Disclaimer/Author's Note: My sincerest apologies for the great delay in publishing this! All I can say is life has me in its cruel grips! Of course, anything recognizable belongs to Tolkien. Without further ado, I present chapter eleven to you! Reviews greatly appreciated!

Heartbreak

It had been three days since the defeat of Dol Guldur's forces at the hands of the Elvenking's people and their allies. The healing chamber was not as full as it had been, for the dead bodies were buried immediately after death. There still remained a number of injured warriors, however. They were all on the furthest end of the chamber. This back part of the hall was partitioned off with heavy wooden dividers. Guards stood watch, admitting only those who had business.

Innas came silently up to the partition. He waited a few moments before his father joined him. The guards bowed to the older man but admitted neither visitor.

"Is he still in there?" Innas asked Aranel, knowing the answer already.

"I am afraid so, ion nín," came the reply.

"It has been three days. What does he expect?"

"Do not be so harsh. He lost her."

"Serves him right, to have treated her so cruelly. At least she can rest in peace, where he can harm her no more."

"Innas!"

"I speak the truth, Adar. You know it, even if you will not speak it yourself!"

"Try to be a little empathic. Now is not the time to be rash."

Innas rolled his eyes.

"This is insanity. He needs to come out of there. She needs to be…to be…"

Innas could not bring himself to finish his sentence, instead collapsing onto his knees and letting out a wounded yell. The guards froze, unsure of what to do.

"Stand aside," Aranel told the guards. "This madness has to end. He cannot stay in there forever. There are many matters that he needs to address. The people await his emergence, wait for directions on how to proceed. There are delegations of Men and Elves he needs to greet."

The guards remained in their spots, uncertain of what to do. Irritated, Aranel pushed them roughly aside and slipped in between them before they could stop him. He ran down the chamber until he reached the secluded corner where Vanimë lay in bed. Taking a deep breath, the counselor readied himself.

"Is she not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?"

Thranduil lay next to his beloved, cradling her pale, gray head in his arms. He was stroking her hair in long, slow motions. He had heard Innas' cry and Aranel's steps.

He kept his gaze focused on Vanimë, gripping her tightly, protectively to himself.

"She was lovely," Aranel affirmed, allowing himself tears of sadness.

"Why the passive tone? She is merely sleeping…" Thranduil said. "I love watching her at rest. So angelic. Unguarded. Vulnerable. Her true self."

"Sire, it has been three days. She is sleeping, yes, but not the kind of sleep that she will awaken from on these shores…"

Thranduil growled. "Lies…"

Aranel took one of Vanimë's lifeless hands.

"Cold. Stone cold. Dead cold. She is dead, sire…" Aranel said forcefully. "You cannot continue to deny this. She needs to be—"

"Buried!" exclaimed Thranduil suddenly, cutting off Aranel. He lifted Vanimë's head from his lap and sank onto his knees beside her bed, burying his face in the sheets. "Do you think I do not know this? That I killed her, and now I must bury her!"

"You did not kill her. She was injured fighting for you, defending you. She was fighting because she loved you!" Aranel replied.

Thranduil smiled grimly. He pushed Vanimë to the other edge of the bed before laying next to her once more. He reached for a brush on the small table next to the bed and began to brush out her hair. Aranel could see the King's sapphire eyes shining brightly with tears. From the corner of his eye, Aranel noted Innas creeping silently towards them. He motioned with his left hand behind his back to stop, and to his silent gratitude, his son honored his command.

"Do my words amuse you, sire?" Aranel asked.

Thranduil did not respond promptly. He continued to brush Vanimë's thick, curly, hair, which gained volume with each stroke. Aranel felt himself become irritated—he knew how much Vanimë struggled to maintain her hair's thickness. She was always self-conscious about her hair looking sleek and smooth! Was Thranduil doing this purposely now that she could not stop him?

"She was always fighting, from the moment I first saw her…" Thranduil said after some time, his voice soft and sultry. "Is this not true, my darling?"

Behind him, Aranel felt Innas inching closer. The counselor again motioned for his son to cease his advancement.

"It was a hot summer's day, with the sun shining down onto the luscious green lawns of Doriath. The courtiers and counselors were out sparring, relishing the glorious day. Of course, there were ladies present, fussing and swooning over the ones they desired, and the men in question had to put on an elaborate display. It was as much a sparring contest as it was a showing of airs and pride.

"I was in the shade of a few majestic trees, observing the scene before me with lazy interest. My gaze was drawn to two figures that were approaching the gathering from afar. From their attire, I knew that they were guards. It was not until they were closer that I realized that one was a woman, Vanimë. Oh, Aranel, I wish you had been there to see her!" Thranduil whispered.

Aranel had to sit beside the King on the floor.

"Tell me how she was…" he encouraged.

"I thought I had seen many beautiful women, Aranel, but Vanimë challenged me even in this. Her beauty was not merely from her features, but from within as well. Her presence demanded attention. She radiated power and respect. She exemplified perfection for me. I was spellbound in that instant, and I knew I had to have her. What you have seen of her here cannot be compared to her true persona," the King continued. "Of course, what I was seeing was the Light of the Two Trees in her…

"She was walking alongside Beleg, the legendary archer of Doriath, her face concealed by her hood, accentuating her piercing gray eyes. Even though the Light of Aman was dimmed then by her sheer willpower, she could not completely hide it within her eyes, for they shone as bright as diamonds glistening in the golden sun. Her gaze roved over me, and in it I perceived utter power, and also a resonating wound, an injury so deep I feared it would cleave her in two. Yet she continued alongside Beleg, feigning contentment when I knew she was pained beyond any doubt..." Thranduil said.

"So you knew, then, that she was not of these shores, that she came from across the Sea, from Valinor?" Aranel inquired.

Thranduil lifted his golden head, his usually bright sapphire eyes were now bloodshot and glimmering with tears. "It was difficult in those days to determine the true source of the light that enshrouded any Elf. Doriath was fair, but very few dwelt there who had seen the Two Trees. Others had not, yet their auras also radiated brightly. The Eldar of old shone from within, not like the Elves of today. Yes, we still shine, but it is not of the same bearing as the ancient ones, the true edhilof long ago. Even I bore this illumination, though my own spirit has dwindled for some time now..."

There was silence, and in this quiescence, Aranel understood what his King was attempting to deny: that he had always known what Vanimë was, yet in his blinding pride, refused to accept that he would betray his principles for love of her.

"You knew...you knew from the moment you saw her, that she was a lady of great bearing, and that she came from the Noldorin Kings of Valinor..."

Thranduil was silent, unmoving, listening as if the Valar themselves were passing judgment on him.

"Yes, yes I did..." he whispered, shoulders slumped, as in defeat.

"But you could not bear the thought that you would love a Kinslayer, no matter how ethereal she looked, nor did you stop for a moment to fathom that she might not bear any of her father's sins, that her only crime was being the daughter of such men of misdeeds..." Aranel said.

"It was a dark time, an age of anger and pain. Middle-earth was innocent, yet it became caught up in the Fëanorians' path. They had no right to bring their war to us, to entangle us in their calamities!"

"Aran, why are you ignoring my main question? Surely, after all that has happened, you will not still hold onto your anger and guilt? The very least you can do now is offer an explanation to yourself. Though Vanimë likely cannot hear you now, at least you will clear your conscience. I find that it helps to put your thoughts into audible words. Doing so soothes the soul and mind. Or do you wish to remain forever tormented?"

Thranduil smiled thinly. "I see now how skilled a courtier you truly are. Such finesse is a fine art."

Aranel bowed his head in acceptance of this compliment.

"Very well, I shall tell you my reasoning," the Elvenking said, sighing heavily. Innas crept a little closer, straining his ears to catch every word. "When word reached Aran Elu Thingol of the Kinslaying, Quenya was banned, and the Noldor were extradited from the kingdom. Elu Thingol was greatly grieved, and rightly so. The Kinslaying was a horrific deed-to think that the Noldor murdered so many innocents for an already darkened mission!

"So when I saw Vanimë, and I guessed at her true nature, I could not bring myself to believe that she was innocent. How could any of the Noldor be innocent of the atrocity that was committed at Alqualondë? I had vowed never to forgive the Noldor, that I would always hate them! And later when my fair homeland, when my beloved Doriath was destroyed inadvertently because of the Silmarilli, my heart hardened further. By then I had truly developed a love for Vanimë, yet I chose to believe her story, that she was of Middle-earth, despite the great warning in my heart."

Aranel was silent, and behind him Innas was mulling over the words he had just heard. Both men felt their hearts go out slightly to their King.

"There will always be anger and pain, my liege; they will never entirely disappear. Perhaps the Fëanorians were wrong to bring their troubles here, to continue their dark tale in the Hither Lands, but they were trying to reclaim something they held precious. Perhaps the manner in which they sought revenge was wrong, but your condemning Lady Vanimë is arguably just as severe. You demonstrated the same type of anger as they did. Who would you deem more responsible then, more accountable?

"I am not being critical, I only wish to understand why it was you did what you did to one who gave everything, including her very fëa, for you."

Thranduil said not another word for some time, instead turning his gaze back upon the lifeless form of his beloved, burying his face in her hair, cradling her body in his arms as he rocked back and forth, weeping silent tears of anger, anguish, and loss. He was beginning to realize that this parting was permanent. Unlike the one he forced her into, this time there would be no chance of her returning. He could follow her now, though, if his grief was too great.

Aranel watched his King descend into the darkness of his heart, watched as his lord felt the heaviness of Vanimë's passing overcome him. From the corner of his eye, he saw his son, torn between his own grief and anger at what the king had done. Finally, after a few moments' hesitation, the younger Elf walked quietly over to Thranduil. Innas crouched down beside his golden-haired lord, placed his right hand over his heart in the traditional elven semblance of grief. With his left hand on the King's shoulder, he said:

"Please, continue telling us about the very first time you met our Mistress Vanimë..."

Nodding his head, the King seemed unfazed that Innas had suddenly appeared at his side. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before resuming:

"So Beleg and Vanimë moved further through the midst of the crowd, apparently unnoticed by the men sparring all around them. Then, a sudden breeze blew back her hood, and her face was revealed. Then the clamor of swords and halberds stopped as their wielders became aware of a lady amongst them, a lady in the guise of a warrior.

"They began whistling, calling out lewd words, or mocking her, and she seemed not to notice, until one shouted that dressing in the garb of warriors did not warrant one a fighter. How her eyes flashed then! Quick as a lightning bolt she had dashed to him, her sword raised in front of her, her posture as taut as a fox readying to pounce. Pounce she did, striking at him hard and fast, dodging his blows with ease. It seemed to me that her feet were moving in a dance meant to mesmerize, that she was trying to charm him into submissiveness. They sparred for an hour, and never once did she tire. Ah, had you been there to witness her in her fury, a glimmering white whirlwind of anger..."

Here Thranduil paused, allowing his mind to take him back to that day so long ago, when the world was still young. When he closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds and re-opened them, he found himself submerged in this memory.

On the long green lawn ahead of him was Vanimë, dressed in her orange tunic, brown leggings, and maroon boots. Her brown hair, curls pulled into a tight bun at her nape, gleamed in the sunlight. The men all around were shouting, encouraging her attacker. Only Beleg remained silent, a faint wisp of a smile on his face as he observed the duel from afar. Thranduil moved up to this legendary archer, nodding towards the sparring, and commenting: "She is not as defenseless as she seems."

Beleg turned towards the then-prince, bowing slightly as he responded, "No, she is not, as your friend is learning."

Just then, there was a cry and a clatter of a sword, as Vanimë trapped her attacker against the trunk of a large tree, her eyes shining. Thranduil heard Beleg chuckle under his breath as he picked up his bow, walking back slowly towards the palace. Vanimë flipped her hood back over her face with one hand, as the other held her sword against her assailant. The gathered crowd moved away, just as surprised as the defeated nobleman. Thranduil waited until only himself, Vanimë, and his defeated friend remained in the dell before he approached the two duelers.

"What a fine accomplishment, my lady," Thranduil said, bowing to her.

Vanimë eyed him suspiciously.

"Accomplishment? No, it is not so. He asked for this," she replied coolly.

Behind her, his friend said, "You dare to speak thusly to Ernil Thranduil?"

"Silence, fool. Perhaps it is your luck that you have a friend with authority, otherwise matters might have ended differently for you. This should be a warning not to incur my wrath in the future. Do not play with the kitten unless you can handle its scratches," she said to her attacker, pushing the sword a little deeper. "Should I release him, sire?"

They locked gazes, Thranduil's sapphire eyes encompassing her stormy gray ones. He could read hatred in them. There was something else too, a force that she struggled to subdue, something that he tried but failed to comprehend. Thranduil nodded in reply to her question to him. After a few more moments, she turned her head away and her gaze back onto his friend. Her sword-bearing arm began to drop slowly, and then she stopped just above his manhood, pressing the blade back into his body.

Thranduil found himself smiling. Here was a lady who was as dangerous as she was lovely. Her spirit was her own, and could not be dominated by anyone. He felt that should her spirit be tamed, she would wilt and fade away. She was a feral being, and he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. He found himself suddenly desiring to be always by her side, to be constantly enchanted by the tenor of her spirit—and this sudden emotion startled him.

"But I am not so unwitting as to be rude to the prince." Vanimë released her weapon. "My lord," she said, bowing curtly to Thranduil.

"It seems that my friend here truly deserved what he received. My apologies, lady, for his foolishness. I promise you it will not happen again."

"Next time I see you, you will be missing a part of you..." Vanimë promised the man she defeated, before hurrying after Beleg.

This ancient memory faded away slowly, leaving the image of Vanimë burning bright in his mind. When he opened his eyes next, it was to find both Aranel and Innas paying their respects to the Noldo whom he still clutched tightly in his arms.

"She is gone...she is gone where I cannot follow...where I cannot harm her!"

These last few words stopped the councilman and his son in their tracks. They could hear the suffering and the torment in his voice now, hear him struggle to finally admit all the wrong that he had done to her. Aranel felt himself pity his lord, but Innas pulled him away. He purposefully remained within earshot of the King.

"He must not be placated; he must feel the torment of his ways, feel it burn into the very stone in his chest that he calls a heart!" said Innas. "For many a century he has been the perpetrator; it is high time that he became the victim! No one was there for Vanimë in all the torment she endured; why should we comfort him, when he was her torturer? For what he committed, in the end he must face the consequences of his actions, for better or for worse—and the days of reckoning are upon him now."

Though Aranel's heart was breaking for his own grief at Vanimë's passing, and at the treacherous behavior of her former lover, his King, he could not help but partially agree with his son's heated words. Aranel's days in the court of his lord had taught him when to keep angry words to himself, and when to speak them aloud. Unlike his son, a warrior trained to respond immediately to any danger, the counselor could curb his emotions when necessary, but this situation was testing his patience more than he had imagined.

Suddenly, all the emotions that he had bottled inside of himself over these past months were surfacing. Aranel's rage at his king's haughtiness, not just in regards to his treatment of Vanimë, but also at how he was governing his kingdom of late, troubled him the most.

The courtier recalled how he had gone to Lake-town to rally an alliance to defend Mirkwood from Dol Guldur. All this because he promised Ernil Legolas he would save Mirkwood from its lost ruler. How it had cost Aranel to hide such a thing from his King! That he was sundered from his master at a time that Thranduil needed him most almost rent his heart in two—to have left the people helpless in the care of a king who had been led astray by his own poisoned thoughts!

Míriel's image appeared before his eyes, the poor maiden who was violated, violated because she loved her blind King. "Míriel, forgive me!" Aranel cried, as he sank onto the floor of the healing chambers, succumbing to his own tears. "How did I leave you so alone? I, who knew the grave risks of accompanying aran lín! I am as guilty as he of your injury! Oh, if Eru could take me now to the Halls of Mandos, at least Vanimë's company would comfort me greatly!"

Innas had stopped when his father paused in the corridor. Though he could not read his father's mind, Innas gauged from the pained expression on his face the nature of Aranel's thoughts. The warrior's emerald eyes welled up with tears at the words he heard his father utter.

Reaching down to lift him onto his feet, he said, "Adar, do not blame yourself. None of what happened was of your doing. If anything, I should be blamed, for I was the one who abandoned you and Míriel."

At the mention of his beloved's name, Innas' voice quavered and his body crumpled onto the floor next to his father, "Míriel, my dear sweet elleth...that you had to pay the price of everything that happened! How can it be fair that you will no longer receive comfort from Vanimë...Vanimë who is...is...dead..."

The two men remained huddled together, weeping silently at all the loss they and their kingdom had endured within the last several months. After some time, they were able to slowly stagger to their feet, though their faces still shined with tears. They passed the guards who still stood watch at the partition, their faces, grim when Aranel and Innas passed them earlier, were now stricken with emotion as well.

As father and son walked away, Innas' words lingered, seeping into Thranduil's ears and penetrating his breast. The King wept, wept for his pride and prejudice, wept for his wrongful ways, wept for the pain and loss he had caused to Vanimë, Míriel, and his kingdom. With his eyes closed, he felt the roughness of tree bark against his back, and the cold point of a sword on his chest.

A hooded figure in flaming orange let out a piercing battle cry in a language he once knew but had long forgotten, and as the blade sank into his breast, he cried, "Next time I see you, you will take my heart!"