{Death.}
Every time Legolas closed his eyes he heard the word as clearly as though Írime were speaking it into his ear again. Is that what their colors meant…death? It could not be so, he refused to believe it was so. Írime could not predict the future…could she? Legolas' head swam with questions and doubts as he stood patiently outside the entryway to his father's private chambers. After the evening's activities, Thranduil had summoned Legolas for what the prince feared would be a chastising lecture. After all, he had told his father he would not interfere with Írime.
"The King will see you now." Legolas nodded as Nesséro, the king's manservant, ushered him through to Thranduil's' private study. Legolas' only memories of this room had been when his father had wished to speak in private of matters of great importance. It was where the imprisonment of Gollum had been discussed, where Thranduil had asked him to travel to Rivendell and speak with Lord Elrond, where Legolas had come to his father to ask for his blessing upon his marriage to Carandoliel. All of the important events of his life had happened within the five walls of his father's room. It had also housed however, every punishment he had received as a child and every lesson he had learned as a man.
"Come in, Legolas." His father's voice sounded tired, spent, and Legolas found thoughts of Írime pushed to the back of his mind for the time being. Once inside, the familiar smell of cool stone greeted his nose and the temperature dropped into a pleasant coolness. Thranduil stood at the foot of a painting depicting Legolas' mother. Her ivory skin and warm smile seemed to greet Legolas every time he came into the room.
"Yes father?" Thranduil's shoulders seemed weighed by a terrible burden and most unlike the elf Legolas had known all his life, he was leaning forward slightly, as though he might fall over any minute.
"I asked that you not disturb Araorë or the woman. Was I asking too much?" Legolas' eyes ashamedly fell to the ground as he heard his father's approaching footsteps.
"Age has granted me patience; patience I did not have in my youth- as you do not. You are no longer a boy Legolas, and a man can honor his promises." Legolas' eyes remained fixed upon the floor, shame flooding his neck with blood.
"Look at me." He reluctantly drew his eyes up towards his father and found that Thranduil was not angry, but deeply disappointed and frustrated. Legolas thought to explain but stopped himself, realizing that his excuses were something that should remain with his childhood.
"Why did you disobey me?" Legolas thought of the conversation in the library, and the questions it had inspired- questions he had to have answers to.
"I spoke with Araorë about the woman…I felt he was incorrect about her. She had spoken to me before…I thought she might again." Thranduil stopped his pacing and stared down at Legolas.
"She spoke to you?" Legolas nodded.
"In the Westron Tongue. She spoke with me again when I went to her."
"What were her words?"
{Death…The man with black eyes…Light!…The colors…colors…}
"She said her name was Írime." Thranduil motioned for him to continue but Legolas felt apprehensive speaking of the colors and Írime's unusual sight. He thought of Araorë's explanation of the woman and then of Nevturar's. They both fit together very nearly perfectly. Nevturar seemed to understand more about her past though than Araorë did…or did he?
"Father, has Araorë told you where Írime is from? What she is?" Thranduil began pacing again, his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully.
"Nothing, save that she is a mortal from the caves of Dol Guldur. He mentioned that she was sensitive to light and should be kept away from all strangers- that was the reason for my request. Now, be so kind as to answer my question- what else did she tell you?"