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: … fish.

This story has caused me much pain in the telling, and if it were ever published, would be a dark story to tell a friend. Now, as I am much older, and supposedly wiser, I often think to myself of the times that are past, of shallow Mordurien and faithful Arthon… and the Battle of the Five Armies, and the knife that bore so many names.

Dimloth was it's name now, and it had been through three in the space of twelve hours, the knife named by a maiden, a prince, and a child's toy, still lethal, still strangely, compulsively beautiful, and even though it had nearly committed a murder, once out of the sight of my friend, I laughed with an odd joy and kissed the blade so fiercely it caught my lips and made them bleed, and I tasted the blood and knew happiness.

I heard her voice, then. It was singing, I do not know what, but her voice trilled in perfect harmony to it, and made the world sparkle for me. I knew instantly who it was.

"Mordurien!" I cried, and her fair voice halted, and a few seconds later, I saw her white gown glimmering among the trees.

"Legolas… my lord?" she called, her voice light and enchanting.

I ran to meet her and to give her a chaste kiss upon one divine ivory cheek. She giggled and blushed so that the white ran crimson and I kissed her again to stop her laughing.

"Mordurien…" I whispered into her ears, "Do you know how much I've missed you?"

"The last time you saw me was yesterday!" she tittered into my ear.

"Still, yesterday was like a thousand years to me, to you…"

"It was but twelve hours since we last met."

"Did you not miss me then?" I knew the pain of heartbreak.

"How could I not?" she breathed; and my heart was whole again. "Tell me, my lord," her silken hands in mine and her delicate lips inches away from my own, "Tell me, Legolas…"

"What?" I asked, "What?"

She giggled shakily and then kissed me full on the lips.

For a few, sunburst, angel-filled seconds, I held the love of my life in my arms, her lips on mine, our hearts beating against each other. She pulled away, looking coy.

"How many women have you seduced that way?" she queried, pretending anger. "I am a virtuous maiden and I shall not succumb to you, Legolas, prince though you may be!" Picking up her skirts, she turned and fled, leaving me dazzled with the remembrance of her lips upon mine and her tinkling laughter ringing in my ears.

I didn't realize Arthon was watching, but when my eyes cleared, I saw him, tall, slim, indescribably elegant, an eyebrow raised sarcastically, leaning against his tree-soul, a silver birch, and, but his whole being was quivering like a thoroughbred and his azure eyes looked agonized, tortured, tormented, sorrowful.

I spoke, as cold as marble, as bitter as steel, "Did you see… Did you see?" I trailed off, unable to find a word for the emotions that tangled within me.

It seemed like an eternity of silence before Arthon spoke.

"I saw," he said, his voice higher than usual and more strained, a tight wire on the point of snapping. "What you and the Lady Mordurien think of each other is entirely your own business."

"Arthon…" I began, my heart softening.

The wire snapped.

"Eru!" he cried out, a wounded deer, "And my friends turn against me! And the closest friend I have, my brother, almost, loves the girl I set my heart on!" He was crying, and like a tap had been turned on inside me, guilt gushed out to sour my soul.

"Arthon…" I began, "Arthon!"

He walked deliberately over to me, and put his hands on my shoulders, "She stood like this," he whispered, "and laughed into your ear, and giggled… and kissed you…." Abruptly, he forced his lips onto mine, his harshness betraying his bitter feelings under the surface. I stood still, shocked and then he ripped his face from mine, "And you put your hands around her! Well, my friend, do so." He took my limp, weak hands and wrapped them around his body. "And you kissed her cheeks…" He pressed his face to my immobile lips and I tasted the salt that made up his tears. "And that's how you killed me, Legolas!" He turned away, and in an accurate mockery of Mordurien cried out, "I am a virtuous maiden and I shall not succumb to you, Legolas, prince though you may be!"

He turned and walked out of our friendship and left me there, corpse-like, with the taste of his kiss upon my lips where I had made no effort to wipe it away.

That night, Thranduil called me to his presence. He was in the throne room, but everyone had left him, and he was wearing a more relaxed mode of dress, a loose green tunic and britches, and no royal finery. He began immediately, with no beating about the bush.

"Legolas, I warned you about Mordurien, and I must say this frankly that she will be the death of you and of Arthon."

"I did not know Arthon loved her." I said, mechanically, lying for my love. "And I'll wager she did not know either."

It came to me in a flash that she must have known. It was so obvious in Arthon's moods and his actions that she must have guessed at his feelings, yet she had not chosen to stay away from me. This new insight into Mordurien gave me such a shock that my lips opened and closed automatically. Thranduil saw that and smiled kindly.

"You are very young, Legolas, though you may not believe it, and Arthon is still younger. Do not ruin his life, Legolas, or even kill him."

My tongue would not move in my mouth for a second, "What… what are you saying, father?"

"You must stop seeing Mordurien. Do it for the sake of your friend's life."

"He isn't my friend," I said, coolly.

Thranduil sighed. "Mordurien has already broken you two apart, she is killing Arthon and ruining your life. She knows she does these things, but does not cease seeing you! This action is unsuitable, cruel… even impolite."

"But! Father! I love her! I live only to see her again, and…" I paused. "I want to marry her."

Thranduil stared at me for a long time. The little-boy image, whatever remained of that fractured idol was gone, and his face hardened.

"You, as a Prince of Mirkwood," he began calmly, "shall need my permission to marry. I refuse you permission to marry this…" he paused, fighting with his emotions and the memory of the lean, miserable face of Arthon as he told his story unemotionally, "slut. That's the only word I can use to describe her."

When I look back, I see how right he was, how well-judged Mordurien was, and the way I spurned that brings tears to my eyes as I remember it.

"You know nothing of love." I said; if I was cold before, I was absolute zero now, "You couldn't even keep your wife with you."

He winced at the blow, and his father darkened, "My wife, and your mother, Legolas, was killed by Orcs on the borders of Mirkwood."

"What was she doing there?" I asked him scornfully. He was silent. "I can't stay to hear more of this drivel. How dare you worry yourself about my loves, when you can't sort out your own problems! Get you gone! I shall not stay here no more!"

"Celebros will miss you," he said, quietly as I turned for the door. "Isn't it his birthday feast the next night? Your absence, and he your brother, would kill him as surely as you stuck a knife into his heart."

I stopped and turned to eye him contemptuously, "Very well. I shall bid farewell to my brothers. But the day after tomorrow, I shall be gone with Mordurien, and you shall never hear of me more."

"So be it!" he said, venomously, and I left his presence, still shaking from the horror of my hate.