Eternity Alone

Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien, his cat, his dog, his writings and certainly not his son.
 Archives: Please, just ask.

Warnings: Dark, miserable…

Rating: PG13

Reviews: Constructive criticism? PLEASE.

A/N: Apologies for the shortness of the chapter, I think that's the only thing I can say. I'm uploading my website and it's all HTML, so once I've got it up tomorrow, I'll have time to work in a more detailed way upon this story. Take a look at it from the 19th, and tell me what you think…

I was surprised at my father's astuteness, for the very next day, he pulled me aside in a corridor, and asked the meaning of my cheerful mood.

"I am in a good mood this morning," I laughed, "am I usually in such a bad one then?"

He looked at me in a way he had never done before, the resigned look of a father that knows his child to be past toys. "You're in love. You had not that happy look, and not that knife which is Dimloth, a childish toy and no warrior's weapon." He didn't ask this, he just stated it, knowing in his heart that his boy was an adult, knowing that one day he'd be at his son's wedding.

"I am, and the knife is what she gave me, Arathôn," his son, Legolas, me, replied, shaking my father's realization. "Her name is Avarduialiel, to me, but in other's coarser eyes, she is Mordurien, and that name gives her little honour when she can have the name of the fairest maiden ever seen in Mirkwood."

Thranduil sighed, "Legolas, I have heard of Mordurien, and good words did not go with her name. She has caused many to die of a broken heart for loving her and is known to be cruel in these games of love."

"Those stories are but rumour, created by jealousy and hatred!" I replied heatedly. "She is not responsible for them loving her, yet, father, I am certain she loves me!"

Thranduil looked pained, "Be wary, Legolas. She may be more than she seems."

And, I, foolishly, turned away from my father and ignored his advice, and he sighed and paced away, knowing it was foolish to argue, but I know fearing for my life. If I had known anything of the stories told about Mordurien then I would not have loved, not have loved her ever.

Arthon was lying upon a bench in the glade I had visited the previous day, his face long and pale, like a boy's, and indeed he was not far out of childhood. His hair was slightly ruffled and feathery, his lips parted and a slight coral colour. For the first time, looking at my fair friend, I felt a pang of jealousy. He was fairer than me, and Mordurien's affections might turn to him and leave me with my heart broken.

And I know he loves Mordurien, and if I mistake it not, then she likes him.

I unsheathed Arathôn and put it on Arthon's stomach, the cold blade marking his flesh. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach… A gentle pressure and I would show my father this knife was no child's toy and I would be free to marry Mordurien.

Yet, before I committed murder, my friend stirred. "Legolas…"

I whipped the child's toy away, hiding it because even a child's toy can cause murder…

"Dimloth." I laughed, and ran, leaving him bewildered, and alone.