The group now traveled west over the Pass of Balsor, traversing the rocky,
snowy slopes for 3 long days. Although the landscape was somewhat
unforgiving, a fire was always procured at night to stave off the cold in
the high elevations. It was a stark contrast to the blistering heat of the
valley, one extreme to another. Water and fish were plentiful in the icy
mountain streams. Kizea said no more to Legolas of her heart's desire, and
had, in fact, felt embarrassed by her discourse with him. It was behavior
most unbecoming of a Fendowan. To Legolas's credit, he said nothing to the
others of it.
Sometime in the afternoon on the fourth day, they completed the crossing and arrived at the foothills just beyond Hollin Ridge. Kizea had become even more anxious to make all possible speed to the woodlands of Tamlot, (and the former elven stronghold of Isodor) in order to find the wizard Gandalf. She felt that her quest was finally drawing to a close. And if Kizea's spirits were high again at the thoughts of finding the stone at long last, Legolas had grown equally as depressed at the thoughts of approaching Isodor and Imladris. He stopped Neonean often to graze, and slowed the whole troop to a crawl, and was frequently dismal and sullen. At night he walked away from the camp and did not return until the group was readying to leave the following day. Time dragged on for all of them.
At last they entered the dense and dark forest of Tamlot, where the brunt of the Battle of Isodor was fought 10 years earlier. The overgrowth of trees had long erased all physical signs of the battle, but for those who were present, it was a grim reminder of that savage, bloody afternoon. It was the day when the vicious orc captain Rakal had nearly exterminated his first of all the elven strongholds. Tenmelion had not been there, but Legolas and Kerrinais had, and indeed, all three elves could almost feel the presence of the slain within the ancient forest. They rode along in single file, for there was little room for their horses to ride side-by- side. Kizea rode in front of the line, and each elf took note of her uneasy, nervous countenance. Her head often jerked from one side to the other, and she frequently looked up into the trees as if she half expected something to fall on her.
"Should we not split up?" Tenmelion asked as they proceeded deeper into the forest, "Perhaps it will be easier to find Mithrandir if we break into smaller search parties."
Kizea turned herself abruptly around in her saddle. Even at a whisper, Kizea had heard him. Legolas did not give her the chance to speak against the idea.
"That will not be necessary," Legolas replied, "I think he must know by now we are looking for him. We should camp on the outskirts of the woods this night, and if Mithrandir is nearby, he will find our fire."
"I do not think it would be wise to split our group either," commented Kizea loudly, "There is more strength in four than one or two."
Legolas and Kerrinais were both surprised by Kizea. Never before had she suggested the need for safety in numbers, and Kerrinais wondered if perhaps she knew something that she wasn't telling them. For Legolas and Kerrinais, there was merely the memory of the battle in which they fought so violently. But for Kizea, it was more of a menacing undercurrent of emotion welling inside of her that she could not explain. The elves could not see all of her fear, but within the deep of the forest, her senses heightened to a level that she had seldom known before.
Later that night, on the border country just outside the great forest, a camp was prepared. Legolas and Tenmelion went to the woods to gather firewood. Kizea and Kerrinais tended the horses and set them out to graze in the luxurious summer fields. But no sooner had their work been completed, when Kizea excused herself and left the warmth and security of the fire.
Returning to the encampment from the forest, Tenmelion questioned Legolas of their need to go to Rivendell next should their search for Gandalf in Isodor prove fruitless. Legolas simply replied that he would be inclined to send Kerrinais along with him, and spoke no further on the subject. Legolas's friends would sometimes speculate in regards Legolas's depressed change of character following the Battle of Isodor. Many of his companions noticed the difference. For an elf used to war, depression seemed like a particularly odd sort of behavior. The elves had seen so many battles in their ancient existences, that fighting and killing was no longer a coil upon them.
If Kerrinais were present, he would tell them that the road had been especially long and hard for their companion, especially regarding the loss of Illdinar, their mutual close childhood friend. He would tell them that Legolas simply was not reconciled yet to Illdinar's death. Kerrinais explained when he and Legolas traveled hence to Rivendell to gather strength for the impending battle at Isodor, it was, at least for Legolas, particularly grievous because Illdinar had loved Rivendell so. In truth, Kerrinais never mentioned Lisaine to any of them, as it would not be proper to discuss success a private subject openly. And even Legolas had only confided his feelings briefly to Kerrinais during the long march to Isodor.
Away from the trees, Legolas could see the little campfire dancing merrily. They were just coming out of the deep of the forest with armloads of wood for the night. The darkened sky was brilliant with stars and nearly a full moon. Even away from the fire, the outline of the landscape and the abandoned castle in the distance were in plain view.
"We will not all go?" Tenmelion repeated. The elf remained blithely unaware of Legolas's past. It was, in fact, barely tolerable for Legolas to be in Isodor at all. Like Kizea's sad memories of Valnin at the cliff, his own recollections of Nevariel faded back to that disastrous day on the battlefield and his renewed grief haunted him without mercy. He was determined not to subject himself to the memories that would befall him in Rivendell, where he had first met her and spent his happiest moments.
"No," he replied, "I will go with the Fendowan to the Eyries in the North. If by some chance Gandalf knows that Gwaihir is seeking him, he might journey there. You and Kerrinais may go to Imladris without me."
They walked into the camp, dumping their armloads of broken wood to the ground. Kerrinais sat before the fire, polishing his sword with a fine linen cloth. Legolas looked about the area with mild concern.
"Where is Kizea?" he asked, "She should not wander too far from camp."
"Did you not see her when you returned from the forest?" Kerrinais replied, "She is over there."
He motioned to the edge of the trees with a nod of his head. Legolas turned around to see where two horses grazed aimlessly. His eyes caught sight of a solitary glint in the darkness. His eyes rose up the trunk of an enormous oak and there in the uppermost branches, huddled with her knees to her chest, sat Kizea. Legolas shot a worried glance back at Kerrinais.
"I cannot say why either," Kerrinais said as he held his sword out. He admired the shimmering glint of the blade in the moonlight, "A fabled warrior who fears neither death nor peril. It seems there are still unseen things in the world that frighten even her. Do you suppose she was involved in the battle here years ago and we did not know of it?"
Tenmelion, unconcerned, began to pile the logs a few feet from the fire. It was innate in elven nature to stay busy, however simple the task. They seldom were still or caught unaware. Legolas furrowed his brow as he slowly set down his wood.
"No. The Fendowan care nothing for the elves. Their only purpose is to serve protector to the Stone of Anor. She was not there. Though I suppose I must get her down before I go to the castle."
Kerrinais's glance shot up in surprise.
"Please do not Legolas." Kerrinais exclaimed, "I would not have you return to that place. There is nothing in Isodor for either of us now. I cannot bring myself to go."
"And I would not beg you to accompany me," Legolas said starting out, "But I must sing to her memory. I owe her that much."
Legolas left his companions at the camp and crossed over the soft hillside grasses towards the tree line. Neonean and Moaanen stood quietly munching on the fresh green chutes below the tree where Kizea sat. Legolas patted Neonean on the neck when he approached the tree, taking a moment to smile at her and whisper an elvish greeting. She lifted her head, her long mane falling about her eyes. He peered up beyond the thick branches, where Kizea was staring back at him from the canopy.
"You should be closer to camp," he said loudly, "I cannot guess what things might be lurking in the treetops here at night."
Kizea immediately jerked her head about in dismay, her iron grip on the tree trunk softened. Smiling, Legolas walked calmly away from the trees towards the gutted remains of the castle. Following his footsteps, Kizea watched him silently as he disappeared over a hill. For some time, she remained in the tree, stuck within its heights. Despite Legolas, it was a comfort somehow to her, and deep inside she loathed the thought of sitting at the camp with Kerrinais and Tenmelion, who had become less and less tolerant of her since entering Tamlot. Neither elf bothered to attempt talking her down from her perch, they merely continued on with their chores and perimeter checks as though she wasn't even there. Towards dawn, as light was beginning to peak over the mountains far to the east, Kizea finally resolved to leave the safety of the tree.
But Legolas had not returned that night, and she was curious as to where he might have gone. A sudden, terrible thought entered her mind that perhaps he had found Melune somewhere over the mist covered hills and his companions, too wrapped up in their own duties, had failed to notice. Suddenly gasping, she quickly descended the tree until she was only about 15 feet from the ground. She scanned the area until she espied a clear patch of ground. Kizea leaped into the air and somersaulted twice before landing perfectly on her feet. Drawing both daggers, she sprinted away in the last direction she had seen Legolas strolling. Only looking briefly over to the smoldering campfire. Neither Tenmelion nor Kerrinais were there. She presumed they were on another patrol, and she thought no more of it.
1/2 hour later, Kizea stood before the opened drawbridge to the castle. Much of building lay in ruins. What Rakal's army had not destroyed earlier was later laid to ruin by men, seeking a treasure that the orc captain was rumored to have carried with him. Kizea stood inspecting the damage. She had hoped that Legolas had not entered the castle, for she had no fondness of walking into a place where she might easily be trapped. Of course, sometimes that was a necessary evil to achieve her goal of locating the stone, such was her misadventure in King Thranduil's underground realms. Here though, she saw no use in it straight away. Surveying the landscape, Kizea saw no sign of the elf Legolas, and at length she decided to walk the perimeter of the castle before entering. Turning the northeast corner, Kizea stopped. A soft, delicate elvish whisper came to her ears. It was almost a chant of sorts. She took a step closer, trying to discover its source in the heavy fog. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of a faint light, almost glowing in the mist, and she hurried her steps to its source.
At last she made out the thin outline of the elf. He was sitting upon his knees, on the edge of a rocky ravine, whispering quietly. In one hand he held an arrow, in the other his sword, Menea, the magical elven sword that Legolas had recovered when his friend, Illdinar, had fallen to Rakal's hordes at Euphratas. Until then, the sword, which perpetually glowed for its elven owners, had belonged to Illdinar. But when Illdinar perished, Legolas took Menea for his own as a sign of respect and solemnity. Legolas would carry his own sword and Menea with him until the end of his days.
Upon seeing the elf, Kizea looked about the area and then up to the battlement directly above. Her eyes slowly descended the thirty-odd feet to the ground below, almost exactly where Legolas was now positioned and a shudder went through her. She vaguely realized that just as she had mourned her brother at the falls, so too was Legolas mourning for the loss of a loved one. But Kizea did not comprehend the extent of the elf's grief. If she had, she would have respected his stance of devotion, and left him to his prayers. But the Fendowan had little experience with elves, and she thought to comfort him.
Kizea liked the elf. Indeed, there was little to dislike. He was of a similar mind regarding animals and men. He was brave in nature, yet showed compassion for her on several occasions. And Legolas was unusually handsome. All the elves were, in fact, beautiful physically. But Legolas had some other ethereal quality about him that the others of his kind did not possess. Kizea could not put her finger on it exactly. When he talked to her he seemed to look beyond her mask. For this reason, Kizea often found herself diverting her eyes when they conversed. For any other elf, these would just be common discourses, but with Legolas, it seemed more than that, and Kizea was often left uneasy. His serious blue eyes often stared as though he gazed right through her, even though he would look directly at her.
Kizea was also not of elven kind. As a Fendowan, she had thought herself superior well beyond all other races. But the further they progressed on their journey, the more the elves captivated her interest. It seemed Valnin had been somewhat over prejudiced in his negative appraisal of the elves. Kizea likened them more and more to a truly superior race in their own rite, and thought perhaps with much training and hard work one or two would even make good Fendowans. Perhaps. Walking slowly behind the silent elf, Kizea placed a tiny hand on his shoulder. The softness of his green suede jerkin brushed over her fingers, sending a tingle up her arm. Legolas did not notice her, or if he had, he did not stop his chant. Standing behind him for some moments, Kizea finally spoke.
"I am sorry for your loss, my friend. He must have been an extraordinary elf to warrant such a prayer. I am aware that Rakal has set foot on these lands and that many fell here to his deceit and wretchedness. I know that mine is not the only heart in the world that bears a scar."
Legolas finished the prayer, and then stopped. Lifting his head slightly, he opened his eyes and gazed at the ground.
"Not an elf," he said almost imperceptibly. He surprised Kizea, and she leaned in further.
"What?" she asked.
"She was not an elf," he whispered, "She was a queen of valor and devoted to the elves. She sacrificed her army to the grim task of stopping Rakal the Destroyer, just as she sacrificed her life through her love for me. I was unable to save her before she fell to Rakal. She was captured and he thought to turn her and her army against the elves, but she would not relent. Here she fell. Here was the last place I saw ever her. Before I could take her to wife, before I even knew her real name."
"But," Kizea replied thinking back to his happy countenance before a tiny, shimmering dancing elf-maid in Kind Thranduil's feasting chamber, "Perhaps, someday, you would take another to wife. Even a queen of men cannot endure in timelessness as the elves can."
Legolas's head turned slightly to the side, although he did not look at the girl.
"For me, there can only be her," he replied looking down, "I can have no other."
Kizea's hand slipped away from his shoulder and it fell to her side.
"Come Legolas, the sun is rising, and I have need to find Gandalf. If indeed he is here."
But Legolas did not stir, but began to chant silently again. Pursing her lips, Kizea turned and began to walk away, before she turned again to make one last effort.
"Legolas please do not grieve so. Though short it would seem, you were still come to spend some happy moments with her. So few of us even know a moment of such love with another. It does not come often. Abhorrent as the race of men can be to me, I still admire their appreciation of those things you and I take for granted. Be thankful for the time you have had. Relish in your moments, though they are endless as the dawn, for all are precious and none might be replaced. I think she would not have you waste your moments and grieve as this on her behalf."
Kizea continued to walk away when she heard Legolas faintly say,
"Perhaps she would not."
Legolas took one last look at the ground and extended his hand, placing it palm down on the cold ground. He then lifted his hand and stood up, replacing his sword in a sheath on his back, and then returning his elven arrow to his quiver. Kizea stood waiting expectantly as Legolas walked up to her. But without further discourse he walked by her as though she was not there at all. She stood watching him walk away, not the proud champion of Mirkwood, but with slumped shoulders and head bowed. When he cleared the crest of the hill, she followed, away from the ravine and his memories.
Sometime in the afternoon on the fourth day, they completed the crossing and arrived at the foothills just beyond Hollin Ridge. Kizea had become even more anxious to make all possible speed to the woodlands of Tamlot, (and the former elven stronghold of Isodor) in order to find the wizard Gandalf. She felt that her quest was finally drawing to a close. And if Kizea's spirits were high again at the thoughts of finding the stone at long last, Legolas had grown equally as depressed at the thoughts of approaching Isodor and Imladris. He stopped Neonean often to graze, and slowed the whole troop to a crawl, and was frequently dismal and sullen. At night he walked away from the camp and did not return until the group was readying to leave the following day. Time dragged on for all of them.
At last they entered the dense and dark forest of Tamlot, where the brunt of the Battle of Isodor was fought 10 years earlier. The overgrowth of trees had long erased all physical signs of the battle, but for those who were present, it was a grim reminder of that savage, bloody afternoon. It was the day when the vicious orc captain Rakal had nearly exterminated his first of all the elven strongholds. Tenmelion had not been there, but Legolas and Kerrinais had, and indeed, all three elves could almost feel the presence of the slain within the ancient forest. They rode along in single file, for there was little room for their horses to ride side-by- side. Kizea rode in front of the line, and each elf took note of her uneasy, nervous countenance. Her head often jerked from one side to the other, and she frequently looked up into the trees as if she half expected something to fall on her.
"Should we not split up?" Tenmelion asked as they proceeded deeper into the forest, "Perhaps it will be easier to find Mithrandir if we break into smaller search parties."
Kizea turned herself abruptly around in her saddle. Even at a whisper, Kizea had heard him. Legolas did not give her the chance to speak against the idea.
"That will not be necessary," Legolas replied, "I think he must know by now we are looking for him. We should camp on the outskirts of the woods this night, and if Mithrandir is nearby, he will find our fire."
"I do not think it would be wise to split our group either," commented Kizea loudly, "There is more strength in four than one or two."
Legolas and Kerrinais were both surprised by Kizea. Never before had she suggested the need for safety in numbers, and Kerrinais wondered if perhaps she knew something that she wasn't telling them. For Legolas and Kerrinais, there was merely the memory of the battle in which they fought so violently. But for Kizea, it was more of a menacing undercurrent of emotion welling inside of her that she could not explain. The elves could not see all of her fear, but within the deep of the forest, her senses heightened to a level that she had seldom known before.
Later that night, on the border country just outside the great forest, a camp was prepared. Legolas and Tenmelion went to the woods to gather firewood. Kizea and Kerrinais tended the horses and set them out to graze in the luxurious summer fields. But no sooner had their work been completed, when Kizea excused herself and left the warmth and security of the fire.
Returning to the encampment from the forest, Tenmelion questioned Legolas of their need to go to Rivendell next should their search for Gandalf in Isodor prove fruitless. Legolas simply replied that he would be inclined to send Kerrinais along with him, and spoke no further on the subject. Legolas's friends would sometimes speculate in regards Legolas's depressed change of character following the Battle of Isodor. Many of his companions noticed the difference. For an elf used to war, depression seemed like a particularly odd sort of behavior. The elves had seen so many battles in their ancient existences, that fighting and killing was no longer a coil upon them.
If Kerrinais were present, he would tell them that the road had been especially long and hard for their companion, especially regarding the loss of Illdinar, their mutual close childhood friend. He would tell them that Legolas simply was not reconciled yet to Illdinar's death. Kerrinais explained when he and Legolas traveled hence to Rivendell to gather strength for the impending battle at Isodor, it was, at least for Legolas, particularly grievous because Illdinar had loved Rivendell so. In truth, Kerrinais never mentioned Lisaine to any of them, as it would not be proper to discuss success a private subject openly. And even Legolas had only confided his feelings briefly to Kerrinais during the long march to Isodor.
Away from the trees, Legolas could see the little campfire dancing merrily. They were just coming out of the deep of the forest with armloads of wood for the night. The darkened sky was brilliant with stars and nearly a full moon. Even away from the fire, the outline of the landscape and the abandoned castle in the distance were in plain view.
"We will not all go?" Tenmelion repeated. The elf remained blithely unaware of Legolas's past. It was, in fact, barely tolerable for Legolas to be in Isodor at all. Like Kizea's sad memories of Valnin at the cliff, his own recollections of Nevariel faded back to that disastrous day on the battlefield and his renewed grief haunted him without mercy. He was determined not to subject himself to the memories that would befall him in Rivendell, where he had first met her and spent his happiest moments.
"No," he replied, "I will go with the Fendowan to the Eyries in the North. If by some chance Gandalf knows that Gwaihir is seeking him, he might journey there. You and Kerrinais may go to Imladris without me."
They walked into the camp, dumping their armloads of broken wood to the ground. Kerrinais sat before the fire, polishing his sword with a fine linen cloth. Legolas looked about the area with mild concern.
"Where is Kizea?" he asked, "She should not wander too far from camp."
"Did you not see her when you returned from the forest?" Kerrinais replied, "She is over there."
He motioned to the edge of the trees with a nod of his head. Legolas turned around to see where two horses grazed aimlessly. His eyes caught sight of a solitary glint in the darkness. His eyes rose up the trunk of an enormous oak and there in the uppermost branches, huddled with her knees to her chest, sat Kizea. Legolas shot a worried glance back at Kerrinais.
"I cannot say why either," Kerrinais said as he held his sword out. He admired the shimmering glint of the blade in the moonlight, "A fabled warrior who fears neither death nor peril. It seems there are still unseen things in the world that frighten even her. Do you suppose she was involved in the battle here years ago and we did not know of it?"
Tenmelion, unconcerned, began to pile the logs a few feet from the fire. It was innate in elven nature to stay busy, however simple the task. They seldom were still or caught unaware. Legolas furrowed his brow as he slowly set down his wood.
"No. The Fendowan care nothing for the elves. Their only purpose is to serve protector to the Stone of Anor. She was not there. Though I suppose I must get her down before I go to the castle."
Kerrinais's glance shot up in surprise.
"Please do not Legolas." Kerrinais exclaimed, "I would not have you return to that place. There is nothing in Isodor for either of us now. I cannot bring myself to go."
"And I would not beg you to accompany me," Legolas said starting out, "But I must sing to her memory. I owe her that much."
Legolas left his companions at the camp and crossed over the soft hillside grasses towards the tree line. Neonean and Moaanen stood quietly munching on the fresh green chutes below the tree where Kizea sat. Legolas patted Neonean on the neck when he approached the tree, taking a moment to smile at her and whisper an elvish greeting. She lifted her head, her long mane falling about her eyes. He peered up beyond the thick branches, where Kizea was staring back at him from the canopy.
"You should be closer to camp," he said loudly, "I cannot guess what things might be lurking in the treetops here at night."
Kizea immediately jerked her head about in dismay, her iron grip on the tree trunk softened. Smiling, Legolas walked calmly away from the trees towards the gutted remains of the castle. Following his footsteps, Kizea watched him silently as he disappeared over a hill. For some time, she remained in the tree, stuck within its heights. Despite Legolas, it was a comfort somehow to her, and deep inside she loathed the thought of sitting at the camp with Kerrinais and Tenmelion, who had become less and less tolerant of her since entering Tamlot. Neither elf bothered to attempt talking her down from her perch, they merely continued on with their chores and perimeter checks as though she wasn't even there. Towards dawn, as light was beginning to peak over the mountains far to the east, Kizea finally resolved to leave the safety of the tree.
But Legolas had not returned that night, and she was curious as to where he might have gone. A sudden, terrible thought entered her mind that perhaps he had found Melune somewhere over the mist covered hills and his companions, too wrapped up in their own duties, had failed to notice. Suddenly gasping, she quickly descended the tree until she was only about 15 feet from the ground. She scanned the area until she espied a clear patch of ground. Kizea leaped into the air and somersaulted twice before landing perfectly on her feet. Drawing both daggers, she sprinted away in the last direction she had seen Legolas strolling. Only looking briefly over to the smoldering campfire. Neither Tenmelion nor Kerrinais were there. She presumed they were on another patrol, and she thought no more of it.
1/2 hour later, Kizea stood before the opened drawbridge to the castle. Much of building lay in ruins. What Rakal's army had not destroyed earlier was later laid to ruin by men, seeking a treasure that the orc captain was rumored to have carried with him. Kizea stood inspecting the damage. She had hoped that Legolas had not entered the castle, for she had no fondness of walking into a place where she might easily be trapped. Of course, sometimes that was a necessary evil to achieve her goal of locating the stone, such was her misadventure in King Thranduil's underground realms. Here though, she saw no use in it straight away. Surveying the landscape, Kizea saw no sign of the elf Legolas, and at length she decided to walk the perimeter of the castle before entering. Turning the northeast corner, Kizea stopped. A soft, delicate elvish whisper came to her ears. It was almost a chant of sorts. She took a step closer, trying to discover its source in the heavy fog. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of a faint light, almost glowing in the mist, and she hurried her steps to its source.
At last she made out the thin outline of the elf. He was sitting upon his knees, on the edge of a rocky ravine, whispering quietly. In one hand he held an arrow, in the other his sword, Menea, the magical elven sword that Legolas had recovered when his friend, Illdinar, had fallen to Rakal's hordes at Euphratas. Until then, the sword, which perpetually glowed for its elven owners, had belonged to Illdinar. But when Illdinar perished, Legolas took Menea for his own as a sign of respect and solemnity. Legolas would carry his own sword and Menea with him until the end of his days.
Upon seeing the elf, Kizea looked about the area and then up to the battlement directly above. Her eyes slowly descended the thirty-odd feet to the ground below, almost exactly where Legolas was now positioned and a shudder went through her. She vaguely realized that just as she had mourned her brother at the falls, so too was Legolas mourning for the loss of a loved one. But Kizea did not comprehend the extent of the elf's grief. If she had, she would have respected his stance of devotion, and left him to his prayers. But the Fendowan had little experience with elves, and she thought to comfort him.
Kizea liked the elf. Indeed, there was little to dislike. He was of a similar mind regarding animals and men. He was brave in nature, yet showed compassion for her on several occasions. And Legolas was unusually handsome. All the elves were, in fact, beautiful physically. But Legolas had some other ethereal quality about him that the others of his kind did not possess. Kizea could not put her finger on it exactly. When he talked to her he seemed to look beyond her mask. For this reason, Kizea often found herself diverting her eyes when they conversed. For any other elf, these would just be common discourses, but with Legolas, it seemed more than that, and Kizea was often left uneasy. His serious blue eyes often stared as though he gazed right through her, even though he would look directly at her.
Kizea was also not of elven kind. As a Fendowan, she had thought herself superior well beyond all other races. But the further they progressed on their journey, the more the elves captivated her interest. It seemed Valnin had been somewhat over prejudiced in his negative appraisal of the elves. Kizea likened them more and more to a truly superior race in their own rite, and thought perhaps with much training and hard work one or two would even make good Fendowans. Perhaps. Walking slowly behind the silent elf, Kizea placed a tiny hand on his shoulder. The softness of his green suede jerkin brushed over her fingers, sending a tingle up her arm. Legolas did not notice her, or if he had, he did not stop his chant. Standing behind him for some moments, Kizea finally spoke.
"I am sorry for your loss, my friend. He must have been an extraordinary elf to warrant such a prayer. I am aware that Rakal has set foot on these lands and that many fell here to his deceit and wretchedness. I know that mine is not the only heart in the world that bears a scar."
Legolas finished the prayer, and then stopped. Lifting his head slightly, he opened his eyes and gazed at the ground.
"Not an elf," he said almost imperceptibly. He surprised Kizea, and she leaned in further.
"What?" she asked.
"She was not an elf," he whispered, "She was a queen of valor and devoted to the elves. She sacrificed her army to the grim task of stopping Rakal the Destroyer, just as she sacrificed her life through her love for me. I was unable to save her before she fell to Rakal. She was captured and he thought to turn her and her army against the elves, but she would not relent. Here she fell. Here was the last place I saw ever her. Before I could take her to wife, before I even knew her real name."
"But," Kizea replied thinking back to his happy countenance before a tiny, shimmering dancing elf-maid in Kind Thranduil's feasting chamber, "Perhaps, someday, you would take another to wife. Even a queen of men cannot endure in timelessness as the elves can."
Legolas's head turned slightly to the side, although he did not look at the girl.
"For me, there can only be her," he replied looking down, "I can have no other."
Kizea's hand slipped away from his shoulder and it fell to her side.
"Come Legolas, the sun is rising, and I have need to find Gandalf. If indeed he is here."
But Legolas did not stir, but began to chant silently again. Pursing her lips, Kizea turned and began to walk away, before she turned again to make one last effort.
"Legolas please do not grieve so. Though short it would seem, you were still come to spend some happy moments with her. So few of us even know a moment of such love with another. It does not come often. Abhorrent as the race of men can be to me, I still admire their appreciation of those things you and I take for granted. Be thankful for the time you have had. Relish in your moments, though they are endless as the dawn, for all are precious and none might be replaced. I think she would not have you waste your moments and grieve as this on her behalf."
Kizea continued to walk away when she heard Legolas faintly say,
"Perhaps she would not."
Legolas took one last look at the ground and extended his hand, placing it palm down on the cold ground. He then lifted his hand and stood up, replacing his sword in a sheath on his back, and then returning his elven arrow to his quiver. Kizea stood waiting expectantly as Legolas walked up to her. But without further discourse he walked by her as though she was not there at all. She stood watching him walk away, not the proud champion of Mirkwood, but with slumped shoulders and head bowed. When he cleared the crest of the hill, she followed, away from the ravine and his memories.