Eryn Lasgalen

King Thranduil stood in front of the magnificent gates of Eryn Lasgalen. Such was the new name of his Kingdom, and how very fitting! After their difficult victory in Dol-Guldur, the Lady of the light had destroyed the fortress of his childhood with the remnant of Nenya's power. Surprisingly, Lord Celeborn was not decided to sail with his wife yet. His aid had been appreciated, the long-time rift between the Noldor and Sindar slowly receding as they agreed on new borders for Lothlorien and Greenwood.

It was he, Lord Celeborn, who had suggested renaming the Great wood so that mortals would no longer call it Mirkwood. And Thrandhuil was glad for he felt, all around him, the trees chanting their joy as the soil regained its former glory, rid of the decay and sickness of the necromancer. How long he had waited for this, to see his beloved forest thrive under the light of the sun!

But for now, he did not allow their songs of glory distract him from his thoughts. Posture stiff, blue eyes as cold as ice, silver hair gently swaying in the breeze, he awaited the arrival – long overdue – of his only heir. Legolas would receive praise and heartfelt welcome in front of his people.

In private though, he was up for a phenomenal dressing down! His departure after Elrond's council, without even bothering to ask for his King's permission, on a path to certain death, had not helped Thranduil to trust his counterpart in Imladris. Why had the Lord not sent his sons instead? As his captain, Legolas should have been there when his kingdom was attacked, instead of gallivanting about with a dwarf, no less! He should have been there by his side when his courageous Sylvan and Sindar folk alike marched upon Dol Guldur!

Legolas' absence, the risks he had taken, the folly of this quest would have been enough to render him furious. Yet, there was more to add to his ire. After spending so much time besides the new King of Gondor, his son had eventually decided to visit his people … his father, his King! And now that he had passed the borders of their realms, the scouts informed him that his son rode with a dwarf, a son of those he had imprisoned in his dungeons and made a fool of him no less! And what about those rumours? The rumours about the red witch? Had he been such a fool to be ensnared by a pretty human face?

Thranduil was boiling, his anger sizzling under his flawless skin. Yet, he smiled when, at last, his son appeared on the path. The cold, unnerving smile that promised a thousand deaths. And still, he refrained from frowning when Legolas helped the dwarf descend from his horse, a mount they apparently shared! How appalling! His people were frantic, shouting and congratulating his son after his role in the war of the ring.

News travelled fast, and by now, every minstrel sang Legolas' praises in the great hall. His soon greeted them as well, but his smile was forced, hollow. A shiver ran through Thrandhuil's spine. He had sworn, after losing his father in the battle of Dargorlad, that never again he would set foot past the Emyn Muil. The sight of Mordor, its barrenness, its destruction, the horrors of the battlefield, of his kin lying in crimson pools was a memory he had never been able to erase from his mind. Was it the reason why Legolas' light seemed so dim?

Very soon, his son bowed to him on the phenomenal staircase that led to their dwellings. Their people fell silent, and the dwarf fidgeted by his side. Thrandhuil could not care less about him, but he had to admit his courage. He spared him a glance before tracing Legolas' features. His son's eyes were guarded, an expression he had scarcely seen on his handsome face.

Colour drained from his face as worry replaced anger. His words of welcome were so rehearsed that he would have been able to bestow them while sleeping. Then he greeted the dwarf, searching his soul for an explanation. Albeit Gimli, son of Glóin, did not falter under his gaze, he addressed him an apologetic look. Thranduil's unnerving gaze came back to his son's face, and when the formalities were completed, all but dragged him to his private chambers.

Then the door was closed, and in a swish of his regal robes, Thrandhuil turned around and stared into his son's eyes.

"What happened, ion nín?"

The affectuous name was enough to shatter Legolas' resolve. His handsome face contorted in pure agony as he fell to his knees.

"… Ada!"

And Thranduil fell beside his son, gathering him son into a tight embrace his body shook with sobs. Dread seized the King's heart, panic his thoughts. It could not be! For it had taken less than a second for him to recognise that look, the same that had haunted his features for centuries. His son was fading from grief. He had left a bachelor, and returned broken-hearted. Thranduil held Legolas tightly, never letting go as the blood of his blood expressed the extend of his despair. And he, the ever-collected King, shed his own tears, tears he had contained ever since his Feä-mate passed, his heart torn to shreds. Not him! He prayed silently as Legolas' tears fell like a river. Oh Valar! Please not him!

But it was already too late. The Valar had not heard him.

Earth. 2006.

Three years later.

'And it's your face I'm looking for, on every street…'

Dire Straits

Frances turned the mp3 off, sending the blasted machine away. How fucked-up she was, incapable of listening to 'Every street' without throwing a fit, or 'brothers in arms' without crying all the tears in the world! All of it was true, though. On every street, she searched for Legolas' face. Here, or there, anywhere, everywhere.

Every time she saw a child, she wondered what hers and Legolas would have looked like. Every time she saw a guy with long hair, she thought about him, every blond head sent her a reminder of his silky locks, every sunset and sunrise she sent him her thoughts, wishing he would be there, every damp evening stuck in front of the TV she longed to cuddle by his side, every new thing or old habit she wanted to share with him. Every all, everything.

From small things to big ones, from insignificant events to life changing ones. All of them, every single second of her life.

Three years had passed, three very long years. Frances had moved to the north east of France to attend a new engineering school that could get her a job in many companies around the world. Had she fled Lyon to forget? Yes, actually. After a year and a half in Cécile's apartment, Frances had needed the break. Her depression had put a strain on their relationship, and she didn't quite know where she stood regarding her cousin. She had lashed out too much, too often, and hurt her best friend ever.

Guilt only added some more weight upon her shoulders, and the young woman hoped that leaving would do the trick. So she had packed her things, and moved a four hours' drive from her home, attending a school that, on paper, seemed to contain enough interesting subjects to feed her geeky brain. The main focus was Geology. In reality, she found the school even worse than her former one, it lacked a sense of justice, a duty. It was just fun, copy your neighbour's sheets, get drunk to death and use low-grade humour. Frances hated it almost as much as she hated the people in it!

Needless to say, that she had not made many friends. Unbeknownst to her, her comrades called her the 'Ice Queen'. Was it her cold demeanour, or the way she stood, tall and proud? Was it because she never participated in their festivities, or because the only moment she let her control go was on the ice rink?

Maybe they were right, maybe she did not feel anything anymore in her frozen heart. A few guys attempted to approach her; they were dismissed gently by her indifferent attitude, but without mercy. There was no place for anyone in her heart, for she could not forget Legolas. No matter how hard she tried, Frances could not let him go. And relentlessly, she searched for him on other planets.

She flew to Colorado every summer to continue her internship, spending hours upon hours in Dr Jackson's books in hopes of finding lores about Arda … and pinpoint its location in the universe. Every break was spent buried in artifacts and research for Stargate Command. Every spare moment she reached for their bond, so distant that it was nothing more than a slight light in the rush of her life. But no matter how strongly she prayed the Valar, the necklace never took her back to him.

So far, neither Frances, nor Mulder had found anything related to middle earth. No matter how infuriating it was, it held some sense: there had been no reference whatsoever in Elrond's library about a travelling circle – stargate. How likely was it that such an advanced device existed on Arda and the elves knew nothing about it?

But Frances could not give up, the Stargate program was her only hope now. Since the Valar did not see fit to send her back to Legolas, she had to find a way. In the meantime, Frances meditated often, trying to convey through their tiny remnant of link the hope that she could, one day, come back to him. She didn't know if he heard, or felt her. She just fervently hoped that he did.

Aikido class, the next day.

Frances swung, ducked, and landed a harsh blow that elicited a cry from her opponent.

"Ow!" cried William. "You cheated again!"

The young lady grimaced, and held her hand out. William, a school comrade, had suggested she could join his Aikido club to vent off some of her 'energy'. A subtle way for him – the guy was smart – to not utter the word 'frustration' without being pummeled. Aikido classes, with its philosophy and meditating approach, helped her concentrate. But when they used the bokken the wooden sword she could not prevent but revert back to her training.

Her Rivendell swordmaster had done a great job, as she kept using moves that did not follow Aikido's rules. She would have loved a good sparring session, but Glorfindel's sword she missed the most. The way the handle moulded in her hand, how its balance perfectly suited her, how the blade swished when she slashed ! True, Teal'c training with the staff had improved her coordination by much. But it didn't replace a sparring session with Aragorn, nor Legolas, nor the twins, nor the beloved sword that had saved her life countless times.

For the moment though, this Aikido class was good enough. Sheathing the bokken at her side, she saluted William again.

"You turn to attack."

A smirk quirked her lips when he prepared his move; William was so previsible, he'd never survive any kind of battle. But he was a friend, and didn't ask questions.

Later that night, Frances indulged in a long shower. As she stepped out, she took a moment to watch her reflection in the mirror. Her body was still toned, but plumper than it used to be. Chocolate addiction had coated her with a little padding on her hips and breasts, and addition that she could live with. She'd just renewed the henna, and her hair shone vibrantly red. Quite a stupid habit, to renew the vegetal colouring every now and then, but she didn't want her hair to lose its signature. What if she travelled again, and Legolas did not recognise her ? Would he love her still if her hair was more brownish ?

Frances scoffed, what a stupid notion ! After three long years of waiting, her hopes had dimmed to almost nothing. The young woman turned to the traitorous necklace with a sneer, wondering why in hell she was still wearing the jewel every day, only to gasp. The towel fell to the floor in heap.

The necklace was calling !