So this is a short story I'm trying here. It may later be added to Greenwood the Great. I hope you enjoy reading it! :D
And also, I want to dedicate this story to Martine9295, here is a little surprise for you! It took me longer than expected because of the nature of it and I hope you like it! Thank you for being absolutely the BEST! :D And I hope you have a wonderful amazing day!
It was the screams that woke him. Loud tormented cries tore through the air in a hopeless chorus, bouncing in the cold stone walls that seemed as shredded and distant as the screams. They penetrated his skin and froze his bones, crushing his insides in pain and sorrow. He was wide awake in an instant. He always was. He did not shiver once as his bare feet landed on the cold floor, already throwing a long night robe over his sleeping clothes as he headed out of the room, as he did every night.
Darkness filled the corridor outside, suddenly as cold and empty as this endless night. He rushed down the elegant hallway, its tall thin columns and intricate pointed arches seeming to have lost all of their beauty and allure to become what they really were: nude hard stone. His feet seemed to walk on their own, following the same path they took every night now, heading towards the source of the incessant cries.
"I want my Nana! NAANAAA!" His young son's innocent voice screamed in between cries and sobs as he neared the familiar wooden door, and it would have torn his heart to shreds had he felt he still had one to tear. But he felt nothing. Or did he? He felt as empty as the nude stone that built his palace, as vacant as the night that stretched over his sleeping realm. He felt empty. Or was the pain too great for him to even know what he felt anymore? "NANAAAAAAA! I WANT MY NANAAAA!"
The Elvenking pushed the door open, tired and hopeless eyes looking around at the scene in front of him without really seeing it. Legolas' nurse maids already filled the room, trying almost desperately to soothe the screaming child but their efforts were to no avail. The small elfling continued to cry his little heart out, fat tears streaming down his soft rosy cheeks, large blue eyes looking terrified, tormented. He felt as if a knife had pierced his stomach, twisting painfully through his insides. It was a sight he had never wanted to see. And yet, this was the sight that met his eyes every night now.
"Your Majsesty." He heard one of the maids saying as he entered the piece, but he did not pay any attention to her. It was as if he lacked the strength to even greet her, his arms only strong enough to gently take the sobbing elfling from the maid that held him, who immediately relinquished her burden to him, trying his best to looked as calmed and steady as possible, even though he felt like an empty shell. Legolas' little arms locked around his neck almost instantly, tiny fists gripping at his night robe as he held the precious weightless body close to him.
"NAAANAAAAA!" Sobs continued to wrack the little shaking body, uncontrollable screams still ringing in his ears in between gasp of air, every now and then calling his mother at the full strength of his lungs. But no matter how loud the child screamed, his mother would never come.
"Legolas…" That voice. His voice. He did not even recognize it anymore. It sounded as empty as his carcass of a body, as absent as his shredded heart. It was as if it had lost all of its power and silent authority, sounding simply…flat, as broken as him. He would have offered his youngest son some soothing words, had he had any to give, but he could find none. Each new scream only rote through him like a new wound, worse than any kind of torture he could ever imagine. "Legolas…..please….stop."
And as he did every night, the King of Mirkwood held his youngest son for endless hours, carrying his precious child silently in the cruel dark night, with nothing else to offer for comfort than his presence. His slender fingers travelled down his son's soft strands of baby hair that reached up to his little shoulders, each strand seeming much more precious than gold to his eyes. What would he not give to stop his child form suffering so? The elfling was still so young, too young to fully grasp the cruel fact that his Nana, his beloved Alarya, would never come to cradle him again. He was still only an elfling. During the day he seemed to forget more easily, enjoying his usual games and entertaining himself with his toys. But the ghosts were always waiting for him at night, coming back to haunt his little figure.
It had been a year since her death, a year since part of him had been literally ripped apart, ever since then missing from him, and he was not sure if he would ever be himself again. The pain was unimaginable, never fading, never giving him the slightest of breaks, always constant, feeling an empty whole inside himself where only a year ago he had been able to feel her always so close and vibrant through their bond. Grief weighed heavily on him. He had lost his appetite and ability to sleep, only managing to rest for short hours before Legolas' desperate cries called him back to the waking world, and he would rush to soothe his child, to anything in his power to stop the sorrow assaulting the tiny body.
His other children had fled the Palace. Tadion had left with the twin sons of Elrond in one of their Orc raids, and he had not heard from him in months now. Whether or not they had finally reached Imladris or were still chasing those forsaken creatures around he did not know. Lossenel had left for Lorien only a couple of weeks after Alarya's death, where she was staying with Lord Aerdan- Alarya's cousing- his wife and daughters. Arahaelon had been the only one he had seen more than once during the past months, but those occasions had been rare and brief. His eldest son was continuously out in the forest leading the patrols, never spending more than one occasional night in the Palace once every three weeks or so, and in those nights his son would do anything in his power to evade him. As far as he knew, his eldest son was somewhere out in his darkened forest right now, and with no intention to show his face around the Palace for some long weeks yet.
He did not know how long he stood there, with the crying elfling safely held in his arms. It was as if he had completely lost track of time, the passing of hours no longer mattered to him. He was only aware that once his body was no longer strong enough to carry the weightless child and tiredness assaulted him as per usual, he dropped onto a cushioned chair beside one of the wall long windows, cradling the still crying Legolas in his arms. He was not even sure of exactly when did his youngest son succumbed to exhaustion, crying himself to sleep, perched against his father's safe chest, but he continued to sit where he was, as he did every night. He would never leave the room before the sun had risen in the horizon, and the nightmares of the darkened sky could not return to haunt his precious child.
It was not until an hour after sunrise, once the golden rays – which seemed to have lost all of their warmth and brightness- cascaded into the vast room, that he gently rose from the chair, softly, ever so carefully lowering the peacefully sleeping elfling onto his too large bed, careful not to wake him from his restful slumber. Gently, he let his hands pull the comfortable soft blankets and covers over the tiny figure, feeling as if his hands could break his precious little treasure if he was not gentle enough.
And then, as silent as he had been all night, he walked out o the room, starting his slow march down the elegant hallway, not even bothering to acknowledge the many greetings he received on the way, turning his face from all the saddened eyes that looked at him with pity. He knew what those eyes held, always looking at him with sorrow and fear, as if was wasting away right in front of them. But he was, was he not? No. He could not. He could not allow his grief to consume him, he could not fade. For Legolas' sake, for the rest of his children, and for his realm, he could not fade. But, Valar, why was it so hard? Why was it so hard to try to fight to stay in this world when it felt as if his spirit simply wanted to leave, to escape the pain that met him with every sunrise?
Elves were immortal beings, and yet nothing weighed more heavily upon them than grief. He had heard it many times in his life, had seen as many among his people sailed or faded after the loss of a spouse, unable to survive the wound that such a loss had left behind, a wound that would never heal. A bond with a spouse was simply too strong for one of the two intertwined spirits to survive on its own. And he was trying, he was trying with all of his stubborn will to remain on this earth, to ignore the pain ripping through his shredded heart, to not pay attention to the fact that he was missing part of him.
But he was not doing well, and it angered him to acknowledge that. He could see the healers' growing alarm over the past months, treating him with calming teas and even sedatives when his anger took the most of him. He was constantly tired and weary, needing more hours of rest than ever before, even if he would not manage to find sleep, and even standing for too long would make him feel lightheaded and dizzy. His advisors were taking more and more of his duties from him in an attempt to give him more hours of rest, and Galion drugged his wine with sleeping herbs when he thought he was not watching, but not even that helpingDoronor, his closest friend, had even tried to persuade him to write to Imladris and ask for Lord Elrond's help, knowing that the Elf-Lord's healing abilities were far greater than any of his healers. But he had not allowed it, refusing to admit that he needed any kind of special help. He had to be strong enough to survive Alarya's loss without needing to ask Elrond's help.
He reached the vast bedchamber on which he had taken up sleeping for the past year, silently closing the door behind him in a single absent-minded move. It was one the guest bedchambers located inside the Private Quarters of the Palace. He had not been able to try to sleep in their – no, his, now- bedchambers, the place suddenly seeming haunted to him, where there was nothing but pain waiting for him at the other side of that heavenly crafted door. The last time he had been there, he had ended up destroying the Siting Room that served as antechamber in a fist of rage, throwing any object his hand could get a hold of, until strength left him to succumb to the debris filled carpet in a wreck of tears. He had not let anyone approach him, and every time somebody tried to open the door they would be forced to doge fragments of broken vases or other ornaments that he would throw at them at his full strength.
He had not let anyone enter thei-his- bedchamber as well, not even the servants and maids that usually cleaned the room, not wanting anyone to touch even the slightest of her belongings, as if trying desperately to trick himself that she would come to do so herself. Everything was left in the exact same place where she had left it, ghosts of her departed presence, lying forgotten under a thin layer of dust. Valar, not even the bed had been made from the last day he had slept on it, from that day where his Captain came rushing to him in his study with the news he had never wanted to hear in his life.
The Elvenking looked around the room with uninterested vacant eyes. Galion, his loyal butler, was already there, of course, and his robes for the day had already been neatly laid out for him, a large silver tray with his breakfast – food that he did not feel like consuming- already waiting for him at the elegant round table. He felt as if in a haze, seconds, minutes, hours, dancing before his eyes in a hollow procession, nothing no longer seeming interesting or calling his attention. He moved without thinking, acting by practiced routine. He did not even bother to dress himself, letting Galion do all the work, simply sitting there motionless, defeated, waiting as his butler finished clasping all the pearl buttons of his long rich robe, combed and braided his hair and even placed all the fine rings on his fingers. His loyal butler did not say a word, as if used by now to his King silence, and he was glad for it.
He was barely aware of his butler silently taking some steps back, finished with his job, but still he did not move from his seat, absently looking at his reflection in the long mirror. He looked…royal. There was no other suitable description for the image he saw. Everything about his reflection looked flawless, his long formal robes of a pale silvery blue were embroidered in the tiniest of pearls and sapphires, his long silvery blond hair falling neatly over his shoulders, the Mirkwood Crown resting regally above his head, his pale face that of a stone statue. And that how he looked, like an cold shell of emptiness, a statue made of ice, incapable of displaying or feeling any emotion, only reflecting power and authority.
"My Lord, your breakfast is ready." Galion's voice brought him back from his wondering thoughts, and for the first time he noticed that the butler was standing quietly behind him, hands folded before his lap, making him wonder how long had it been since the elf had finished doing his hair. And yet, the concerned gleam on the servants eyes made a new spark of fury cross though his body as the blond butler reminded him that he needed to eat. Of course he knew he needed to eat! Even if he had lost his appetite long ago. He was no fool.
He rose from the chair in complete silence, and perhaps a little too quickly. The room spun wildly around him, and he felt Galion stabilizing him by the arm when he swayed dangerously.
"My Lord, are you all right?" Came the butler's inevitable question as he allowed himself to be pushed down onto the cushioned seat. No – he wanted to yell – no, he was not all right, was it not obvious? And yet, he nodded his head, as he always did, accepting the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice that the blond butler offered him.
"Why do you not rest for a while, my Lord?" Galion suggested, as he did now mostly ever morning. But he did not want to rest, he did not want to sleep. He did not want to have time to let his pain return as his thoughts wondered freely.
"I am not tired." He lied. That was the most common lie he repeated nowadays. "Perhaps later."
He did not give his butler chance to reply, once more rising to his feet, fighting the sudden dizziness that came with the movement, and left the piece, heading to the welcoming solitude of his study.
The morning danced before his eyes without him even seeing it. His paperwork had been there waiting for him as he spent hours just going over it, working as meticulously as always, until a headache started to build behind his eyes from exhaustion. And it was not even noon. Letting out a breath, he set half reluctantly set down the report he was currently reading, resting his head back against the high chair, his eyes falling closed to relieve his throbbing head.
Valar, he missed Alarya. He missed Alarya…and he missed Almarëa. He felt despair take hold of him again, but he no longer had tears to shed, no longer had a heart to shatter. Where was Almarëa? Where was his precious baby daughter? Was she even alive? Everyone believed her dead, everyone seemed to be waiting for him to finally realize that his daughter was indeed dead…but he did not want to believe that. He knew his hopes were most certainly in vain, for no one had survived that orc attack. How would a baby escape unharmed if no one else had survived? But he did not want to believe that. He had set himself on to believe that until a body was found to prove otherwise, his daughter was still alive. And, Eru, how he missed her. She was nothing but a babe, not even a child, barely even learning to walk and speak. He wanted to hold her little squirming body again in his arms, to cuddle her when she cried, to listed to her mirthful baby giggles. He would give anything – everything- for that.
The sound of the door being gently pushed open brought him back from his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to find Doronor silently walking inside the ample room, carrying some fruits on a plate. He stared vacantly at his closed friend and Advisor for some moments, not truly focusing on his long blond hair or his rich blue formal robes.
"I thought you might be hungry, my Lord" The Advisor said, setting the plate down on a small round table before sitting on the chair directly across from him. Thranduil did not speak, letting himself slump back on his seat, turning his eyes to gaze out the vast balcony as he felt his friend's eyes silently scrutinize him.
"How are you doing?" Doronor asked, formality now gone from his voice, the Advisor vanishing as the friend appeared. Once again he did not answer. What lie could he say that Doronor would not already know was a lie? And yet, his friend did not seemed at all bothered by his rude silence.
"Has Cunir returned yet?" He asked, once again closing his eyes as his fingers almost automatically lifted to massage his temples. His headache was worsening.
"No, he as not returned." Was his friend's almost immediate answer, always in that calmed patient tone, once again not seeming bothered at his abrupt change of subject.
"Thranduil" His friend started, and he immediately knew what would follow. "Why do you not let me contact Lord Elrond?"
"I do not need Elrond." He said in a flat, hostile tone, feeling as if he lacked energy to argue, his head pounding painfully. And yet, once more his friend did not seem at all affected by his hostility.
"Thranduil, my friend," Doronor started again, as patiently as before, his dark blue observing him gently. "I know must be very hard, and I know that there is no possible way that I would know what you are going through right now, but you are fading. Please, let me write to Imladris, you know that Lord Elrond has skills that none of your healers has."
"I do not need Elrond's help!" He lashed out, regretting it almost instantly as his head pounded all the more painfully at his loud words. And still, Doronor did not seem affected by his reaction.
Thranduil let out a sigh, resting his elbows on the wooden desk as he dropped his throbbing head in his hands. "I need…" He started, feeling his despair travelling to the surface once more, his exhaustion only increasing. "I need Legolas to spot crying every night."
His words came out as merely a whisper, but his friend silence told him that he had heard him. Valar, he felt so tired, so weary.
"Then why do you not let the nurse maids rock the Prince back to sleep? - Only for one night, at least" Doronor added when he saw his King was about to protest. He thought about it for a moment before answering.
"No." He could not do that. It pained him to no end to hear his young's son's tortured cries in the middle of night, how could anyone expect him not to go to his son's aid? He could not just ignore Legolas, even for just one night. The child must be suffering just as much as he was, and he knew he missed his Nana.
"Thranduil, that is why the nurse maids are there." Doronor said in the same gentle tone, his voice sympathetic. "Let them do their job for just one night. You are not well. You need to sleep."
"I cannot just let Legolas cry. He is still so young." He breathed out, his voice betraying more of his weariness than he would have liked, his finger rubbing his aching forehead.
"Yes, he is still an elfling, but how long will this continue on, my friend?" Doronor continued, his voice always patient. "The child misses his Nana, but he now knows that if he cries his Ada will come. I know you want to soothe your child more than anything, I would do the same it if were my own son, but Legolas is still young and learning from everything he sees. Loosing his Nana is shaking his world and changing everything he knows, his siblings have left and you no longer even sleep in your chambers. The only thing he knows is certain and steady is that you will show up if he screams. He is hurting, and he wants your attention, but he needs to understand that there are other ways of getting it other than screaming. He already knows you will be there for whatever he needs, he will never forget that, and I am not saying that you stop going to comfort him all together, I am just saying that for one night you let yourself sleep. Legolas will understand that his Ada needs sleep too, he is a bright and loving child."
Thranduil sighed, not knowing what to say. He knew his friend was right but it was so hard to not run to his son when he heard those frightened cries. He had known that he had to stop immediately going to Legolas for some months now, ever since the cries became a nightly routine, but he simply could not. Legolas had cried many nights when Alarya died, but had only screamed when his pain and fear had been truly too much for his little self to handle, but now, now he screamed every night.
"My head hurts." Was all he found himself able to say, his head throbbing painfully behind his closed eyes, the pain now starting to cloud his thoughts as he rested his head back on the chair. And yet, he knew Doronor probably already knew that.
"Would you like me to ask Melnor to prepare you a tea?" His friend asked, his voice as gentle as it had been the entire time.
"Please." He said massaging his temples, not opening his eyes as he heard the elegant Advisor silently walking to the door and give an order to a nearby servant before returning to sit in front of him.
"You are exhausted." Was all that Doronor said in between the long moments of silence, but the King did not say anything in return even though it did not seem the Advisor had been expecting a reply at all.
It was not long until the head healer entered the room, carrying the requested tea that he offered his King silently, quick to exit once his services were no longer required. Thranduil, sipped slowly from the cup, not minding the bitter taste, not even protesting as he watched Doronor closing the crystal ink flasks in his desk and carefully cleaning out his exquisite quill. Not that he would be using it again that day. He was simply too tired to even try to fool himself into continuing with his work. They did not speak again, his friend simply sitting back quietly after he finished arranging the items on his King's desk just as he knew he preferred them. And even though he did not admit it, Thranduil was glad for the help, no matter how minimal it was.
"How is your headache?" His friend broke the silence after long moments, and for a second he debated whether or not to answer.
"Worse." He admitted, his finger once again reaching to his forehead to try to soothe the pounding incessant pain. He knew this was no good sign.
"The tea is no longer helping, is it?" Doronor asked, his eyes looking at him sympathetically.
"No." This was not the first time this had happened. It had been days now that the teas the healer's gave him no longer helped soothe his constant headaches. "I think I need to lie down."
"I think so too." Doronor added, steadying him as he rose on his weary legs and helping him walk out of the elegant study.
His predicament angered him as he slowly walked the distance back to the Royal Quarters, Doronor still by his side. It was only close to noon and he was already in need of rest. His headaches usually did not get this bad until late afternoon. Perhaps he really should consider his friend's advise and contact Elrond. He was worsening quickly. And still there was always the constant pain in his chest, too deep for him to try to ignore it, not physical but deep inside of him, where the hole remained of the broken bond he had shared with Alarya.
A sudden loud shattering sound reached his ears as they walked by the majestic pair of doors that led to his forgotten bedchambers. He halted, his head immediately turning in the direction of the closed pair of doors. What was that? Who was inside his bedchambers? Who had dared entered the piece where Alarya's things still remained untouched as she left them? He had explicitly forbidden anyone from entering the piece! Ire burst inside of him as he nearly threw open the door, rushing into the rich room that he had not entered in nearly a year.
And then, he felt air leave his lungs, his eyes growing wide as he felt as though a knife had been brutally stabbed in his empty chest, twisting painfully, burying itself deeper and deeper. His youngest elfling jumped slightly at his sudden presence, large innocent eyes looking wide and scared, little pale hands held up as if still holding the object that had just slipped from them. But his gaze was not focused on Logolas. Instead, his eyes landed immediately on the thousands of pieces of shattered crystal that scattered on the floor, some still attached to hundreds of sapphires, emeralds and rubies. And he suddenly could not breathe, feeling what little control, what little strength and what little life that still remained in his heart suddenly crumbling, as shattered and crushed as the crystals sparkled all over the marble floor.
He had immediately recognized the object…or what was left of it's glorious splendor. It had been a pinecone, a crystal pinecone inserted with jewels, the very one that he ha gifted Alarya on their very first Winter's Soltice celebration together, the night he had asked her to become his Queen. And he could not let his eyes look away from the broken fragments, no longer a recognizable object, not even a shadow of what it had been. And he did not know why it hurt him so much, why did it feel like loosing her all over again, why did the pain suddenly return all the more fiercely, crushing him, torturing him as rage seemed like the only escape to his despair, to his suffering, to his grief.
"Legolas!" He exploded, lashing out at his son like he never had before, his chest constricting all the more painfully as he stared at the shattered crystal that sparkled dully on the golden light. "Look at what you have done!"
Valar, it hurt so much. He almost unconsciously reached his hand to grasp at his aching chest, as if expecting there to be an actual wound. There had to be one, otherwise it made no sense for anything to hurt this much. The little child had remained unmoving, wide eyes still looking at him, blue orbs scared and regretful, suddenly seeming so small next to him. It had been an accident. He knew his son had not meant any harm, but the harm had been made, and now it could not be unmade. He felt desperate, everything about his body ached, his head throbbed, and he was just simply exhausted and why had his son not been able to stay away from this room just as he had told him countless times! Why?!
"I have told you not to come in here a thousand times!" Thranduil dropped to his knees to be at the efling's eye level, grabbing at the little wrist to force those sad blue eyes to look into his own, tears not spilling down his son's rosy cheeks. He could barely breathe, a tight knot forming on his throat. "Why can you not do as you are told, Legolas?! How many do I have to tell you to not touch these things for you to listen! Now look at what you have done!"
"Can you not listen to what I say? Can you not obey a single order?" The child was openly sobbing now, and eh felt himself starting to loose what little control he had over his shattered self, the knot in his throat tightening all the more as he felt his own eyes star to water. His despair was too great, and his pain all the greater, and he knew he had at last reached his breaking point.
The elfling did not speak, fat tears rolling downs his reddened cheeks as he continued to sob and sniffle, and he let go of the tiny wrists in exasperation, his watery eyes once again landing on the tiny shredded pieces scattered one the marble floor. He started picking them up, not really knowing for what purpose. It could not be put back together. And yet it hurt to see those broken pieces lying on the floor. He did not even feel the slightest of stings as the sharp crystal pieces cut into his hands when he clutched them, Legolas' unconsollable and heartbroken sobs and wails ringing loudly in his ears, making his headache all the more intense, his skull pounding miserably until he felt it was going to split in half and he was going to be the once crying in the end.
"Legolas! For Eru's sake stop crying!" He snapped, his head pounding agonizingly under the noise as his voice finally cracked, the child screaming all the louder at his sudden outburst. "Go to your room!"
"Legolas? Why do you not come with me?" He heard Doronor's gentle voice cooing the child from the doorway, the sobbing elfing walking in that direction almost immediately, and he silently thanked his friend for his help. His head felt like it was going to explode, his vision fluctuating in and out of focus from the pain as he saw his Advisor crouching to be at the child's level, brushing away the fat tears from the soft cheeks. "Why do we not go to the kitchens and see if there are any sweets left from lunch there, all right? Come, your Ada is very tired now, let us let him rest for a while."
He saw Legolas nod his little head with a sniff, his heart breaking all over again at the sight of his heartbroken young son, but he could not help but feel relief that the noise would shortly end. The efling's little hand travelled up to grasp his friend's large one, allowing the elegant Lord to lead him of the room and towards the promised treats, closing the door to a welcoming silence. Eru, his head.
Thranduil slid down to the floor, until he was sitting with his back against the exquisite wooden dressed from which Legolas had taken the now broken crystal pinecone. The world seemed to spin once more, and the pain in his head made him feel nauseous. And still his eyes remained glued on the shattered crystal pieces on the floor, still clutching the few handfuls he had been able to pick up in his hands, ignoring the way they cut through his pale skin. They looked so insignificant there, lying on the floor, broken, not even a shadow of what they had been, and he felt as broken as the crystal pinecone, damaged beyond repair. She had loved that pinecone. She had loved it dearly. It had been one of the few things he had left of her, and now it was also gone, vanished, destroyed.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply to try to soothe his throbbing head before gazing back around the room. This room. He had not been in this room for nearly a year, and yet the flare of pain, of emptiness, of grief that these familiar surroundings awoke on him remained as fresh as if it had been merely yesterday. Nothing had changed. The pale golden light washed over the polished marble floor as it had always done, only that now its luminous reflections where dulled by a thickening layer of accumulated dust. Fallen red leaves swayed in from the splendid balcony, tainting it with a red and orange carpet from where no one had come to sweep them away. The bed – their bed- remained exactly the same, still undone, the dulled sheets lying messily around, as if someone had just climbed out of it, some of the feathered pillows lying on the floor.
He felt the void within him grow larger as he stared at the slowly decaying room, forgotten, nature starting to slowly claim it under its grasp. Nothing had changed, it had just been abandoned, set aside. He felt weary, his previous anger and despair vanishing in the peaceful solitude, only to be replaced by exhaustion once more, his head still throbbing agonizingly. And then, his eyes travelled once more to the thousands of crystal fragments. The pinecone was broken, and yet he was still here, he had not died when it shattered, he had not forgotten Alarya, and the pain from her loss had not changed even the slightest beat. Nothing had changed, just like it had happened with this forgotten vast room.
Wet tears strolled down his eyes, just when he had thought he did not have any more to shed, and he gripped at his robes on his chest, cruel realization suddenly downing on him. Alarya was gone, she was not going to return, ever again. But he was till here. He had not died. Even if the pain of loss and grief weighed heavily on his soul, even if he was fading away, his spirit too damaged from the broken bond, he had not died. And he could not himself fade. And if he had not died, then he needed to live, and he would fight to stay on this earth. The world would continue with or without him. It would continue with or without Alarya.
Fighting back his flowing tears, he looked at the crystal pieces for what seemed like the thousandth time, remembering a very important lesson that he seemed to have long forgotten. As dear as it could have been, the crystal pinecone had been nothing but a thing. He would not forget Alarya just because he no longer had things to remember her by. The memories would always be there. And it was that what mattered. And Alarya had been the one to teach him that, it had been the purpose of the pinecones themselves, the purpose of that strange yet beautiful gift. Its purpose was no its worth, but its meaning, and the meaning of it would not be forgotten. He would never stop loving her, and he would never stop missing her, but he could not let his grief consume. And little did his son know that without even knowing it, he had reminded his father of this very important lesson.
He closed his eyes, listening as the door opened slowly, light footsteps walking in his direction but he did not need to look to know who it was. He felt a soft cushion being slid behind his aching head and he leaned back on it, sighing in relief as a cool wet cloth was placed over his forehead. The merciless pounding behind his eyes had not stopped and he felt that he could no longer open his eyes from the pain.
"Where is Legolas?" His whispered voice felt exceedingly loud as he fought back a wince. Valar, he was really not well. His headaches were only getting worse with the days and he could feel himself growing weaker.
"He is in his rooms playing happily with his toys. He feels bad for what happened." Doronor's voice echoed his whispered one, as if he could tell that noise was the last thing he wanted at the moment.
"I know." Was all he was able to say, feeling as his friend carefully took the crystal pieces from his bleeding hands, gently cleaning the cuts with another damp cloth.
"What shall I do about this mess?"
The Elvenking considered it for a moment, and then delivered the only set of words that seemed like an option to him, words that he knew some hours ago he would have never even think of saying. "Send someone to clean it up. Save the gems, they can be used later, and throw the crystal away."
"Of course, my Lord." Doronor added, not commenting on the unexpected set of instructions. "Your chambers have been prepared for you to rest, if you feel like moving."
"No." He did not think he could get up, the world was already spinning as it was and he knew for sure that his head would finally split in half if he even as much as attempted to move. And still, there was something in Doronor's phrase that no longer felt right to him. "And I will not going there any longer. Order the servants to clean these rooms and make the bed with clean sheets. I will be sleeping here tonight, in my chambers."
It hurt to say his chambers and not their chambers, but that was how it was going to have to be now. That was how it had been before he had married Alarya and that was how it was going to be now that she was gone.
"Right away, my Lord." He heard his friend add in that same gentle tone, once again not commenting on the unexpected instructions and he was glad for it. He did not open his eyes as he heard Doronor starting to walk towards the door, fine robes trailing on the floor behind him.
"And Doronor?" He called, listening as his friend stopped in his march. "Please, contact Elrond. I am in need of his healing skills."
His friend did not say anything this time, and he assumed there had merely been a nod of the head, hearing as the elegant Advisor walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Thranduil remained there, slumped against the fine dresser, feeling exhaustion and weariness consume him. He would go to his precious beloved son first thing in the morning, after he had rested and his headache allowed him to move once more. He would apologize for his sudden outburst and he would order for Alarya's things to be carefully stored in their respective places. The jewels perhaps Lossenel would want to use them one day.
And when Cunir returned, if there had not been any news on her daughter's behalf, he would order the futile search to finally be stopped. If his daughter had not appeared for nearly a year now, she would never do so. He had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. He had to accept, just like everyone else in his realm had, that Alarya was gone…along with his little Almarëa.
So here is the story! Please let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy reading it! Also I'm still working on the next chapter for Almarëa so it should be up soon!
Love,
Elena