them, THEY WILL BE BACK... And nothing like two weeks of rain for two people to develop a friendship, or loss and tragedy...

Credit is due to @TheGreenScholar for much of the beautiful writing in this chapter! I would love to receive your comments and PLEASE vote on this chapter if you enjoyed it. Each vote and comment helps the wider circulation of my story, I really appreciate them!

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