Chapter 20
Legolas and the rest of the army rode hard into the night. When the stars started to come out and the moon set a tiny wave of light across the ground, Elrond halted the mass of people and waited, his all-seeing eyes darting this way and that.
"They should come to us," he murmured, only audible to the most keenest of Elves.
Legolas gulped and tightened up the hold on his reins. Arodas snorted in response. The Elf Prince scanned the horizon, searching for a sign of any animate life. But there was nothing. The only thing that moved was the wind, and as it passed through the riders it ruffled their hair. Legolas took a deep breath and reached behind his back gingerly for an arrow. The dead silence was too uncanny for comfort. He knew something was amiss.
Apparently, the horses did too. They started to paw the ground, and Elrond's stallion rose on its hind legs before settling back down on all fours. Its stance was fierce, and its long mane danced in the wind. Legolas marveled at the quintessential beauty of the stallion. It was evident that this horse did in fact belong to Lord Elrond.
The Master of Rivendell appeared nonchalant, but his eyes gave himself away. They were laden with wariness as he sat rigid, not moving a muscle.
"Withdraw your weapons," he said in an indifferent voice, and everyone hastily did as they were told. Glorfindel was sitting atop Asfaloth with his eyes closed. He had not stirred when Elrond had commanded them to prepare, and he continued to sit quietly, as if he were concentrating hard on some unknown thing. Several of the riders were staring at him with concern.
After several minutes, he opened his eyes. "They are coming," he whispered, and he took out his sword, his hand shaking.
Before anyone could respond, out of the never-ending darkness appeared a huge army of Orcs. The horses' ears went back and the army strung their arrows with much ado. Only Elrond did not fire. The first line of the Orcs fell, but they kept on coming, walking over their dead accomplices. Legolas felt Arodas shiver underneath the saddle. He was not sure if it was out of fear or excitement.
The army prepared to fire again, but Elrond stopped them. "Swords!" He cried, and soon everyone was trading his bow for a weapon of shining metal. Legolas withdrew his sword and glanced at the inscription. He noticed it was not there.
Puzzled, he held it closer to his eyes, but still he could not see it. He ran his hand over the hilt, which was shaped differently than Glamdrigul's. Then, sickening dread came over him when he realized it was not Totholain's sword. It was Gabriel's.
Anger and panic rushed through his veins as he looked around for Gabriel. He spotted the traitor over on the outskirts of the army, looking very scared and forlorn. He urged his horse toward him, but before he even got Arodas to take a step forward, the Orcs were upon them, giving the Elven army no time to charge.
Legolas forgot about Gabriel and concentrated on keeping himself and his horse alive. For the most part, Arodas handled the attack fairly well; he kept himself balanced and helped Legolas where he needed it. There were a couple of slight mishaps, but Legolas was able to cover them. They made it all the way through the onslaught and soon, the Orcs were dead, their carcasses piled on the blood-drenched land.
When Legolas finished slaying his last, he galloped up to Elrond to tell him he did not have the correct sword and that he should probably go back to Rivendell to retrieve it. But he never got to say anything, for the Balrog had come up from behind the horrible servants of Sauron and was wielding his fiery whip. There was no time.
Arodas stopped dead and let out a cry of fear. He spun on his hind legs and headed as fast as he could in the other direction. Legolas pulled hard on the reins and the terrified horse slid to a stop, but his body was trembling all over. Legolas turned the horse around and croaked, "Go back."
Legolas didn't really want to go back, but he knew he had a duty to his race and he could not abandon it now. He gave the horse a nudge of encouragement despite his bad feelings.
The stallion walked slowly back to where Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Erestor were mounted on their horses. They all appeared tranquil and serene. Legolas and Arodas stood behind them, the stallion shaking the entire time. The Elf Prince felt his stomach churn.
The Balrog scoffed at the six riders who stood before him as if they were annoying pests. He lashed his whip at Elrond, but by some divine power, the Master of Rivendell had put an invisible shield of protection around himself and his horse so they could not be harmed. The rest of the army watched in anticipation and fright.
"Don't feel so powerful, do you now, demon?" He said in a haughty voice, quite unlike his own. His sword was shimmering as he held it, and the stallion was shimmering also, his bright eyes illuminated with white-hot balls of fire. He snorted and nipped at the air, his head rolling.
The Balrog roared, and all six riders were knocked to the ground. Legolas grabbed for Arodas so he wouldn't run away, but he didn't need to. The loyal horse stood as still as a stone, his stare directed at the evil spirit. He would not move.
Glorfindel started to glow so fiercely Legolas had to squint. Through half- closed eyelids the Mirkwood Prince saw the Balrog recoil at the light and back away.
"Attack!" yelled Elrond, and the six riders and six horses ran toward him. Legolas raised the sword, forgetting that he was no longer invincible, remembering only the pain he felt when Theoden and Snowmane had fallen at Pelennor. He charged.
The Balrog was surprised at the sudden attack of the Elves, but he did not flee. Instead, he sprinted towards them, his dragon wings stretching out, making him even bigger. No one faltered, they kept on running.
Glorfindel was the one who hit him first, his body and sword blazing. The impact was so great the golden-haired Elf was thrown into the air. He landed on his feet and plunged his sparkling sword back into the beast's hide. The Balrog groaned and swung blindly at the Elf, but Glorfindel was too quick for him. He repeatedly stabbed him over and over until Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir rushed in.
Elrond strung his bow and shot an arrow into his eye. The Elf King's horse ran at the Balrog and plunged its head into the demon's chest. The Balrog fell to the ground, but not before he wound his whip around the beautiful stallion's legs. The horse was cast upwards, its silky mane flying wildly, and it stayed in the air for several seconds until it hit the ground with a revolting thud. It did not stir.
Legolas was enraged at the way such a glorious creature had to die. He threw himself into the battle, stabbing here and there, unaware that his sword was doing absolutely nothing. The only thing that was driving him was pure, mortal hate. Hate for evil, hate for Sauron, hate for death and all its sorrow. He just wanted it to end.
The sun came up on the horizon, and it bathed the land in warm rays. The Balrog started back towards the trees with the Elves and horses still on him. He drug his body along the dirt ground to no avail, for he knew he was bleeding internally, and soon, he would be dead. The rest of the army watched the blessed Elves slay the Balrog. When its final breath was taken, Legolas dropped his sword and went to where Elrond's horse lay. Its eyes were closed, and when heran his hand along its fur, it was cold to the touch. He placed his head on the stallion's body and closed his eyes.
"You were divine," he told the horse. "You deserve a place among the Valar."
Legolas stood and glanced up at the sun. Its light was weak, but the little light that was there was warming the body of the wonderful horse. He smiled, oblivious to the fact that Elrond was running towards him, waving frantically, his mouth moving but no words coming out.
He didn't even feel it when the sword entered his body. The handsome Elf took a step backward out of shock and gaped at his attacker. The Orc was grinning wickedly, his teeth and face coated in dried blood. The ugly thing was on his knees, but his smile was triumphant. Elrond beheaded the Orc briskly and then rushed over to Legolas.
"Are you okay?" He breathed, his face contorted in a die-cast image of fear.
~ Fear of what? He just won the war. He has nothing to fear ~
"So this is what dying feels like," Legolas mumbled. He looked down at his stomach and saw the handle of the sword sticking out. Furious that it was still there, he bit his tongue and grabbed the sword. With one, swift, very painful motion, he pulled the dreaded object out of his body. He felt his eyes waver and he collapsed at the excruciating pain.
He fell backwards, but Elrond caught him before he could hit the ground. He cradled the dying Elf in his lap.
"Legolas, look at me, you must stay with me. Please. Legolas, can you hear me? Think of Laurelin and Mirkwood. That's it. Keep your eyes open. We will get you home."
Arodas came up and nuzzled the back of his master's neck, a baffled look on his face. Elrond pushed his roaming nose away. "Not now," he said softly.
Legolas sighed and gazed hazily at the Elf King's face. "Everything that has a beginning has an end. You told me this was going to happen; I did not have Totholain's sword. I didn't take your words to heart."
He turned his head and glanced at his horse. He patted the worried stallion on the nose. "It'll be okay. You were a fine horse, my boy. I will never forget you."
The Elf Prince was near death. He could feel it creeping up on him, like a malevolent beast waiting to strike its fatal blow. "Elrond," he said weakly, "Could you please tell Laurelin that everything will be okay, and that she will be with me soon."
Comprehension dawned on the King's face as he nodded. "Anything you wish, Legolas Greenleaf."
Legolas gasped, he was having a hard time getting oxygen to his lungs. He felt blood trickle slowly down his chin and onto his clothing. To concentrate on something other than the pain, Legolas focused his stare on Elrond's angelic face. That's when he remembered.
"One more thing. Totholain's sword. Please return it to its resting-place. Where it belongs. Where it always belonged."
He then closed his eyes and his spirit fled up to the heavens, all the way to the Hall of Mandos.
Elrond shooed away the frenzied onlookers and motioned for Glorfindel to get Arodas. The golden-haired Elf seemed grief-stricken as he led the distraught horse away, which kept on stealing glances back at its owner. Arodas did not understand that he was dead.
The Master of Rivendell placed his hand on Legolas's chest and said a prayer to Eru. When he finished, he picked the body up and walked over to where Elladan was standing with his horse, Orion.
"Can you carry him back with you?" Elrond asked his son. "I have no horse."
Elladan squeaked out a "yes," and laid the body upon Orion. He then mounted the stallion while holding Legolas firmly in place.
"Go ahead and take the army home," Elrond told Erestor, who had ridden up. "We can come back tonight for the rest of the bodies and bury them in the morning."
Erestor nodded and motioned for the remaining Elves and horses to follow him. Elrond watched them as they disappeared from sight.
The dark-haired Elf looked back at his dead horse. The stallion had been his most prized possession, he had fought with it through many wars, and it had always remained faithful. Now, its demise seemed too much to bear, next to the murder of Legolas. His wife had adored that horse. What was she going to say when he came to Valinor without it?
The Elf King glanced around for a free horse he could ride back to Imladris. He saw a frantic jet-black stallion tangled up in a mass pile of deceased Elves and Orcs. He strode over to it and laid a comforting hand on its sweat-streaked shoulder.
"I'll take you home," he breathed. "It'll be okay." He freed the reins and was about to mount when he heard a muffled voice coming from the ground.
"Did he die?"
Gabriel squirmed in agony as he withered his way out of the pile. His left arm was missing, but in his right arm he held Totholain's sword. Blood stained the edges.
Elrond shook his head sadly. Now he understood
"It would not save you, Gabriel. It would only save who it was intended to save."
"So he is dead, I presume?" Gabriel asked, his voice quite melancholy. "I killed both of us, and Laurelin too. I'm a murderer. I never intended." The last words trailed off as blood came up through his mouth and ran into the river of red on the ground.
Elrond placed two fingers on Gabriel's neck. He was gone.
Straightening back up, the Elf King took the sword and swung up on to the stallion. He clucked, and it raced off in a full-fledged gallop after the army. The sun followed them, her tears of mourning coming down in the form of bitter rain.
****
"Something's not right," Laurelin commented to Thranduil as she sat beside him, deciphering old scrolls and studying maps of Middle-Earth. They had been at since the wee hours of the morning.
"What do you mean?" He said only half-interestingly, for he was concentrating on a scroll that dated back to the First Age and had been written by King Thingol.
"The air. It's so tense, like something is about to break. Or maybe it already is broken."
Thranduil chuckled. "You have a vivid imagination! Maybe it was a mistake having you read these accounts so early in the morning. Go back to bed. You can continue to help me after you catch up on your sleep."
"Thank you, my father. I will." She left the King's study and headed towards her chambers. When she passed an open window, she peeked outside. The sun was out, but was fogged over by some clouds. It was drizzling slightly.
~ What an odd day ~
When she got to her room she opened the door and flopped down on the bed instantly, taking in the aroma that was still left of Legolas. She closed her eyes and imagined him riding into battle, courage in his eyes and strength in his hands, his long blond hair billowing out behind him. She smiled and opened her eyes and let them drift to where the rose was.
Her heart skipped two beats.
The beautiful radiant rose, so lively several hours ago, was now lifeless and gray. She jumped from the bed and raced over to it. She picked it up and shook it in a state of denial, thinking that it was just in some sort of trance, and maybe she could wake it up somehow.
~ No. This can't be happening. Nothing is wrong. It's not dead ~
But as she shook it and shook it and shook it, she realized that no matter how many times she shook it, it would still be dead. Like Legolas.
"No." The words froze on her numb lips as the shock hit her like a tidal wave. "It can't be."
Legolas couldn't die. He was invulnerable, unconquerable. Death could not affect him. It would bounce off his body and go back to where it belonged. It didn't belong in him. She couldn't, she wouldn't believe it.
It had to be a mistake. The rose had to be wrong. He wasn't supposed to die. But Totholain had warned her, hadn't he? He had said if he left he would never come back?
Totholain was mistaken. He was dying when he told her that, he couldn't have known what he was saying. He killed himself. Only a madman would do that.
No. Legolas was alive and well, and he would soon be returning to her and they would raise a happy family. Satisfied with her explanation, she went to place the rose back in its vase.
It caught on fire and burned in her hand. The pain paralyzed her, but she ignored it. She watched the rose burn until it was just mere ashes in her palm. All that was left of her Legolas.
"HE IS NOT DEAD!" she screamed to all that was left of the white rose. "YOU LIAR, YOU FILTHY LIAR!" She ran outside to the balcony and dumped the ashes. She looked out over the trees and saw an eagle soaring high in the sky, water dripping from its outstretched wings.
Totholain.
"YOU KILLED HIM!" Laurelin stopped and froze when she realized what she said. She had just admitted that Legolas was dead. She was the traitor. She was the one who killed him, not Totholain. She didn't stop him from going. It was all her fault. He was murdered because of her.
"NO!" She wailed and then flung herself on the bed and sobbed into the blanket. "You can't leave me."
She continued to weep, her cries muffled by the sound of the pouring rain.
****
Legolas and the rest of the army rode hard into the night. When the stars started to come out and the moon set a tiny wave of light across the ground, Elrond halted the mass of people and waited, his all-seeing eyes darting this way and that.
"They should come to us," he murmured, only audible to the most keenest of Elves.
Legolas gulped and tightened up the hold on his reins. Arodas snorted in response. The Elf Prince scanned the horizon, searching for a sign of any animate life. But there was nothing. The only thing that moved was the wind, and as it passed through the riders it ruffled their hair. Legolas took a deep breath and reached behind his back gingerly for an arrow. The dead silence was too uncanny for comfort. He knew something was amiss.
Apparently, the horses did too. They started to paw the ground, and Elrond's stallion rose on its hind legs before settling back down on all fours. Its stance was fierce, and its long mane danced in the wind. Legolas marveled at the quintessential beauty of the stallion. It was evident that this horse did in fact belong to Lord Elrond.
The Master of Rivendell appeared nonchalant, but his eyes gave himself away. They were laden with wariness as he sat rigid, not moving a muscle.
"Withdraw your weapons," he said in an indifferent voice, and everyone hastily did as they were told. Glorfindel was sitting atop Asfaloth with his eyes closed. He had not stirred when Elrond had commanded them to prepare, and he continued to sit quietly, as if he were concentrating hard on some unknown thing. Several of the riders were staring at him with concern.
After several minutes, he opened his eyes. "They are coming," he whispered, and he took out his sword, his hand shaking.
Before anyone could respond, out of the never-ending darkness appeared a huge army of Orcs. The horses' ears went back and the army strung their arrows with much ado. Only Elrond did not fire. The first line of the Orcs fell, but they kept on coming, walking over their dead accomplices. Legolas felt Arodas shiver underneath the saddle. He was not sure if it was out of fear or excitement.
The army prepared to fire again, but Elrond stopped them. "Swords!" He cried, and soon everyone was trading his bow for a weapon of shining metal. Legolas withdrew his sword and glanced at the inscription. He noticed it was not there.
Puzzled, he held it closer to his eyes, but still he could not see it. He ran his hand over the hilt, which was shaped differently than Glamdrigul's. Then, sickening dread came over him when he realized it was not Totholain's sword. It was Gabriel's.
Anger and panic rushed through his veins as he looked around for Gabriel. He spotted the traitor over on the outskirts of the army, looking very scared and forlorn. He urged his horse toward him, but before he even got Arodas to take a step forward, the Orcs were upon them, giving the Elven army no time to charge.
Legolas forgot about Gabriel and concentrated on keeping himself and his horse alive. For the most part, Arodas handled the attack fairly well; he kept himself balanced and helped Legolas where he needed it. There were a couple of slight mishaps, but Legolas was able to cover them. They made it all the way through the onslaught and soon, the Orcs were dead, their carcasses piled on the blood-drenched land.
When Legolas finished slaying his last, he galloped up to Elrond to tell him he did not have the correct sword and that he should probably go back to Rivendell to retrieve it. But he never got to say anything, for the Balrog had come up from behind the horrible servants of Sauron and was wielding his fiery whip. There was no time.
Arodas stopped dead and let out a cry of fear. He spun on his hind legs and headed as fast as he could in the other direction. Legolas pulled hard on the reins and the terrified horse slid to a stop, but his body was trembling all over. Legolas turned the horse around and croaked, "Go back."
Legolas didn't really want to go back, but he knew he had a duty to his race and he could not abandon it now. He gave the horse a nudge of encouragement despite his bad feelings.
The stallion walked slowly back to where Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Erestor were mounted on their horses. They all appeared tranquil and serene. Legolas and Arodas stood behind them, the stallion shaking the entire time. The Elf Prince felt his stomach churn.
The Balrog scoffed at the six riders who stood before him as if they were annoying pests. He lashed his whip at Elrond, but by some divine power, the Master of Rivendell had put an invisible shield of protection around himself and his horse so they could not be harmed. The rest of the army watched in anticipation and fright.
"Don't feel so powerful, do you now, demon?" He said in a haughty voice, quite unlike his own. His sword was shimmering as he held it, and the stallion was shimmering also, his bright eyes illuminated with white-hot balls of fire. He snorted and nipped at the air, his head rolling.
The Balrog roared, and all six riders were knocked to the ground. Legolas grabbed for Arodas so he wouldn't run away, but he didn't need to. The loyal horse stood as still as a stone, his stare directed at the evil spirit. He would not move.
Glorfindel started to glow so fiercely Legolas had to squint. Through half- closed eyelids the Mirkwood Prince saw the Balrog recoil at the light and back away.
"Attack!" yelled Elrond, and the six riders and six horses ran toward him. Legolas raised the sword, forgetting that he was no longer invincible, remembering only the pain he felt when Theoden and Snowmane had fallen at Pelennor. He charged.
The Balrog was surprised at the sudden attack of the Elves, but he did not flee. Instead, he sprinted towards them, his dragon wings stretching out, making him even bigger. No one faltered, they kept on running.
Glorfindel was the one who hit him first, his body and sword blazing. The impact was so great the golden-haired Elf was thrown into the air. He landed on his feet and plunged his sparkling sword back into the beast's hide. The Balrog groaned and swung blindly at the Elf, but Glorfindel was too quick for him. He repeatedly stabbed him over and over until Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir rushed in.
Elrond strung his bow and shot an arrow into his eye. The Elf King's horse ran at the Balrog and plunged its head into the demon's chest. The Balrog fell to the ground, but not before he wound his whip around the beautiful stallion's legs. The horse was cast upwards, its silky mane flying wildly, and it stayed in the air for several seconds until it hit the ground with a revolting thud. It did not stir.
Legolas was enraged at the way such a glorious creature had to die. He threw himself into the battle, stabbing here and there, unaware that his sword was doing absolutely nothing. The only thing that was driving him was pure, mortal hate. Hate for evil, hate for Sauron, hate for death and all its sorrow. He just wanted it to end.
The sun came up on the horizon, and it bathed the land in warm rays. The Balrog started back towards the trees with the Elves and horses still on him. He drug his body along the dirt ground to no avail, for he knew he was bleeding internally, and soon, he would be dead. The rest of the army watched the blessed Elves slay the Balrog. When its final breath was taken, Legolas dropped his sword and went to where Elrond's horse lay. Its eyes were closed, and when heran his hand along its fur, it was cold to the touch. He placed his head on the stallion's body and closed his eyes.
"You were divine," he told the horse. "You deserve a place among the Valar."
Legolas stood and glanced up at the sun. Its light was weak, but the little light that was there was warming the body of the wonderful horse. He smiled, oblivious to the fact that Elrond was running towards him, waving frantically, his mouth moving but no words coming out.
He didn't even feel it when the sword entered his body. The handsome Elf took a step backward out of shock and gaped at his attacker. The Orc was grinning wickedly, his teeth and face coated in dried blood. The ugly thing was on his knees, but his smile was triumphant. Elrond beheaded the Orc briskly and then rushed over to Legolas.
"Are you okay?" He breathed, his face contorted in a die-cast image of fear.
~ Fear of what? He just won the war. He has nothing to fear ~
"So this is what dying feels like," Legolas mumbled. He looked down at his stomach and saw the handle of the sword sticking out. Furious that it was still there, he bit his tongue and grabbed the sword. With one, swift, very painful motion, he pulled the dreaded object out of his body. He felt his eyes waver and he collapsed at the excruciating pain.
He fell backwards, but Elrond caught him before he could hit the ground. He cradled the dying Elf in his lap.
"Legolas, look at me, you must stay with me. Please. Legolas, can you hear me? Think of Laurelin and Mirkwood. That's it. Keep your eyes open. We will get you home."
Arodas came up and nuzzled the back of his master's neck, a baffled look on his face. Elrond pushed his roaming nose away. "Not now," he said softly.
Legolas sighed and gazed hazily at the Elf King's face. "Everything that has a beginning has an end. You told me this was going to happen; I did not have Totholain's sword. I didn't take your words to heart."
He turned his head and glanced at his horse. He patted the worried stallion on the nose. "It'll be okay. You were a fine horse, my boy. I will never forget you."
The Elf Prince was near death. He could feel it creeping up on him, like a malevolent beast waiting to strike its fatal blow. "Elrond," he said weakly, "Could you please tell Laurelin that everything will be okay, and that she will be with me soon."
Comprehension dawned on the King's face as he nodded. "Anything you wish, Legolas Greenleaf."
Legolas gasped, he was having a hard time getting oxygen to his lungs. He felt blood trickle slowly down his chin and onto his clothing. To concentrate on something other than the pain, Legolas focused his stare on Elrond's angelic face. That's when he remembered.
"One more thing. Totholain's sword. Please return it to its resting-place. Where it belongs. Where it always belonged."
He then closed his eyes and his spirit fled up to the heavens, all the way to the Hall of Mandos.
Elrond shooed away the frenzied onlookers and motioned for Glorfindel to get Arodas. The golden-haired Elf seemed grief-stricken as he led the distraught horse away, which kept on stealing glances back at its owner. Arodas did not understand that he was dead.
The Master of Rivendell placed his hand on Legolas's chest and said a prayer to Eru. When he finished, he picked the body up and walked over to where Elladan was standing with his horse, Orion.
"Can you carry him back with you?" Elrond asked his son. "I have no horse."
Elladan squeaked out a "yes," and laid the body upon Orion. He then mounted the stallion while holding Legolas firmly in place.
"Go ahead and take the army home," Elrond told Erestor, who had ridden up. "We can come back tonight for the rest of the bodies and bury them in the morning."
Erestor nodded and motioned for the remaining Elves and horses to follow him. Elrond watched them as they disappeared from sight.
The dark-haired Elf looked back at his dead horse. The stallion had been his most prized possession, he had fought with it through many wars, and it had always remained faithful. Now, its demise seemed too much to bear, next to the murder of Legolas. His wife had adored that horse. What was she going to say when he came to Valinor without it?
The Elf King glanced around for a free horse he could ride back to Imladris. He saw a frantic jet-black stallion tangled up in a mass pile of deceased Elves and Orcs. He strode over to it and laid a comforting hand on its sweat-streaked shoulder.
"I'll take you home," he breathed. "It'll be okay." He freed the reins and was about to mount when he heard a muffled voice coming from the ground.
"Did he die?"
Gabriel squirmed in agony as he withered his way out of the pile. His left arm was missing, but in his right arm he held Totholain's sword. Blood stained the edges.
Elrond shook his head sadly. Now he understood
"It would not save you, Gabriel. It would only save who it was intended to save."
"So he is dead, I presume?" Gabriel asked, his voice quite melancholy. "I killed both of us, and Laurelin too. I'm a murderer. I never intended." The last words trailed off as blood came up through his mouth and ran into the river of red on the ground.
Elrond placed two fingers on Gabriel's neck. He was gone.
Straightening back up, the Elf King took the sword and swung up on to the stallion. He clucked, and it raced off in a full-fledged gallop after the army. The sun followed them, her tears of mourning coming down in the form of bitter rain.
****
"Something's not right," Laurelin commented to Thranduil as she sat beside him, deciphering old scrolls and studying maps of Middle-Earth. They had been at since the wee hours of the morning.
"What do you mean?" He said only half-interestingly, for he was concentrating on a scroll that dated back to the First Age and had been written by King Thingol.
"The air. It's so tense, like something is about to break. Or maybe it already is broken."
Thranduil chuckled. "You have a vivid imagination! Maybe it was a mistake having you read these accounts so early in the morning. Go back to bed. You can continue to help me after you catch up on your sleep."
"Thank you, my father. I will." She left the King's study and headed towards her chambers. When she passed an open window, she peeked outside. The sun was out, but was fogged over by some clouds. It was drizzling slightly.
~ What an odd day ~
When she got to her room she opened the door and flopped down on the bed instantly, taking in the aroma that was still left of Legolas. She closed her eyes and imagined him riding into battle, courage in his eyes and strength in his hands, his long blond hair billowing out behind him. She smiled and opened her eyes and let them drift to where the rose was.
Her heart skipped two beats.
The beautiful radiant rose, so lively several hours ago, was now lifeless and gray. She jumped from the bed and raced over to it. She picked it up and shook it in a state of denial, thinking that it was just in some sort of trance, and maybe she could wake it up somehow.
~ No. This can't be happening. Nothing is wrong. It's not dead ~
But as she shook it and shook it and shook it, she realized that no matter how many times she shook it, it would still be dead. Like Legolas.
"No." The words froze on her numb lips as the shock hit her like a tidal wave. "It can't be."
Legolas couldn't die. He was invulnerable, unconquerable. Death could not affect him. It would bounce off his body and go back to where it belonged. It didn't belong in him. She couldn't, she wouldn't believe it.
It had to be a mistake. The rose had to be wrong. He wasn't supposed to die. But Totholain had warned her, hadn't he? He had said if he left he would never come back?
Totholain was mistaken. He was dying when he told her that, he couldn't have known what he was saying. He killed himself. Only a madman would do that.
No. Legolas was alive and well, and he would soon be returning to her and they would raise a happy family. Satisfied with her explanation, she went to place the rose back in its vase.
It caught on fire and burned in her hand. The pain paralyzed her, but she ignored it. She watched the rose burn until it was just mere ashes in her palm. All that was left of her Legolas.
"HE IS NOT DEAD!" she screamed to all that was left of the white rose. "YOU LIAR, YOU FILTHY LIAR!" She ran outside to the balcony and dumped the ashes. She looked out over the trees and saw an eagle soaring high in the sky, water dripping from its outstretched wings.
Totholain.
"YOU KILLED HIM!" Laurelin stopped and froze when she realized what she said. She had just admitted that Legolas was dead. She was the traitor. She was the one who killed him, not Totholain. She didn't stop him from going. It was all her fault. He was murdered because of her.
"NO!" She wailed and then flung herself on the bed and sobbed into the blanket. "You can't leave me."
She continued to weep, her cries muffled by the sound of the pouring rain.
****