Sulrochil
In war, if an opportunity arises, act at once; for you might never get the second chance.
Leaving the woollen hat on a perfect branch of a thick willow bush seemed to be the best opportunity two days ago. The willow was growing close - but not too close - to the defiant group, and there Sulrochil left the hat, hoping they would soon see it. Their arguments about the mystery find could bring the information she needed.
But no one found it.
"What are you truly going to do with the hat?" Legolas asked.
"I am not sure yet," Sulrochil replied, "but maybe I will use it as a lure. I shall put it somewhere, and they will think someone dropped it."
"Dropped a hat?" he said. "It is May. No one wears woollen hats in May, but you never considered that. Of course, it never even crossed your mind, but let us assume - for a split second - that you shall take this ridiculous object with you as bait, you must put it in a place a man actually could go, and they would not go anywhere near Shadowland. Therefore it will be useless."
"But I have a feeling I need it."
"You have every right to carry unnecessary items as much as you wish."
"Perhaps I will talk to the hat! I have a strong tingle in my fingertips that it will prove to be a much nicer companion than most of us here!"
For two days the hat has been swinging on the willow branch. No one has even glanced in its direction.
Time is running out. Soon she should make something up, but all she hears is the never-ending grumbling about the same old matters. Killing. More killing. Much more.
If she is to kill someone here, she must do it with her bow. No matter how irritating it is to admit that Legolas is right, she will have no chance against thousands of orcs if she gets caught.
But if an opportunity arises, and she is confident she can sweep away all of the orcs in a small area before they have time to sound an alarm - she shall do it.
It will be against everyone's wishes, though.
There is always someone offering her advice, orders, whatever. She is being torn to pieces by the bouncing demands. When does this end? Could there be a solution? A peaceful solution. Oh, toss the peaceful solution! Any kind of solution would do, as long as she could proudly go back to the others and inform them that she has solved everything.
If someone tortures me, it is alright. I can take it. It is their wrongdoings, not mine, but it is my responsibilities that kills me. If I do this - wrong. If I do that - also wrong. But it is me who will make the decision, and it is me who will take the consequences.
Nevertheless, it will kill me.
Here, I pretend to be a hero, but my heart falters. When does this end?
A broken alder leaf floats in the eddying rapids. The vicious stream hurls the leaf. Sulrochil grabs the shattered leaf - but cannot make it whole again. The only thing she can do is tuck the dripping leaf into the tiny pocket of her ring. There it makes her chest wet. Are they tears?
Two days have passed, and nothing has happened.
The crushed alder leaf may be crying, and she must do something to make it stop. Anything at all to get things right. Swiftly, she grabs the vexatious hat from the willow branch and, when no one sees it, throws it in the middle of the orcs' track. There, between jagged rocks, the pesky piece of headgear lays and after not too long someone finally sees it and takes it to Gworf, the leader of the deviants.
Finally, something.
"A man-made hat!" Gworf yells. "Are there men here?"
Shargu grabs the hat from Gworf and sniffs it, "This is an elven plot!" He smells it again and stares into the woods. Between his teeth, he spits, "I've been smelling elves around here for days now. We'd better kill 'em all!"
"Xogarkh doesn't want it yet. We must wait for Lokowid. He'll arrive soon from the north."
"Xogarkh is a wimp," Shargu hisses. "We're not some rabbits waiting in a hole. You should challenge him now, Gworf, before Lokowid comes."
"We don't have enough people on our side," Gworf grunts. "We must gain more people."
"We'll get everyone on our side if you challenge him now! When Lokowid comes, Xogarkh would be a rotting carcass, and we'd be in charge here! He'd see who we are and that we're not some dolts like Xogarkh. He's being a sissy when he thinks we should wait for the elves to vanish from the world themselves. We should not wait! We should be the rulers of the world!"
Sulrochil listens to the snarling of the two orcs, Gworf and Shargu, for a long time. Finally, Shadowland's weak point is revealed, making her understand what should be done here.
It is easy to get the two opposing orc camps at each other's throats. She would do it in no time. In a flash, Sulrochil understands what she must do to get the needed advantage for the elves, and when the awareness of her impending actions hits her mind truly, she feels in her bones that no one is going to like what she is going to do.
If she wants the two groups to fight each other, it is not Xogarkh - the leader of Shadowland - who should die, but Gworf - the leader of the deviants.
If Xogarkh died, someone else would take his place, just as she had reasoned earlier. He was weak.
But on the other hand, if Sulrochil killed Gworf, it would not be enough either, because Shargu would find an elven arrow from the dead body, and thus get more fuel to his fervour to kill all elves. Shargu is the one who must be taken seriously here. It will never be enough if Gworf died by Sulrochil's arrow.
So, the only possible option here is that it must be Xogarkh who kills Gworf.
And he will - if you ask Sulrochil.
Legolas
Sorrow is condensed in the grey clouds above the majestic mountains. Down in the valley, a long line of solemn elves is proceeding through the woods. All living spirits are gathered to honour the memory of Chief Marchwarden Filvendor.
Grief is here.
The heartbreaking wails of a solitary swan echo between the mountaintops. Frantically, the swan circles here and there, trying to find his mate, but she is nowhere to be seen.
To love is to fall - if your loved one falls. To love is to die - when your loved one perishes. To love is to suffer - but never a moment goes amiss because, without love, there is no life worth living.
The King and the Prince are following the widow of Chief Marchwarden Filvendor in the procession. The swan's howling grows more agitated by the moment as the bird hastily plunges in every direction, but sees no trace of his mate.
Just a moment ago the Queen of the Swans was peacefully floating on a nearby lake, but where is she now? The Swan King does not know. Did a wolf take her, or is she only innocently floating behind a small spit?
All night, Legolas had been staring at the tall pine in the forest. All night, the pine had stared back at him. Their silent conversation had kept him alive.
These pines are shielding him. The Morning Star guides him, but the forest does not bring him solace, because the one he misses is not here. His every limb yearns to yank himself out of this queue of misery and head toward the north. All the time, he wrestles with the thought of travelling northward and getting Sulrochil back from wherever she is because this mission of hers is worth nothing. No matter how cleverly she would observe there, she could not bring anything back that is worth knowing. No information exists in this world that would be useful. Therefore, it would be all the same if she got back at once.
But he does not leave the funeral. Nor does he do what everything in him urges him to do, because he knows there is a seed of hope that a miracle could happen and that she would arrive with victorious steps for she had done what she was meant to do. They would win the war because of her. It was her who was the key in this war. And in his heart, he knew she was worth this mission.
Did the wolf take her? The agonizing cries fill his heart - and Legolas cannot be sure if they are his own or those of the swan's.
This pain. This pain is tearing him apart, but he can manage this because he knows it is not real. Sulrochil is alive, and that is all that matters. She has not gotten back, and that is a good sign. She has agreed to be careful - all will be well. The pain is trashing him, but it is not real. Each step says this is not real. Each step tells him that Sulrochil is still safe.
Uphill the funeral procession advances - the mournful chanting goes on and on. By the distinguished grave tree of Queen Glaneth, they walk. One cannot enter the graveyard, not being humbled by the noble pine of almost three thousand years. The sorrowful song is familiar, and Legolas may be singing the same words, but for him the song is different. He mourns, but not for Chief Marchwarden Filvendor, who lies in the coffin.
Through the ages, the tree has grown on his Mother's grave. All gates open in his soul, as his Mother's tree diminishes before his eyes. Into a tiny seed, it reduces - a small boy is clutching the seed in his hand. Little wind twirls the boy's light hair - a teardrop glistens in the corner of his eyes.
Today, he does not hate his crown. Today, it assists him. Like a bandage, it holds together all that is falling apart. His robe makes all his wounds invisible. With them, he can endure this day.
The King and the Prince are leading the funeral procession of the Queen. The son looks at his father, and suddenly Father's head is higher than the mountains. The small boy needs to be faster to keep up. Father's hand sways by his side, and the boy does not know if he is allowed to grab it.
The rules.
There are always rules. Mother, am I allowed to take his hand? You always know the rules. Please, tell me.
The small pine seed burns his hand as he clutches it. "You have to take good care of the seed, do not drop it." The pine seed is not what he wants, though, but it is all that he has for his Mother today.
But my other hand is free, can I hold Father's hand with it?
Mother, why did you go away? I miss you, Nana. Please, come back. I know I will meet you again in the afterlife, but what if I need you here? Nana, what if I need you now? (Nana=Mommy)
Father's mouth is a rigid line; his eyes cold as the winter chill. The boy forces his own tears to stay wherever they are. He will not cry today. For Father's sake, he must be strong today.
Into little fists, he curls both his hands. One hand holds the seed, the other is empty, but if he tries hard, perhaps he feels his Mother's grip in it. Do not cry.
Today, it is his duty to keep Father composed.
That is not hard, because even if they are following his Mother's coffin, it is only the body. Nana is not in that coffin, nor is she in this endless line of the elves. Nana is not here. She is not this sad tune, she is not this ceremony, nor is she these flooding tears in her people's eyes. Nana is not here.
Mother's spirit is all over in the forest. She is the willow warbler's whistle above the treeline. She is in the small soft spot on the boy's forehead - the very place in which she pecks the goodnight kiss every night. Oh, how he hates it! Kisses are for the babies. Nana, why did you leave me? Why did you go away and take Father's smile with you? He is stone, and I hate you!
I hate you! You are not these awful songs they sing all the time, nor are you in the coffin. You are not here, but if I close my eyes, will you come back? Will you kiss me at night?
I know, Nana, that you won't come back. I know it because I know these things now, but I want you back. You are not a speech. You are not cold. You are soft, you smell of roses. If I close my eyes, can I see your smile?
You are not this awful seed I am supposed to plant to your… to the place where they put you. I will do it because of the rules, but… Nana, I hate the rules!
A little boy treads closer to the grave of his Mother. The day has been long. All of the songs form a whirlwind in his mind as he crouches by the grave. A small hole has been dug for the seed. He reaches out his hand and opens his palm.
In the tiny palm, the seed lays. Thousands of compassionate pairs of eyes turn towards the sight. The ever-constant tune of the elves whirls around the boy - the little motherless boy - but no melody can bring his Nana back.
Tears try to well in the boy's eyes, but he bites his lip and does not cry. Into the dark hole, the seed falls; his childhood is over.
Chief Marchwarden Filvendor's funeral is over - the day has been long. Father and Son are home. Legolas stands by the window and tries to remember something from the Chief's funeral, however there are but faint fragments of today's events in his mind.
All day he has relived the past.
The window is open; birdsong fills the room. Did the swan find his mate? Legolas does not know.
"I know what happened to Mother," Legolas says to his Father, who stands beside him, staring at the piney forest as keenly as his son.
"Of course you do," Father responds. "She died."
"Afterwards," Legolas whispers. "About the spear."
"I made Mithrandir swear he would never reveal it to you! And there he had to choose this day to notify you about this!"
"It was not him," Legolas said and studied the forest, trying to find spruce. "It was the sounds of the battle. The noises from the battle that killed Mother have been inside me all these millennia, but they have not made any sense until now. This pain that crushes my heart all the time has cracked my soul open, and I have relived the battle. Continually, I relive it, hear everything again and again, and now I understand what it all means. I know about the spear. I am sorry."
"You were never supposed to know."
"I heard someone thrusting a spear into the ground. I heard him placing something on it. Father, I am sorry. You came closer, and he laughed. You moved around, carried… things. You threw your cloak… I am sorry. There is no need to repeat it now.
"No," Father swallowed. "But you did not understand any of this as a child, did you?"
"No. Only now."
It is the evening of the funeral day of the Queen. The day has been long, and the child should sleep. Into the bed, he has been tucked. Father sits by the bedside, not knowing what to do with his hands.
"Father, please tell me a story."
Quietly, Father begins to tell a story about three elves, who lived a long time ago. There were three brothers Colfinnor, Thinben and Luinbir, who lived on a mountain. Their Father gave them a task. "My sons, go and find me a golden horn of war." The sons left, each in a different direction. Colfinnor went north, Thinben went south, but Luinbir went…
Thranduil stops talking, and soon his eyes search the North Star in the dark sky. A tiny voice asks, "Father, where did Luinbir go?"
"I am sorry, Legolassion," Father shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts that hammer in his mind at every moment.
"You are not much of a storyteller."
"No, I am not," Father sighs and puts his hand on his son's shoulder. To tell you the truth, I could tell you stories, if these damned tales would not remind me of your Mother! "We need to find you an instructor, who will teach you all the stories your mother would have taught you if she were here."
He had chosen this story tonight because Glaneth hated it. "Why does there exist a golden horn of war?" But even this disturbing tale evoked all the memories. "Why did the father want the horn? Had he something evil in his mind?" Everything reminded Thranduil of her, and all of their debates danced in his soul. "And it is ridiculous that the horn eventually was found on the top of a mountain? Why was it there in the first place?"
The stories are the same as ever, but she is not here. And if she is not here, I am not here. Alone, I am nothing. Only as a part of us, can I exist.
"You know these stories too," Legolas says. "Why will you not teach me?"
"They are the stories of wood elves. I do know them, but it would be better if they would be taught to you by someone who feels them like your Mother."
The problem, my son, is that I do feel them like your Mother, but it would break my heart to teach them to you. I cannot be a mother to you. I cannot replace her, but I can be myself. I cannot tell you stories, but I can give you something else. I have to.
"I do not want an instructor. I want you."
"No, my Son, you do not want me, you want your mother, but she is not here."
"Will you abandon me?"
"Why do you say that?"
"You won't tell me anything and only go your way."
"I will never leave you, nor go my way. These stories are better to leave to a more qualified storyteller, but I can teach you something else."
"What?"
"Archery."
"Mother was better than you."
"You are right, she is better than me, but-"
"I know what you are going to say. She is not here. But nevertheless, you cannot teach me because you do not have time. You always have so much to do."
"I will make time."
"You would?"
"If you would accept me as your archery instructor, I would."
"But you are nothing compared to Mother…" Legolas's sound fades for a while. Suddenly, his eyes lighten again, "Would you really teach me?!"
"For now, I will. By the age of seventeen, you will probably be better than me, and then we shall find a better instructor for you."
"I'll be better than you when I'm fifteen! Nana said I could be the best if I practise hard."
"You boast too much, my Son," Father smiles. "But it is true that with your Mother's aid you could have been the best archer in this world, and we still could find someone with whom you could become like that. If you accept me as your instructor, you will never be the best."
"What shall I be then?"
"You shall be an elf taught by his father."
A small, faint smile flits across Legolas' face, and he nods.
"There is one condition, though," Father continues.
"What is that?" Legolas asks. He averts his eyes, fearing for the worst - that the condition is something he never could attain.
"That you also teach me something."
Eyes wide open, Legolas gapes at his Father." You know everything! What could I teach you?"
Thranduil leans to whisper into the boy's ear, "Climbing trees."
"You never climb."
"No, but with you, I could try."
"Mother said she once tried to make you attempt it, but you said 'no'."
"She tried many times, but I always refused. I never confessed it to her, but the trees -, " he whispers again, "-are quite intimidating, and I have no inclination to ascend one of them. I much prefer feeling the solid ground under my feet, but if you promise to teach me, I promise to try."
"You are so tall. You would never fit between the branches of a thick tree!"
"One will never know if they do not try."
"We must first try a pine! They are easy to climb! Can we go at once?!"
"No. Now you must sleep. but tomorrow, my Son, tomorrow."
"I will not forget this," Legolas says and closes his eyes. "You have never tried it, have you?"
"No. But with as skillful an instructor as you, even I can master it."
As if behind a veil, Thranduil hears faint whispers. The voices are all too familiar. At the same time, his heart rejoices and is stabbed dead. "You cannot climb a tree now. You are expecting a baby!" "When then? With the baby?" "You shall not carry my child up to a tree." "No, but soon he will learn to climb by himself. And you must go after him." "You shall not see the day when I heave myself up to one of those preposterous logs. Trees are for timber."
It is true. She did not see that day. The ominosity of the words pound inside his mind. From now on, his life would consist of moments of lovely remembrances, followed by the inescapable truth of her absence. His soul would be disfigured, but that he could manage. How would the little boy endure this? What would his life become without his beloved Nana?
"Tomorrow, then," the child says and begins to drift off. Everything is clear for the boy now. Father misses Mother even more than he does.
I must not talk about Mother anymore. I cannot talk about Mother, nor ask any questions, or the shadows veil his eyes again. I do not wish to see the shadows in his eyes. I must forget my Mother. I don't want to, but I don't want to lose Father too. I am big enough, I don't need a mother anymore. Nana, will you forgive me if I forget you. Will you understand if I do this for Father's sake? Nana, I miss you.
Nana, why did you leave us? We do not know how to live without you. Did Father do something wrong? Or I? I always hated it when you commanded me to do things. You constantly demanded so much! I hate the rules. And I wanted a brother because I can't play alone! No one wants to play with me, but if I had a brother, he would. You always said 'perhaps', but now you're gone. I hate you, Nana!
"I want a brother," Legolas says. "Why don't I have a brother? I'm always alone, and I want someone! A little sister would do as well, even though she would be annoying. But even an awful sister would be better than no one."
"We wished for a sibling for you, but never got one. You can welcome a child. You can wish for them, you can pray for them, but you cannot make it happen. And now that time was robbed from us. Perhaps, in another time you could have had a brother - or at least a sister."
"You don't really want to climb trees," Legolas says and pulls his blanket on his face.
"I want to do it with you," Father says gently and tries to caress the boy's shoulders through the blanket.
"No, you don't!" Legolas shouts and throws himself away from Father's touch. "Nana begged you many times, and you never wanted to. You don't want to do it now, either! You just do it because Nana died! I hate you!"
"You can hate me, but I will always love you."
"I will run away from you. At night, I sneak out and never come back!"
"I would rather keep you here."
"No, you don't! You want to throw me to the orcs, like Mother. You should have saved her! I hate you! I will dig the seed out of the grave and run to the mountains! And then I'll throw the awful seed as far as I can. Then I'll run so far that you'll never find me!"
"I would like you to stay with me."
"I will burn you! I will throw you to the fire and burn you! And then I run."
"You are too small to throw me. You need to grow up and get stronger."
"When I grow up, I will do it! When I grow up, I will be stronger than you. Then, I will throw you to the dragons and fire!"
"When you grow up, you can try it if you still want to. What I want is to keep you here and see you grow up to be such a powerful elf."
"Will you still be here with me, then?" a faint sound whispers between his sobs.
"I will never leave you," Father says and leans to give a kiss to the boy.
As the memory fades, Legolas again sees the pine that keeps him alive. Father and Son stand by the window. The night is getting darker by the moment, as the pain is getting heavier. Father says, "Perhaps today is the day when I tell you all. Will you handle it?"
"You have been telling me all sorts of stories during these past two days to prevent me from drowning. Any story will be better than to be left alone in this sea of pain."
"You asked me what your Mother's last words for me were. Are you certain you wish to hear them?"
"Of course."
"She said, 'Alright, we shall wait for the night'."
"Should I understand something about it?"
"Before you left to stroll in the forest, we had an argument whether she could tell you in the forest, but I insisted we both should be present when you hear it. Fortunately, she complied and promised we would wait until night to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"That she was expecting a baby."
"A baby," Legolas whispered. "Do you mean-"
"In my heart, she is always my daughter, even though she never had a chance to live. I think she would have been your baby sister. You always asked for a sibling - even though you would have hated getting an irritating little sister."
"What have I done to you?!" Legolas gasped. "Please, forgive me."
"It was not your fault. You were a small boy who missed his mother. It was not only your mother they killed. They murdered them both."
Legolas spreads his palms against the window and leans his forehead down, "Did they know it?"
"No. No one knew."
"Why did they attack her?" Legolas stands straight again and glares at the darkness.
"They did not attack her, but me. And nothing could have defeated me more completely."
"Were they after me, as well?"
"No. From the marks on the ground, we believe no one even tried to find you."
"Why?"
"Had they also killed you, I would not have had any reason to stay in this world. Therefore, you needed to stay alive. They wanted to torture me."
"Could they truly have understood it?"
"No, but someone had to inform them. They wanted me to suffer. And they indeed succeeded. I tried to find their informant, but I could not find the source. I do not know who was behind it."
"What would you have done if you had found the person?"
"I do not know. They demolished everything I had. They killed my wife and robbed a mother from my son. They destroyed a tiny sprout of life. I cannot..." his voice fades, and he closes his eyes.
"It is better that you did not find their source. You would have annihilated your soul, as well."
"What they did to her… What they did to them is... what frightens me most is that whether she knew what they were about to do to her."
"Mother did not know it."
"Are you certain of it?"
"She died before the spear was erected."
"Your Mother should never be told about this."
"I will not talk about this with her, but you will. You have no choice."
"It will destroy her."
"What destroys her is your secrecy."
"I have contemplated many times if I could go back in time, would I do something differently. But the answer is always 'no'. I did everything I could, so did she."
"She could have done one thing differently."
"What is that?"
"In the battle, she made a mistake. She put herself in the wrong place. She could have made it, had she not placed herself between the enemy and me."
"But Legolas, that was not a mistake," Thranduil gently says. "Never could she have done otherwise. As long as life surged in her veins, there was no other choice for her than to put herself between the foe and you."
"She could have saved herself if she had made another choice. I regret that she died because of me."
"Do not ever regret her love," Father says. "I mourn for her. Every moment, I yearn for her. Every day I pray that things could have gone differently, but not for a moment do I regret her love for you. Nor should you regret it. You are made of her love."
"Yours, as well."
"Perhaps, but my love is wearing thin. It is her spirit that lives in your heart. It is her courage that you have inherited; it is her fairness that guides your steps. I am proud of you, but sometimes it is hard for me to watch you and see her. Sometimes it is hard - and the other times, it is impossible to watch you, because the memory of your Mother is too raw."
"Still, after all these years?"
"Especially after all these years. You see, my Son, each day I turn my head to see her, but she is not there. Perpetually, I feel her near, yet she is not here. I live in an unending deep frost."
"The spring is near," Legolas puts his palm on Father's shoulder." Can you welcome it?"
"I already have."
Still, the child does not sleep, and Father sits at his bedside. With slow movements, he caresses the boy's cheek and whispers, "It is not shameful to cry for someone you love."
"Do you cry?" the boy shuts his eyes to prevent the tears from falling.
Father gives a small kiss to the child's forehead. "Sometimes, yes."
"I do not want to cry."
"Me neither, but the tears are proof that we love."
"Crying is for babies."
"Crying is for everyone who loves. Each droplet is a seal of your love."
"I want Nana back."
"I know, Legolassion," Thranduil whispers. "I want her back as well, but it is only you and I left. Mother will always be with you in your heart if you let her. Do you feel it?"
"No."
"You can let her in when you feel like it," Father says and hugs the boy. Then he shows him a ring. "Do you remember this ring?"
"Nana always wore it."
"I gave it to her when you were born. It ties us together - all three of us. Keep it always with you."
Onto the night desk, he puts the ring as the boy falls asleep finally. Keep it with you always, because it is all that is left of your Mother. There is one more thing I wanted to say to you tonight, 'the more you love, the harder the pain is.' But I will say it to you tomorrow.
If your Mother was here, she would teach you this.
But it is only you and I left now.
You cannot understand what it is to drown until you meet the depths yourself.
For all these millennia, Father has been drowning in this lake, as Legolas is now. Not until now, when he is forced to flounder in these murky waters as well, does he understand the sacrifice of his Father.
The pain, the all-consuming pain, is pushing him beyond the narrow line between living and the dead.
Yet he endures, because Sulrochil is safe. Even through his pain, he knows she is well.
I have left my past, yet it haunts me; all my mistakes, all my wrongdoings. Every waking moment, I recall my harsh words, all my unnecessary violent acts. They sit on my shoulder and whisper to me. Never am I alone. Forever, they are my companion. You are a failure, they say, you are nothing.
I have ordered people to kill. I have made them attack, even though I knew it would be wrong. I have sent them to certain death. I have done all this even though I could have done otherwise. I had another choice, but I did not take it.
But all that is forgivable. I did it because there was a reason. No matter how thin, but a purpose nevertheless.
The deeds done without cause is what haunts me. Malicious acts that will haunt me forever. The screams of the people I could have saved, but did not. The cruelty that flowed in my veins once. Will you still be with me when you find out everything that I have done?
Will I ever find peace?
I am reaching for the light, but it is too far. All light disappears, leaving only the morning star to shine on my path. It refuses to fade, for it needs to guide me to the new day.
The stains in my soul smother the light. Will I ever be forsaken? Can I ever admit to you everything I have done? What will you think of me when you realize all that I have done in the past? Will you still be with me?
Can I ever be purified?
I have done things I regret. Dishonour stains my soul, and someday I must crush your belief in me. I am not the saint you think I am. I am not the hero you see. The dark thickets behind the forest of my soul are so dense no one ever entered them in decades, not even me. "No trespassing," the sign says, but one day I will let you in.
Will you come? With me? I cannot do it without you, but will there still be light in your eyes when you see everything?
The degradation in my soul has seeped everywhere. A soul cannot be enslaved, they say, but it can be. I know it.
The way out - is there one?
The night is black again. As long as you are safe, I can do this. Anything can come, and I will defeat it, as long as you are safe.
If I had wings, I would fly to you. But then I would compromise you.
If I was air, I would surround you. Could I shield you? Cover you? But you do not need me for that.
If I could, I would sing to you, but all I can do is to stand here and drown so that you do not have to. I can get killed so that you do not need to. I can let my soul be tortured so that yours will be kept safe.
This is only pain - and it is my pain, not yours. I shall be fine because you have promised to be careful. You have vowed to stay away from trouble.
As long as you keep your promise, I will be fine.
Sulrochil
It is easy to get the two opposing orc camps at each other's throats. It is as easy as killing the leader of the deviants, Gworf, and making it look like it is the doings of Xogarkh.
Deep in her heart, she feels this is the right way, the only way, and no reasoning could ever change it. She would kill Gworf and make it look like Xogarkh did it.
To do this, she needs a bunch of orc arrows and a sword. The deviants have different arrows, so she will need Xogarkh's arrows. To get them - she has to go into Shadowland, crawl through the darkness of the night between the tents of hopefully sleeping orcs to steal the weapons from Xogarkh.
And stealing the weapons is the easy part.
After the theft, she only needs to break into Gworf's camp, and kill him as well as all his guards.
To do this would mean defying everything everyone ever said to her about her mission.
Gworf always has ten guards around him, but they are sloppy. Two of the guards stand in front of his tent, four a bit further at each corner and four more are located more discreetly in the distance, but they will provide no trouble for Sulrochil.
Her plan will be against everyone's wishes, but she will do it - and explain later. Try to explain it later. No. Explain later and explain it in a way that everybody understands.
Destroy, or you shall be destroyed.
Even though there is only one whose understanding she will need.
Kill, or they will - it is your choice.
And he will be the hardest to make understand.
If he ever does.