Author's note: Thank you for the comments and encouragement! I needed to hear your words.

Through the western gate of Lake-town, Father and Son rode - along the familiar road towards the elven kingdom, their home. The rocky miles between them and the other pair, heading northward - the wizard and the wisp - were building a wall.

A wall which would prevent any of Legolas' pain flooding towards the north.

All the agony Legolas felt was tied around his neck. The pain he felt now was hard, but nothing unbearable. A few days ago, he had endured something far worse - and that was precisely the problem. He was standing at the gallows. Like a hanging rope, the pain was loosely around his neck now. The trap door could open at any moment. The noose would jerk tight, and he would take his last breath.

He did not know how deep those wounds were, those he got while believing Sulrochil… - he could not even think of the word now. How deep the wounds were, he did not know. How much deeper the wounds would get in four days, was beyond anyone's prediction.

Listing all the details of Sulrochil's mission in his mind, he tried to find any holes in the plan. He turned everything around. If he found the tiniest flaw, he would go and get her back at once. But there were no flaws - and he had to admit she was good. No, she was the best to do this assignment. And she was his. For a brief moment, he felt a small smile forming deep down in his heart until he ditched it and resumed ripping the details of the plan into shreds once again. He weighed every possibility, every outcome, even all the smallest ripple effects he could think of, trying to find any incoherence, but the plan was flawless.

First, she would slowly walk around Shadowland and then climb the Lonely Mountain to get an overview of the place and to decide which sites need to be studied more closely. Then, on the next day, she would go closer to watch and listen. Her orc language skills were passable, and she would understand enough. There was no need for her to go into Shadowland, and therefore Legolas was not troubled much. She was unnoticeable when she was in her hiding mode. Most likely there were only two people in the whole of Middle-earth who could detect her in the forest - Mithrandir and Legolas himself. Neither of them noticed her through normal senses.

Since Mithrandir had emphasized that Sulrochil was not allowed to interfere with anything, she was safe. The only thing that disturbed Legolas for her sake was how she could stand feeling the evilness of the orcs for four days in a row. But she had promised to come back if she was not able to accomplish her task, and she always kept her promises.

Besides, now that he had time to ponder this, something was different. Sulrochil had not had difficulties with the wickedness of the orcs in the battle of Lake-town. Usually, he would not have missed it, but a fond memory of a particular storeroom had fuddled his mind, not to mention everything that happened afterwards.

It was apparent, though, something had changed about the orcs lately. Were these northern ones different from the others? How and why?

The difference had been there even earlier. In the battle of Mirkwood, Sulrochil had killed several orc leaders, and she had no problems then, either. The last time she had encountered orcs before that had been over half a year ago when they still were Marchwardens. The evilness had almost crushed her then. Something was different, and if it was not the orcs, it was Sulrochil herself.

Love. Even if they had not realized it, their love had been there within their hearts a month ago, during the battle of Mirkwood. Could love have this kind of an impact? Never had he heard about anything like this, but their relationship did not flow in a typical riverbed. Nevertheless, it was more likely that these northern orcs were somehow different.

Each mile further from Sulrochil was more painful than the last, but this was only the beginning. Thranduil began talking about everything that had taken place in Mirkwood in the half-year while Legolas had been away. Legolas listened carefully to both the story of his father and all the surrounding voices, as he knew when it would be silent, his mind would be filled with the shrieking sounds of his yearning for Sulrochil. And this was only the beginning.

Fortunately, the story of his father was long and complicated.

Past forests and hills, they rode. The Forest River glimmered all the time through the foliage. Suddenly, his senses were filled with a smell of the river water, wet cloth and spruce - and all the misery of nearly losing her almost crushed him. He tucked his hand into his pocket to feel the letter - the only tangible reminder of her. No, there was another reminder, and when he touched his chest, he felt the small empty pocket for the ring. The emptiness surrounded him. Sultithen, again I lose you. I am not sure if I can take it anymore.

Listening to the continuous story of his father, Legolas tried to get a realistic picture of what indeed had happened when he had been gone, but as they went on with their journey, everything began to seem cloudy. It was as if Father's words were fogged. They were not; his words never were. The fog was shrouding everything in his head, and he had to list everything that could go wrong again, to keep his mind in order.

Nothing would go wrong.

One: She would hide, so the enemy would not find her. Two: She would not go into Shadowland, nor interfere with anything, so she was safe. Three: She needed to sleep at night, so she would go far enough away each night to be able to sleep safely.

"There is one flaw in our plan," Legolas said.

"There are no flaws," Thranduil replied.

"She needs to sleep every night. That means she must go far enough away every night to do it. I could have gone with her."

"To do what? Kiss her goodnight?"

"I will go and get her back."

"No, you shall not."

"Are you going to prevent me from doing it?" Legolas asked.

"No," Thranduil said, "but you are going to do it yourself. If there was any other possibility, trust me, we would have taken it. There is not, and you know it. If you were with her, she would know it is you who must bear the pain of your both."

"If we could be together at night, the pain would be not that hard."

"Still, it would be bad enough for her. She would refuse to leave you in the morning if she knew what kind of agony you must suffer during the days. Should you be there, it would cloud her full concentration. Should you be there, you could not leave her every morning to do her mission. Should you be there, all you two would see was each other, and she would miss every single detail of the cretinous creatures she should observe," Thranduil said, fixing his eyes on the horizon. Should you be there, she would not kill the leader of Shadowland, like I asked her to do.

"You are not giving us much credit."

"You two should be together. It pains my heart to do this to you now," Thranduil continued. Could compassion do the trick and stop his futile arguing? Or perhaps reminding him of his duties and principles? "You help her best by staying far from her, and doing your part of this - coping with the agony. If she knew what you need to do for her, she would refuse to do her part of this. You could not meet her at night and then leave her to do her mission in the morning. Besides, I need you at the funeral of Chief Marchwarden Filvendor. We need to honour his memory."

"I will go and get her back."

"You will do no such thing," Thranduil repeated. His tone was the calm and slow, one you use for a child who is asking more than his share of the strawberry cake. Thranduil had tried every kind of reasoning, what could finally end this? "She is not going to do anything she is not capable of doing." She is capable of killing one of those bastards without anyone noticing it, though, but you shall not hear this from me today. Are there any means to stop your arguing for the strawberry cake - the going after her, I mean? Why, the flattery, of course! "She is the best, and we all need her to do this to win the war. Be with the best - take the consequences."

"You are right," Legolas said after a while. "I am needed elsewhere, and she must be there alone."

"You could not keep your hands away from her," Thranduil said and urged his mount to proceed faster, and left his son to gather his thoughts.

Legolas smiled. Father was right, even if he had done it again - said one thing while meaning another. Legolas had known from the beginning that he had been right, but he had needed to catch every loose end and eliminate them all.

How do you cope with this agony, Sultithen? When will you be at your destination so I can take your pain? I will do it proudly because it is the only thing I can do for you right now. Did I ever say I would do anything for you?

Soon they were at the Halls of Thranduil. Legolas patted his horse and realized he did not remember the name of the mount. He was not even sure if anyone had told him. He never forgot any names.

It was only two days ago the last time he had arrived here with the Mirkwood Embassy, with Sulrochil. How the expression on her face had been at the same time puzzled and embarrassed when Legolas had allowed her to carry her weapons into the King's Hall - making everyone in the castle understand who she was to Legolas.

Not leaving Legolas alone for a moment, Thranduil led them home. "Now sit down and read her letter," he said.

"How do you know she has written one?" Legolas asked.

"For the whole trip you fondled it in your pocket, so I wonder if there is any writing left on it anymore," Father replied. "Besides what else could she have done yesterday when she was gone for so horribly long? Almost a quarter of an hour."

"You asked the servant in Lake-town," Legolas said after a while.

"Good, you are not yet too deep in your haze to think properly. Now read it before you burst with your curiosity and find out what kind of drivel she has written for you. I will eat," Thranduil said, turning to walk towards the table.

"Do not blame her."

"If there is even one coherent sentence that says anything other than 'I love you', I will be surprised." Thranduil sat down and took food on his plate.

Legolas did not bother to reply, sat down on a bench by a window and took the letter out of his pocket. For a while, he turned it over in his hands before finally opening and reading it.

Dear Daillegolasdaer,

I am sitting in the room next to the dining hall in Lake-town, and I already miss you immensely. I fear to think about tomorrow when my mission throws me away from you. If I miss you this much when we are in the same building, the agony we will suffer after tomorrow will be almost impossible to bear. But we will endure it because that is what we do. And it will be only for four days. I will come back to you on the fourth day as I promised.

My upcoming task will be easier for me than for you. I am the one doing all the action, and you cannot be there to help me in any way. You will feel powerless, and you will be hurt because of this. You will suffer much more than me, because of the scars you got while you believed… I will not write it here. I can only promise, I will be careful.

I wanted to write this letter to tell you I love you. You know it, and you feel it, but I want you to see it with your own eyes on this paper. Here it is again: I love you, Mellegolasdaer.

When all this is over, and there is peace, we must come back to Lake-town someday. This is the town in which we kissed for the first time. And the second. And the third, and countless times after that. I lost count at some point - and even if you are better than me at keeping things in order in your mind, I know you lost count too because the look in your eyes after our every kiss is always so baffled that you have a hard time distinguishing right from left; and I love you for that.

Tonight - and all the nights after that - I want to lie in your arms, fall asleep with you and explore the secret forest of our dreams. I believe the woods are vast, steady and safe like you are and filled with oddities like I am. And do not forget that when I come back, we will recover from all of our agonies in our shared sleep, for it is a place of love and only love can overcome all the sorrows.

Please, do not let the sadness consume you when the darkness falls upon you in the middle of the night. Try to concentrate on the memory of our shared dream. Please, focus on us, on our love, on the fourth day, when I will come back to you.

Listen to the silence. I am there.

Always yours, Sultithen

(dail=lovely)

(daer=betrothed)

(mell=dear)

While seeming to be eating, Thranduil watched his son read the letter. It was heartwarming to see the changing expressions on his face while the letter revealed its secrets. There was something sorrowful at first but then something so engaging that made Legolas' whole face light up for the shortest of moments until the tone of the letter again changed. It changed into something of which Legolas would never tell anyone, into something that was only theirs - most likely it was about kissing at this stage. After that, Legolas' eyes blinked wide open in bewilderment - and that was the moment when Thranduil turned his eyes away, for he could not look at that expression on his son's face. The expression of desire.

"Well?" Thranduil said after Legolas had sat silently for a long time re-reading the letter over and over again.

"Well, what?" Legolas was startled and shook his head.

"What did she say?"

"Are you really trying to pry into what she wrote to me?"

"Absolutely not. Please, spare me the sappy details. I just wanted to know if I was right and there was nothing else but those mushy things young ladies tend to write in these kinds of letters."

"How do you know what they write?"

"I have had my share of those letters."

"How would I know, you never talk about my mother."

"Legolas," Thranduil sighed, "you have no idea."

"I know what it is to lose the one you love," Legolas said.

"You believed Sulrochil was dead for what? An hour?"

"It was less than that, but it is you who has no idea. Aye, Mother died, and it must be devastating to be alone here for as long as you have been, but you know you will meet her again. You have known it from the beginning. You are married, and you shall be together eternally. If Sulrochil truly had died a few days ago, we would have been separated forever. In those few moments, I experienced eternal loneliness."

"You are right," Thranduil replied slowly. "Our agony is different, but you got her back. It was not true what you felt then. I have not had that kind of privilege. You have not lived alone for this long."

"What about being without a mother for that long?" Legolas pressed on. "What was she like? You never tell me anything. Everything I know about her I have heard from others. What was she like? What was the last thing that she said? The first thing? How did you meet each other? What was her favourite song?"

"The last thing she ever said was to you, 'Legolassion, climb a tree.' She died when she was protecting you. She did it for you."

"I killed her," Legolas said.

"No!" Thranduil shouted. You did not kill her. It was me all along! For a while, he was silent until he found a calm tone again, "It was not your fault. It never was. So, do you want to know what her last words to me were? Do you? She said, 'There is no need for more guards. What could happen in our forest?'"

"She did not say that," Legolas insisted.

"No," Father admitted. "But she could have. She is as stubborn as you."

"Why did they attack her then?" Legolas continued. "I have tried to ask that from several people, but no one tells me anything."

"I will tell you many stories about her, but not right now. We have much to do."

"I understand why you did not tell me then, but I am an adult now. I need to know."

"I have not talked about it to anyone. Ever."

"Perhaps, you should. I ought to know."

"I asked you," Thranduil said in an end-of-discussion tone, "what did Sulrochil write? Is there anything but the expected mawkishness?" At least there could not have been mentions of Thranduil's secret orders for Sulrochil, otherwise, the boy would be running towards the north to get her back.

Legolas browsed through the letter again and continued, "There are two things which are something other than… than the obvious."

"Which are?"

"She reminds me that she has promised to come back on the fourth day, and she promises to be careful."

"Those sound quite obvious to me."

"Perhaps, but at least they are not about… I cannot say the word aloud; I miss her so much."

"I know."

"Is it this painful for you all the time?" Legolas asked.

"It is not as extreme at the moment for me as it is for you right now, but you must remember I have missed my wife for almost three millennia. It has taken its toll. You, on the other hand, are a newly betrothed couple. You should be together, and in addition to that, you have believed she was dead. Your soul is injured. I cannot even imagine what kind of pain you will feel in a few days. That is why I demanded that Sulrochil's mission cannot last more than four days."

"She does not realize that when she reaches her destination, all her agony will move to me. What if she realizes it when she gets there?"

"We discussed that with Mithrandir yesterday, and he promised to take care of that."

"How?"

"He only said he has some tricks up his sleeve."

"Does he not always?"

"Indeed," Thranduil said contemplatively. "Do you want your army coat back?"

"I have no choice. I am not a Marchwarden anymore, which reminds me of an unexpected promotion last night. Why did you do it?"

"Did I not explain it yesterday?"

"You said something about how she could feel like an essential part of our army."

"She needs that. Am I wrong to assume that she is one of those elves who needs to feel things instead of knowing them?"

"If you ask me, she is made purely of feelings, but I do not understand how the promotion would affect her feelings about the mission. She was quite determined before that, and you made her feel absolute shock with the promotion. Then I felt something strange, but quickly she began babbling foolish tales."

"Did you ask her later what happened when you felt the unusual feeling?"

"I forgot."

"Of course you forgot. You are supposed to forget these kinds of things on your betrothal night," Thranduil said, "but if she seemed normal afterwards I did not stupefy her with the promotion."

Legolas turned to walk towards his room. "I am not sure what her normal is, but I reckon she was no odder than usual."

There was a longish corridor until he was at his door. Behind the closed door, he stood a while, trying to settle his storming emotions. This was the room in which he had spent countless sleepless nights. Not sleepless because of not being tired, but sleepless because there was no rest for him. This was the room in which he had lay on his bed alone. Alone because he had no one, and alone because there did not even exist anyone who was his equal.

He opened the door, and with the very first glance, he spotted a few differences. There were two pillows on the bed instead of one. On the table, there were two mugs - instead of one - beside a jug of water. And the most striking difference, there were two almost similar brand new coats hanging on the wall, the only variation being the size and shape. The smaller one was so beautifully curved that it made Legolas feel an urge to touch the coat. After a short mental battle, he had to cave in. He slid his hand along the cloth, remembering how she felt under his touch.

Shaking his head, he began removing his Marchwarden clothing. With each piece falling onto the floor, he felt something of himself also crumbling into nothingness. The years he served as a Marchwarden were the best of his life. Those were the years where he had got his smile back, his life back - and those were the years in which he had been enchanted by the tiny elf with eyes greener than grass, with heart broader than the sky - and like the sky, the masses of air in constant change, nevertheless making his world complete.

When he pulled the coat over his shoulders, he felt a shift in the air - it was like the wind was blowing from a different direction, even though he was inside a room with thick walls. He left the smaller coat hanging on the wall, smiling at it, and thinking about how they had had enough wit to understand Sulrochil would never accept anything other than the coat strictly similar to the one Legolas had. No, she would have thrown all skirts and dresses to the deepest of caves and demanded a coat. Demanded quite loudly, that is.

The only challenge was how she would tolerate the straight seams of the coat of hers, as these garments were cut and sewn with several small patches to show who they were. As if any kind of seams could affect her hiding - but an argument about the seams would be inevitable.

The squabble was already flowing in his mind. "These seams are horrendous, how can I hide wearing a coat with these outrageous seams?" "They do not affect your hiding ability in the least." "Oh, but they might! How can you say what affects me, and what does not?" "Of course I cannot, but…" "This coat is abominable!"

Legolas stared at his image in the mirror and was astounded at what he saw in there. Although the face in the mirror was in pain, it was content - something he had never anticipated seeing when wearing this coat. But if there was something good in the long miserable years spent wearing this, it was that with this coat, he could resume the mask of indifference on his face.

He only hoped it would only be temporary, and when the fourth day would come, he would be able to shrug all negative thoughts away and concentrate only on their… No! This is not the fourth day. This is the first day - the day of acting as everyone expected of him, regardless of what he felt in his heart.

And he would act.

With brisk strides, he arrived at the main room. "I am ready," Legolas said.

Even though Thranduil had known what to expect, the sight in front of him amazed him. With the new coat, sixty years vanished in a blink of an eye, and abruptly they were standing on a windy mountain full of death. Forever, he would remember his son's back moving away from him, and he had wondered whether he would ever get him back.

That person never came back; he had been buried in the deserts of the north. From the grave had emerged something new, though. This new one had all his life in front of him.

"Our next task is to meet Bereneth," the King said, not letting his thoughts affect his usual facade of indifference.

"How is she taking Filvendor's death?" Legolas asked when they began walking through the corridors towards the workshop of the Royal Seamstress.

"How she is feeling after her husband's death, I do not know, but she has not stopped working. She said sewing is the only thing that can bring any kind of solace at the moment and she has been tailoring almost constantly. That is why I asked her to make those coats. I knew I would get you two back sooner or later."

"I have forgotten to tell you about Filvendor's death," Legolas said.

"I have heard Hwinnor's and Gwennor's point of view," Father replied.

"But I should have told you about it."

"As I said earlier, you are supposed to forget everything on your betrothal day. If you indeed forgot everything, you have been doing it right."

"Please, no jests about it now."

"Later then," Father said. "You and Sulrochil were the last people to see him alive, did he have any last wishes?"

"He asked to tell you he is sorry to have failed."

"Failed? How typical of him. Saves all Lake-town and then blames himself for dying. Anything else?"

"There was not much time. He had time only to say another thing for his wife, but I will not repeat it now."

"No need for that. I can hear it when you say it to Bereneth."

"How do you know it is not something I must say to her in private?"

"Because Filvendor - or anyone for that matter - would never put it upon someone else to relay anything like that to his wife. The real message you are going to tell Bereneth is that the last thing on Filvendor's mind before dying was his wife - the words actually spoken could be anything."

"How severely did it affect Sulrochil?"

"Where are the Chiefs now?" Legolas asked bluntly, ignoring the question.

"They brought all the corpses to Mirkwood and have been planning the funeral all night."

"So there was no rest for anyone else but me and Sulrochil last night."

"Of course not."

"I should have thought about that, but you will say we were supposed to forget everything else."

"You two needed your night together, and the rest of us wanted to get you out of our way so we could concentrate on the real business."

"Anything I should know about?"

"Nothing that cannot wait until we have met Bereneth," the King said when they reached the door to the seamstress' workshop.

"My deepest condolences on the loss of your husband," Legolas said, walking closer to Bereneth, who stood by the window. The seamstress had been in the castle for as long as Legolas remembered, and always had been smiling. Even today, she smiled faintly through her tears.

"Thank you, Legolas," Bereneth said, bowing to the Prince.

"I was there with Sulrochil when Filvendor died. His last words were for you. He wanted you to stay here in this world to see our kingdom to its end. And then tell him everything afterwards."

Hearing his words made Bereneth smile widely for the briefest moment. "That wish is not hard to fulfil, for who other than me would sew the wedding dress for the future Princess? Congratulations on your betrothal, Prince Legolas." Bereneth bowed again.

"Thank you, Bereneth," he replied in a quiet voice, realizing Hwinnor and Gwennor were in the room. How could he have missed noticing them when he entered the room?

"We are here to discuss the funeral of Chief Marchwarden Filvendor," King Thranduil said, making Bereneth's tears fall.

"Please, forgive my crying," she said. "And please, do continue, I can manage this even though I am crying. Everything became much more manageable when I heard there would be the wedding of this young Prince in a year, and after that we can sail to the Undying Lands. A year is nothing." She turned to look at the King.

"I assume Gwennor and Hwinnor told you about our plans to announce a mourning period for your husband?" The King continued as she had wished, ignoring everything else.

"Aye, they did tell me about that, and also to organize huge parades to honour him at the funeral, but that the parades are only a facade. The real reason to do this is so you can gather the troops in a way that the scouts of the enemy will suspect nothing."

"That is true," King Thranduil said. "Now I need an honest answer if this is acceptable to you."

"Filvendor would approve of your plan. He will be thrilled to hear that his funeral was part of some kind of scheme."

"Do you approve of it?"

"Of course," she replied. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Not to tell anyone about this and to accept that the funeral will be public and much longer than usual. I hope it will not be too much for you."

"I can manage it if I do not need to talk publicly."

"There is no need for that."

"Then you can do it your way. I will try to watch and listen to the funeral as much as I can, so I can tell him everything about it later."

"We will make it quite pompous and massive to impress everyone - just like Filvendor would have liked."

Suddenly, time is sliced in two halves by an invisible knife. The past falls down and disappears. So does the future, leaving one elf balancing on the edge of the present.

Legolas watches as his world is reduced into black and white blurred images. All sounds seem to come from behind a corner; it is impossible to recognize the source of the voices. His heart is trying to survive the rushing rapids of the pain. The transparent flames are blazing in his soul, suffocating him with grey fumes, and all this would be manageable if he would not have to be listening to Sulrochil's scream in the middle of the fire.

Someone grabs his arm when he falters. Through a haze, he sees light hair and alarmed eyes.

"Legolas," Father says, "we need to go to the balcony now."

The son nods and lets his father lead him away.

Sulrochil has arrived at her destination.

A blue butterfly tries to find its way towards a fresh green meadow full of yellow and red flowers. A sharp wind blows it away.

One elf is standing on the balcony of the Halls of Thranduil and turns his eyes from the grey butterfly and the grey flowers to the grey crowd of curious elves down on the grey ground.

A familiar melody fills the elf's mind - the anthem of the King. How many times has he stood on this balcony listening to that melody? Would there ever be a time when he could stand here listening to it and be able to rejoice in his heart?

Somewhere in the background, he realizes the anthem has stopped and a voice - a familiar voice - begins to talk. He should listen.

"...the day after tomorrow will be the funeral of Chief Marchwarden Filvendor. We will honour the memory of our admirable long-standing Chief Marchwarden Filvendor…"

There are many familiar faces in the crowd, watching the elves standing on the balcony, but their names are unreachable. All names seem to have been forgotten.

"...every elf who has ever been part of The Royal Army has to join the parades. Every elf who has ever been part of the Marchwardens of Mirkwood has to join the parades..."

The sun is as black as his heart. How can you see anything out there when everything is black and white? Your spruces - are they grey also? Your forests? Please, do not take colours from her.

"...there will be a two-week mourning period for Chief Marchwarden Filvendor…"

The grief would not be hard to find at the funeral. The sadness was already blackening his heart. The pain reduced his world into one moment. A moment at a time he would cope with the agony. Moment after moment. One at a time.

A flag flies in the wind, the grey flag of his homeland. Homeland, Mirkwood. Anything for the honour of Mirkwood. This is my duty now, and I will do this. I would do anything for you. Now I will do this. One moment at a time. One painful moment at a time.

A bow twangs. A black arrow flies.

Everything is black. Orcs roar, the ground rumbles. Sounds of battle echo around me, but I have not fought in this battle. Yet, I know these sounds. All the sounds are familiar, even though I cannot see anything. It is scary, and I press my eyes tightly closed even more.

Mother runs down on the ground; she shoots, she fights. I cannot hear her steps, but I know where she is. These sounds, all these horrible sounds are inside me, always have been. And I hug the tree trunk because there is no other who can help me.

More orcs are coming out of nowhere. Like a flood, all the sounds rush upon me. Mother dashes here and there. In countless nights these voices have blazed in my nightmares. Now they echo in my mind like on day one. The day one of my motherless life.

The day one of fatherless life, as well.

The sounds twirl and now everything makes sense, even if I did not understand it then. The familiar sounds of killing - I know this. The sounds draw a clear picture in my mind, and I see it now, even if then my eyes were closed. The guards shoot, they run, they fight. I see them moving around, and all of the battle is suddenly visible in my eyes as if I had been there. Mother, you should have turned left instead of right! Someone back her up!

The sounds diminish as enemies fall dead. The elves as well. The last slash was the one that killed Mother. It was a blessing that I did not understand these voices then; did not realize which slash had murdered my mother. Now, I know. Forever, I shall hear it again and again. I should have been there for you. I could have saved you. It is I who killed you.

Horses galloping in the distance. It is too late, Father! But you already know that. You felt the exact moment your wife died.

Evil laughter. The last orc is still alive, and his disgusting laughter fills the air with mockery. He hits the ground with his spear and leaves it there. Sticking skyward, the spear is awaiting its prize.

Father is almost here. With sneers, the orc slashes something; carries something; dumps it onto the spear. I do not want to hear this! I will not hear this. Perhaps, if I shut it all away, it is not there.

But it is.

Father jumps down from his horse and runs. Suddenly, everything is silent as the last remaining orc kills himself. I can see the taunt on his face when he stares at Father and thrusts his sword through his heart.

Father cries. I clutch the tree trunk because it is all I have. He begins to carry things. I do not wish to hear this.

"Father, what are these sounds? Mother, where are you?" It is a blessing I was too young to understand then.

No, Father is not moving anything. He just shuffles around by himself! He is not carrying anything! Not carrying! He is not gathering the pieces of his life, not trying to bring everything alive again.

I hear it all. If I try hard enough, perhaps it will go away.

Father throws his cloak to cover whatever there is and gives a kiss. A kiss - that is something I understood even as a child. I hear Father kissing Mother like always, and that is a good thing. Is it?

"Is it, Father? Can I now come down from this tree and we - all three of us - can go home? You can kiss her again, but I will not watch it! Kisses, yuck!"

And even then, I knew it would not happen.

"Mother, why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? Was it my fault? Please forgive me for arguing about wearing my crown in the feast yesterday. Perhaps, if I had been nice, this would not have happened. I hate my crown, but I should not have upset you. Mother, can you forgive me? Please?"

The vision fades, and Legolas is on the balcony again. The grey butterfly is dancing above the flowery meadow. The curious crowd is piercing him with their eyes. He fails to concentrate because, in his heart, it is Sulrochil who is dead now. This is not real, he says to himself, but his heart does not listen.

The darkness lashes at him again. Sulrochil feels weightless in his arms, and she is not coming back. Nothing can bring her back. Nothing could ever defeat him more thoroughly than her death. His eyes peer towards Shadowland, and his feet almost begin walking. But he takes a deep breath. This is his duty now - to stand on this wretched balcony, listening to these inane speeches, letting the spear pierce his heart. It is his duty to stand still and bear the pain so that Sulrochil can do whatever she is about to do.

Duty, discipline, honour.

She is capable. If someone notices her, she hides. She is competent. She can accomplish her assignment as long as Legolas is here for her. This is his duty.

He only needs to do what is expected of him now. Discipline. For her, he would do anything. His mind could be filled with any visions of her death, any images of her torture and all he needs to do is to remember it is false. She is safe, as long as Legolas stands here, still, and lets the agony rip at his heart. As long as he bears this, she is safe. Honour.

This, he will do for her now.

For centuries he has honed his skill, and now he is the master of hiding his emotions. Hide your thoughts. Hide your feelings. He glances at the straight seams of his coat. The disgusting seams help him to keep his mind straight. With the help of this coat, he can thrust all his agony into the black sea under his heart. Beneath the surface, it drowns, and he finds calmness to veil his face.

Yet, the devil is lurking underwater. It remains there if you do not poke it with sticks, nor your thoughts. Do not think. Do not feel.

The butterfly captures his eyes again - the grey butterfly. Into the forest, it flutters. Life goes on in the butterfly. He has to keep the butterfly safe. His own life is postponed. His life is this moment. One moment at a time he can do this.

Keep the beast calm.

There is no future - only this moment. One moment at a time, I can do this, even if the greyness is fogging the sky. Even if shrieking voices echo in the sky and even if the black flames tear through my every bone. But they are my bones, not yours. I will not let this happen to you. Not even for one moment can my concentration falter, because you cannot survive this. I would not survive if you had to endure this. Now, this is my duty. Duty, discipline, honour. One tormenting moment at a time.

We did not want this. We did not choose this. No one asked us.

Yet, we said yes. Because that is what we are.

There is no past, either. My entire world is this moment because in this moment I can survive, for you. For you, I will go through the fire. For you, I will burn. For you, I let the boiling tar flow into my soul. So it will not touch you for even a moment.

Because I would rather die than let this fill your soul.