Author's Note:
This year has certainly been something to never forget. All I can hope is that everyone's well and safe - and your loved ones too!
I've been exhausted since this all started. I've not been sick, but all the time had to make up new procedures at work and fearing for the worst. It's been a roller-coaster spring and idk when the summer even began… I fear if I close my eyes for a second, the leaves have turned yellow.
The restrictions are slowly easing here in Finland, and things are getting back to normal. I'm safe, my family is safe, so I can safely dream again. I can't write if I have to be alert all the time. I need breathing space, laziness if you will. And little by little, I'm getting there.
Sulrochil
Almost two thousand years have passed since Sulrochil has walked on these plains. Diligently, her eyes study the correct route between the trees; her toes explore the earth beneath them.
Small dotty lines of ants swarming everywhere show her the way. Squirrels' tails swish and the boundless green forest opens to her. She is full of charge, full of life, and full of love.
At once, she knows which path to take.
Love is the nature around her, the sunlight, the faint trill of a greenfinch in the distance. Love is a way of life; the air she breathes, the blue butterfly searching for a mate between bushes. It is the connection of everything in and around her. This is where she belongs.
The wilderness guides her.
Gladly, she welcomes its guidance. There is no room for anything other than perfection if she wants to accomplish her task. Except there is no 'if' in her life. Only how.
"Remember, you are the key. Watch and listen; observe and gather all the possible information about this place. You are the lock as well. Beware of the locks of your heart constantly. Do not let them imprison you. Then come back on the fourth day with what we need. May your mission be successful!"
Watching Mithrandir's white robes flashing for the last time through the trees, his words echo in Sulrochil's mind, forcing her to face the ugly truth that she forgot to tell Legolas about the order of the King, to kill the leader of Shadowland.
There is no way to turn back now. She has no choice but to do what is expected of her, regardless of everything. How could she have forgotten? Aye, you were supposed to forget everything on your betrothal night, but this was different. Or was it? Legolas had said he would never allow her to do anything that she was not capable of doing.
She is capable of killing - and Legolas knows it. Therefore he should not get angry, but he would.
Oh, he would definitely be furious because of her forthcoming deeds but even more because she had not told him about it. And why was that? Of course, she should have told him at once, but he would have disapproved of it and would have cancelled the mission.
Irritation begins forming deep down in Sulrochil's soul, and her thoughts begin circling. Do this - wrong. Do that - wrong. Whatever she does, would be amiss in someone's opinion.
Uneasiness sways her back and forth. To calm her mind, she begins listing all of the facts. First, she has orders from the King. Second, to win the war, they all need the advantage only she can provide. Third, she hates that Legolas does not know about this. Fourth, what is the fourth? Fifth, she is useless at reasoning things.
What she feels in her heart is the certainty that she will bring the needed advantage, and deal with Legolas later.
Do whatever is needed - right. It shall be right because it shall be whatever her heart tells her to do. What that is, she does not know yet, but in due time she will know and will do it - regardless of that certain elf's opinion.
Now that is settled, and she can concentrate on her mission.
The trek towards Shadowland is easy. The forest is pleasantly thick. Breezily, she paces closer to the obscenity in front of her. Across a small creek, she jumps, and not long after she reaches the border of Shadowland.
There could be orc patrols anywhere, and if she was careful before that, now she raises her cautiousness even more. Through the foliage, she finally sees them. Her grip on her bow softens; she inhales inaudibly and lets the demonic scene fill her vision.
The unutterably detestable creatures she has hated all her life are swarming everywhere. There is nothing out of the ordinary here; nightmarish faces, abhorrent stench, ghoulish noise. Everyone is wearing the same kind of ugly black armour and carrying the same old miscellaneous collection of black weapons. She can watch the orcs much closer than she is used to, though, and it is puzzling. Usually, she cannot look at them properly, but now she can gaze at them for as long as she wishes. She does not want to for long but wonders what has changed.
Now she realizes that they are not all similar, but have different features. They even show emotions on their faces, although it is mostly only hatred and disgust. What they can feel, she cannot know, but somehow she feels sorry for them. How disgraceful must their life be? Can they ever feel any kind of good feelings? She is confident they are not capable of love, but can they feel even comradeship with the others? Or is their union based only on fear and loathing?
"They are weeds. I am the gardener. Who am I to decide who can live, though? But I am not the one who makes the selection; they have done it by themselves. Their only intention is to slaughter because they want people to suffer. My aim is different. I kill to prevent people from falling into misery.
"Love is my weapon. With love, I can do this. Please forgive, Mellegolasdaer, whatever I am going to do here now."
Sulrochil listens to their conversations and is not surprised anymore by the fact that she can listen to their speech much more than before. Mostly they talk about killing, about annihilating as many men and elves as they can; ruthlessly demolishing all dwarves and whatnot; how they will murder them; what weapons they will use; how the victims will scream when they die.
Thus it is surprising to suddenly hear someone say he is hungry. Licking his filthy black fingers, he moves away.
Their life seems so miserable that the only right move is to banish them from Middle-earth. The revelation brings more certainty for Sulrochil.
Continuous shouts echo above the hills, "Xogarkh, Xogarkh!" She does not see it yet, but knows somewhere in the middle of everything is this Xogarkh - their leader. Her target.
Of him, she should learn everything.
Suddenly, two orc patrols are running closer to her from different directions. They are still far, and Sulrochil freezes to listen. Both are coming towards her. Seven orcs striding in both groups. Easily killed with her bow, if needed - all fourteen of them. The orcs are nearing her quickly, and Sulrochil cannot risk running away. She must only move towards two rocks and hide between them.
Feel the rock. Be the boulder. The grey solidness stills her bones; the complete soundlessness fills the air around her. All emotions vanish - there is no room for them in a piece of stone.
Both groups halt, and Sulrochil can hear their sniffing. What they can smell of her she does not know, but soon everyone resumes their journey.
The orcs run past the three rocks.
What strikes Sulrochil's curiosity is that the patrols did not talk or share information with each other. The two patrols seemed like they did not even notice the other, even though they were undoubtedly within seeing range.
They just ran past each other - and the three rocks.
Hopefully, next time she does need to hide between rocks. Their lifelessness makes her uneasy. Hiding between trees is much more pleasant when she can let their spirit fill her soul, making her part of the forest.
If that even is possible now when the revolting, evil fumes float in the air, and a horrible noise deafens her ears. When she cannot hear the patrols anymore, she rises and continues her journey around Shadowland. Soon, she encounters something she honestly did not expect here - nor anywhere in the orcdoms.
Sulrochil stares at the shocking sight in total disbelief.
This is not possible, she muses when she notices in a distant corner of Shadowland several hundreds of orcs, who spit to the ground when they hear Xogarkh's name. Who are these people? Why do they oppose Xogarkh? How are they able to do it anyway, as they are supposed to follow their leader even to death?
Now she understands Pelingilon's words about countercurrents. This place is warped. This should not be possible. It really is like some of the streams of Shadowland flowed in different directions and never met. The real question is, though: why is Xogarkh not killing them like any proper leader of the orcs should?
That is the question, she needs to answer to find her way out of this maze.
She encounters more orc patrols when she walks closer to the mountain. She has to stop and hide several times - fortunately between trees.
The curious thing is that the patrols do not even slow their pace when they pass her. Do they not smell her anymore? Or was it her that they detected in the first place? The other unusual thing is that she seems to be encountering more and more orc patrols as the day turns into night. Do they suspect something? Can someone feel her presence? Mithrandir had suspected some sort of northern sorcery amongst them; could there be a witch who knew she was here already? Or are they only here because of the defiant group? Questions!
She could go back to tell Mithrandir about the defiant group, and hope it would be enough. Aye, it would be an intriguing message, and the wizard would thank her for gifting him with this piece of information. But it would never be enough. This place is enormous, and there is a horrible amount of these vicious creatures. No information about them will ever be enough. Something must be done.
The King knew this. He had known from the beginning that no information about Shadowland would be enough to gain an advantage.
Something must be done, and it shall be done by her.
Mellegolasdaer, I have promised you that I never will try to do anything I am not capable of doing. And I will keep that promise - but even you know what I am capable of.
On forthcoming days, her primary objective will be the alienated group. The reason why they are against Xogarkh could give her some insight into how to proceed. Perhaps she could find some information about them which could get them ahead of the game without needing to actually go and kill anyone.
A slight hope begins to flicker in her mind.
If the orcs are divided into two opposing groups, there might be a way to get them fighting against each other. Perhaps there is a way to get the Xogarkh's group to attack the rebels, and the orcs could slaughter themselves! She would not have to defy Mithrandir's orders and, more importantly, not force herself to admit to Legolas that she has deliberately done things against his wishes. No, not wishes, but requests. No, not requests, orders. Orders? He cannot order her, so they cannot be orders. Advice? Pleads? The exact word does not matter, but already in her mind she sees his stormy eyes when she has to confess what she has done.
The night is about to fall. The plan for her first day is to climb the mountain so high that it is too cold for an orc to survive and find a place to rest there. Then first thing in the morning she would discover everything there is to know about this place. Who this Xogarkh is, where he is located, what his routines are, how he is guarded and the most important thing - how to kill him, if it really comes to that.
She rises so high she begins to feel that it is cold enough. The only trees at this kind of altitude are low juniper bushes scrawling between the boulders. Beside a twisted creeping evergreen she lays to get some shelter from the hardships of the world. Swiftly, she grabs under her jerkin and finds the ugliest piece of headgear she has ever seen. Into a ball, she curls and pulls the woollen hat onto her face.
It might be hideous, but it is fluffy. The only soft thing she has.
"Perhaps I should acquire something man-made for my mission," she wondered. "Now I know: a beanie!"
"A beanie? What are you going to do with it?" he grinned and answered himself. "But of course! There might be a blizzard. The weather on Lonely Mountain is more unpredictable than you and the hat would prevent the awful snow messing up your hair."
"That would not be a problem; I do own a comb! My hair does not fall into place and magically form nice braids by themselves, like someone else's apparently!"
"A comb?" he said and slid his hands over her arms and down her back. "Where? You have so many pockets."
She shoved his hands away, "We have an assignment to plan for."
"I only would like to be informed about this detail," he said, trying to sneak his hands back. "I have never seen your comb, and I am fascinated."
"And you shall not see it now," she said, grabbed his hands and bent them behind his back. "Because-"
Her sentence never ended because he had something else in his mind.
Now she is on the mountain slope with the ghastly beanie, and the memory reminds her again how awfully she has deceived Legolas. The assignment planned on that day is not what she is going to do.
The shame sits on the nearby rock, flailing his legs. As he is thumbing his nose, his dirty little fingers wiggle, dabbing Sulrochil deeper into remorse.
They should not have any secrets. She would get mad if she found out he had been keeping secrets from her - and now she is doing it herself.
In the dead of night, the ring begins to burn her chest in the hidden pocket. She is unaware that her fingers brush it through the cloth as she wonders what it actually is that causes her to feel so little distress being this close to Shadowland. This is a vicious place, even though something is different than before. Always close to orcs, she has the vile sensation of someone watching her all the time. This time the creepy feeling is gone, but how could a ring do that? Thinking about this mystery adds to the whirlwind in her mind.
If only she could survive without sleep, she would be fine, but she needs to sleep. She can only wait for the morning, hoping that rest would find her at some point. What she would give now if she could go days or even weeks without sleep? Like another certain elf out there.
The agonizingly painful yearning she should feel now after the too abrupt separation after the bonding, is gone, but nevertheless, she misses Legolas. Her whole body is rigid as a rocky mountain without him, and this kind of stiffness would not go away even if she had a pile of squishy hats and a mattress.
There is a grey hollow inside her soul, an ugly void which leaves her dubious as to what really had caused her agony to disappear. It is as if the edges of the pain are shimmering around the hollow.
At the darkest hours of the night, she is carried into deep despair about childlessness. It has always been gnawing at her soul, but in the past, the sorrow never truly belonged to her. Because of it, she never wanted anyone. Always, she reasoned that if she was never married, childlessness would be easier to bear with when there would be no real hope to have a child anyway. But now, the whole thing is getting on a new level. If… Not if. In a year, she would get married to Legolas and they would… it is still difficult for her to name it even in her own thoughts, but after a year it would be proven without any doubts that they never would get any children.
Forever, they would be childless.
It is easy to picture a small child with features of them both, running wild in the forest. It is easy to wish for the child to whom they could teach everything they knew. It is easy to envision a night when the child would sleep peacefully, and they could watch her sleep and kiss over the cot.
It is easy to imagine that, but her womb is as barren as the frozen ground. For all eternity, it would be so.
Her bed is made of rocks. With thorns as her linens, she lays. The light of last night does not shine for her anymore.
After a few moments of restless sleep, she takes her bow and resumes her path to the Eastern side of the mountain to find a good vantage point for observing. Crawling on the steep slope, she finds a spot on which the whole monstrosity of Shadowland is open to her eyes.
For several hours, she sits there, trying to estimate the number of the orcs, to memorize the map of Shadowland, to see the big picture.
Could they become good if they wanted? Would they even want it? Do they possess the ability to be good?
From the north large armies of orcs march constantly towards Shadowland. They arrive in the already crowded place, and small fights arise here and there. Never does Sulrochil manage to see how they begin, but she marks the disruption everywhere. What she does not witness are any signs of a sorcerer.
What about if someone was kind to them, would that change anything? Or are they profoundly evil? Why would anyone want to be evil? Do they have a choice?
Masses of similar orcs, ugliness is tainting her eyes, but she has no other choice but to stare at them and find something useful. Anything.
The only thing she knows is that there are so many orcs that they must attack somewhere soon. Very soon, as they have not enough food nor shelters. But where? What is their goal? They already tried attacking Lake-town, are they going to try to invade the mountain of the dwarves? Or Mirkwood? Even these morons must realize the forest has changed lately and it is not as heinous as it used to be. It is a freeway for them.
Sulrochil should make something up, but everything seems futile. This is a fool's errand.
If she knows anything about orc bases, it is that there is always a supreme leader, one who has power over all the rest. Except for this one. Xogarkh shows himself at the front of the training field - guarded by dozens of orcs around him. Why is he not killing the deviants? Is he truly the leader? At this distance, she cannot hear what they are talking about in a normal voice. All she hears is the loud commands shouted in the training field - and the groans of those poor ones who had to die for the purposes of training.
The masses of orcs gathering into the training field in the middle of Shadowland are so huge, she fears there are not enough people in the world to defeat them. There must be tens of thousands of them. Way too many for the combined armies of elves and men - if the bands of men could be called an army. Oh, and also the dwarves, if the wizard managed to bang their stubborn heads on the wall and get them on their side as well.
The sound the vile black sea of orcs begins to make is atrocious, the stomping, shouting and banging of the ground with their spears, and the only purpose of this appalling noise is to honour their leader, Xogarkh. Is it honour, or fear? Nevertheless, they roar his name and raise their weapons, making Sulrochil's ears hurt.
The opposing group is gaining more people to their side all the time, as they lurk around everywhere, turn their backs to Xogarkh, and whisper their lies to everyone. That is interesting. Soon, she can go closer and hear their schemes. If only she could get them to attack the main group. If only she could get them at each other's throats. If only.
There are still two days for her to watch and listen - and to judge which actions she must take before running back to Lake-town.
She has seen where Xogarkh's quarters are: in the middle of Shadowland. The only place he goes out of his tent to is the training field. It means that he stays in the middle of the base all the time, and thus it will be impossible for her to shoot Xogarkh while hiding in the forest. If she were to kill him, she would have to sneak her way into Shadowland in the middle of the night, crawl almost half a mile on the ground, enter his tent, and kill him - and everyone else who should be in the tent at the time. She also determines which route she would take if she had to do it, but she wishes it does not come to that.
If there is any other way to act, she will do it, and begins to find her way closer to the opposing camp to learn everything about them. Crawling closer to the deviants, she tries to find any news but hears nothing of importance.
As the sun creeps higher in the sky, she begins to get frustrated. Whatever she could do here would be aimless. No information could ever bring any advantage; thus, she should do what Thranduil commanded her to do.
But even that would be pointless because if she killed Xogarkh, someone else would take his place. Xogarkh is only a puppet if he does not kill the defiant group!
This is useless, chasing her tail.
She must do something else, but what? There is no sorcerer here, even though Mithrandir had thus anticipated. Only these mindless dullards! But who has machinated all this, then? Xogarkh has not done it - he has almost as much wit as the cleverest mouse. Almost as much.
Whoever is behind all this is not here, Sulrochil is assured of it, but he could be still in the north. Of course, he is there! Would it be enough if she went back and said that? Mithrandir could fly there with his strange beasts, and defeat whomever he would find. The elves could go home, shut their doors and not allow anyone in. End of story.
Perhaps, but that is not what Thranduil asked her to do. What he asked of her will be disliked by Legolas. And how pointless it all will be!
Everyone is asking something of her! She is at a dead end. This place is enormous, and they need something. She is the one to decide everything now, but she is alone here. Isolated. And she cannot think properly.
Forget thinking! She cannot feel herself properly. And that is the problem.
Frustration is filling her soul. She cannot see the reason for the resistance. Only traces of their defiance she sees. Faint marks, slight signs. A peculiar fight here, an oddball grass fire there. The strange shift in the air every now and then. More dead orcs everywhere - killed by their fellows. The reason is there somewhere - and she hates it when she does not know and is left to guess things.
The burdens of the world are greying her soul, and she should not be alone. She has always been a solitary person, performing her best alone - and now left alone here, she is lost. It is love that should carry her now, but she is alone.
And she hates that she is so dependent on him!
Her peace of mind is lost. She waits for the sky to begin to be normal again because the sun is not yellow anymore but black.
Legolas
The night is getting darker by the moment.
It is the second night after arriving in Mirkwood after the departure in Lake-town, one elf sits on a bench and looks deeply at the scenery out of the window. Countless hours in his lifetime, he has been gazing at it, trying to understand what this scenery tells him about his mother.
There is almost every kind of tree he could think of scattered here and there. The scenery is intriguing and usually fills him with the love of his mother, but not today. There are a few words inside him to describe the view - enthralling, breathtaking, brightening. In some other time, he would have used those words, but now it is not the time to use them.
Large. Complicated. Grey. These are the words for today.
He only stares at the distance trying to manage one moment at a time. And he knows he is not alone - they had not left him alone, not even for a moment - but he is not sure who it is with him in the room right at this moment. Because there is no past for him to remember.
"They look like any trees," Mithrandir says in the back of the room, "but they are not."
"You did not come here to talk about the view," Legolas snaps.
"You are right." Mithrandir paces to stand by the window beside Legolas and the monstrous thunder in the elf's mind makes the wizard almost flinch. "I came here to talk about Sulrochil."
"What about her?" Legolas turns to Mithrandir, and his unfocused eyes make the wizard fear for the sake of the elf.
"There is no need to worry about her," the wizard says. And it is not hard to see why everyone is worried about the elf.
"No need to worry?" Legolas whispers. "She is out there alone with orcs everywhere, her soul being crushed under the evil feeling of them."
"She is alive, so she has managed it well," Mithrandir says kindly.
"How do you know that she is alive?"
"Legolas, you would not be here talking to me if she was not, but you must not think of that now. Think of the fact that she does not have to endure the agony when it is all on you now. How are you faring, Legolas?"
"How can she manage the evilness of the orcs out there?"
"I asked about you, Legolas," Mithrandir says.
"I am alive, so I am managing it well."
"You are not well at all."
"Do not touch my feelings, Mithrandir," Legolas hissed. "They do not belong to you."
"No," the wizard muttered, "they do not belong to me. Not to me."
"This is my pain, and you know why I am doing this."
"For her."
"And she did not realize this?" Legolas turns to see Mithrandir.
"No," the wizard simply responds as he realizes the elf cannot take any lengthier explanations in.
"I intend to keep it that way," Legolas says, resuming his vigil by the window.
"How much do you know about the ring you gave to her?" Mithrandir asks.
"What?"
"The ring. What has your father told you about it?"
"He had given it to my mother after I was born. Nothing else."
"The ring is the Ring of the Third."
"The Ring of the Third?" Legolas said and hearing those words made him remember something faintly, but he could not concentrate enough on the memory to bring it to his consciousness. In some corner of his mind, he managed to listen to Mithrandir's story, but all the words seemed hazy and indistinct. It was a constant stream of vague words into his ear and out of the other - still raising some familiarity in his mind.
"Why did you not tell him about the ring?" Legolas suddenly hears Mithrandir saying and turns his head to see what the wizard's purpose is and notices Father has entered the room.
"I told him about it last night," Father states, stopping in the middle of the room. "And two times today."
"I see," the wizard only replies, turning his concerned eyes towards the younger elf.
"Legolas," Thranduil says in an undertone. "Sulrochil is safe. She is doing something she is capable of doing and is doing it well. She is fine. She feels no pain because you have it all-"
"She is alone," the son responds quietly.
"- and like I have said many times, she has guards should something happen."
"Guards?" Mithrandir wonders.
"I could not very well send her there all alone," the King says. "I sent a group of three to watch the situation from a distance and act if needed. Dinalagosson is their leader, and his hearing is the best in Mirkwood at the moment."
"How can they know where she is when she is hiding? Even Dinalagosson cannot hear Sulrochil."
"You are right. They scan the overall circumstances should there happen anything out of the ordinary. If something stirs, they step in. And they might be able to see Sulrochil once in a while when she has to switch places."
"Might," Mithrandir sighs.
"Sulrochil," the King begins, "knows what she is doing. Sending those three elves there to tail her was most likely only unnecessary precaution decided in some foolish sentimental moment two nights ago. She is not going to do anything she is not able to do, and therefore no one could ever even begin to guess she would be there. More likely is that the orcs notice the three chaperones, even though they have strict orders to stay far enough away."
"Do you think the ring will help her enough?" Mithrandir asks, and in wonderment squints at his pipe in his hand. He has not lit it - never would he dare to do that within these walls - but he has no idea when it had emerged from his pocket.
The King glares at the pipe, as puzzled as the wizard. If a wizard could grab his pipe, without being aware of his doings, perhaps even more unexpected things could happen. "She is tougher than we think."
It is dark. Last night was bad. In some corner of Legolas' mind, is a familiar voice saying 'horrendous', but he only thrusts the sound back, for he cannot listen to that voice tonight.
"Ghastly," it whispers. "Abominably abysmal." He tries not to listen to that voice, but the darkness sucks all his strength to fight the pain. If the first night was terrible, he tries not to imagine what this will be. He will not be alone, though. The only thing he remembers from last night is the steady hand on his back - like an anchor so he does not drown in the sea of pain.
"...everything is in order for the funeral tomorrow."
"How can Legolas manage it?"
"Everything is easier for him in the daylight…"
But there is no daylight now. Only darkness - in the sky and in his soul.
"...we got a tremendous amount of people back into the army in these two days."
"Even though most of them have declined to rejoin in the past?"
"The rumours have swiped through the whole of Mirkwood."
"You mean the fact this kingdom will go to its end after a year?"
"I mean the fact Legolas is back and his betrothed is shrouding in shrubbery somewhere northeast."
"But you have not yet announced it."
"Do you think that would remain in secret?"
"I suppose not."
"They know our army is led by love now."
"You do not lead it anymore?"
"In principle, yes. But when we attack Shadowland in two days, in practice, our army will be led by the love of Legolas and Sulrochil. All the elves of Mirkwood now see is the love of those two. They all want to be part of an army led by love again."
This pain. I must not forget why there is pain. Must not forget. I am doing this for you, -.
For you, -.
"No!" Legolas whispers and his shoulders stiffen.
"Mithrandir, leave us alone," Thranduil says sharply and when he hears the door shutting behind the wizard somewhere in the back of the room he puts his hand between the shoulder blades of his son, asking, "What it is, Legolassion?"
"I cannot remember-"
"You cannot remember what?"
"Her name, her true name," Legolas reveals, fixing his eyes to the moon. "Why did I have to forget that?"
Father's heart crumbles. Whatever the pain in his own heart is, he can manage, but not the torment of his only child. "I have no answers for you."
"I could forget anything else but not that."
With compassionate eyes, Father looks at his son. It is such a new name for you - a name that turns your world upside down, and in your turmoil, your mind wishes to hold on to old matters. I could say that to you now, but you do not want to hear explanations, nor do you need my pity. The only thing you need now is a way out of the abyss of your mind. You need something old, something ancient and stead-fast, instead of all novelties of today, but I am not quite sure if I can provide you with that. "Do you want me to say the name to you?" Father says.
Abruptly, Legolas turns to stare at his father, "How could you know it?"
"You whispered it many times last night. You probably were not even aware of that, but I heard it, nevertheless. The question is, do you want me to repeat it."
"If you know it, just spit it out," Legolas says and closes his eyes.
"No," Father reflects in his thoughts, "I cannot say it aloud. It would not be right." He walks toward a desk, writes something on a piece of paper and tucks it into his son's hand.
Sultithen
For a long time, Legolas looks at the writing, until he finally goes to the desk and writes the name on another paper. He puts the one with his own handwriting into his pocket and shreds the paper written by his father to four pieces.
Into a candle flame, he dips one of the pieces, and into nothingness the paper burns between his fingers. Soon, all he has in his hands is black dust. "What did you see?" he asks.
"Burning paper," Father replies.
"Wrong."
Again, into the flame goes another shred. This one burns faster than the first. "What did you see now?"
"More burning paper."
"Wrong again."
In the same manner, he burns the next scrap. "This is not paper. These are the four days that were robbed from us."
"You have an eternity together."
Likewise, he burns the last remaining piece of paper and smears the ash between his fingers. "You and Mithrandir are the thieves. Two filthy old burglars breaking into an unarmed house, stealing anything of value, plundering all you can get."
"Four days is a short time."
"It is the first days of our life together, and we should be doing something a little different than being torn apart like this. You made us sacrifice our lives! You set a trap for us, and we got caught." Legolas thrusts his blackened fingers towards his Father's face. "Look at these sooty fingers! This is our sacrifice! What I should be doing now with these fingers is something a tad different than burning these damned papers in this blasted castle. And what was written on the paper?! The name I should never forget. And what should I be doing with that name right now at this very moment? Do you know? Make a guess! If you do not get it, I will tell you: I should be whispering that name into her ear, and kissing her. Then kissing her again, and not forced to stand here, staring at your ugly face!"
"She will be back soon."
"Soon is not enough! This is supposed to be the third day of our life together. There is no room for 'soon' in my life. So, tell me - if you dare - how did you spend your first days with Mother? Were you separated like this? Abruptly, torn apart and thrown down from a cliff?"
"No-" Father begins but has no time to say anything more.
"Of course you weren't," Legolas shouts. "No one would do that to anyone they care for! And do you know why we in the first place did not recognize our love already in Minas Tirith in the first place?"
"No."
"It was because of you! It is always you! You made us unequal. For thirty years, Sulrochil and I had been equal. For thirty years - the happiest years I ever had! Then you came and made her your pawn. You gave her a task that lowered her. What kind of a task? Do I need to remind you? To bring me my crown! There she carried for two weeks my crown that weighed so much that her back was bowed down and when she finally met me she already was lowly and obedient as any proper elf would be before her Prince. It was your petty game!"
"You do not believe this."
"It was your fault!" Legolas yells. "This all is your fault! You sent her to Shadowland just now as we had found each other. There must have been another choice."
"This was the only choice."
"You did not even consider other options!"
"We spent the whole night with Mithrandir weighing every possibility, discussing every option. There was nothing else for us to do. She is the best, she had to be the one to do this. And it had to be us that sent her there because if we had not done it, you would have done it by yourself! I sent her, so you did not have to make the decision!"
"Do not even try turning this into one of your games again!"
"I gave the order, so the responsibility was taken from you!"
"Everything you touch turns out twisted!" Legolas shouts.
Slowly, Father turns to look at his son, thinking how right he happens to be in his accusations. There is only one way out of the agony, and it will not be easy, but it must be done. "Look at the pines."
"Everything you do is wrong!"
His pain, his all-consuming agony, almost smothers Thranduil, when he forces himself to reminisce about his wife - the mother of this boy. Because of his son, he has to do this. The only thing Legolas needs right now is his Mother's love, and Father has to help him to find it. No matter how painful it is. "Seek solace from the pines-"
"End the cosseting!" Legolas shouts." Everyone dies around you! If it is not their bodies that are wasted, then their souls! No one can survive sane around you!"
"If your mother was here, she would have the right words. She always has."
"She died as well! It was you who killed her!"
"Concentrate on one of the pines-"
"Stop harping about trees! She died, but it was not you who killed her, but me! If it weren't for me, she would have fought differently. We would not have even been there in the first place if it weren't for me!"
"It never was you, Legolas. It was me all along," Father says. "You are right. Everything around me dies. Wherever I put my fingers, perishes. Everyone dies because of me. This was not the route I would have chosen, but there is no other road for me anymore. Whomever I cast my eyes over, freezes to death. My path is paved with skeletons; doom is the only companion I have. All night and day, it follows me. Wherever I go, it comes too, because there is no escape from it.
"I would have chosen another path for you, as well, my Son. Forever, I shall carry the burden of not being able to offer you the life you would have deserved. You needed your mother, but because of me, she was robbed from you. I tried to be a father to you, but I failed. I tried to be a mother as well because you needed us both, but I failed. I did not know how to be either. I failed, and you shall never have the mother you needed."
The sincerity of Father's words stirs something in Legolas' soul. He turns to look at his Father, "But I shall meet her again."
"No, you shall not. Not in a way you would have needed. You will never get to know what kind of a mother she would have been for a seven-year-old boy, or for a ten-year-old, or any aged child for that matter. When you meet her, you will be an adult who never had the chance to know his mother. You needed her then; you need her now. Forever, shall part of you be the child who lost his mother."
Legolas stares at the forest through the window; violent storms wreak havoc in his soul.
"Go on, Legolas, search for a pine. There are several of them because your mother wanted it that way. Go on, and pick one - whichever, because they all have your mother's spirit. It is her voice whispering in them. Listen to her voice and search for her wisdom. You need her guidance now."
A faint scent of pine lingers in the air, as Legolas lets the message into his soul. The fury slowly begins to ebb. "How can I find her?"
"She will find you, if you let her," Father whispers. "You asked me yesterday what her favourite song is. It is Guardian of the Forest."
"The old rugged pine which is protecting her children."
"After a storm, Adaben and Sereglang were robbed of everything, but the tree sheltered them," Father retells the story. "Guardian of the Forest is the tree of life for your mother. Let your mother sing it to you now. You need her sound, her guidance, her love. Listen to the silence, she is there. Forever, she shall be there for you."
"Take the pain as your friend," Father advises. "Do not fight it. Let it flow around you, inside you, through you, and you shall see there is always light. There exists no darkness in this world that it is devoid of all light. Let the light into your soul. Let your Mother's love seep back into your soul."
Not being able to resist anymore, the son stands stolidly, straining all his muscles and turns his eyes to the woods, searching for Mother's spirit. He is not alone - beside him, Father is standing sentinel.
"It is but a faint change of wind now," Father says. "Only tiny shivers of pine needles, but it is there. She will find you - and she will always be there for you."
In the forest, one gracious pine reaches her branches towards the desolate pair in the window.
Author's Note: Comments are love.