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Eighteen
So many memories filled up inside her came spilling out the second she walked into her bedroom. It was one of those moments when you understand how much you appreciate what you have, but then realize that it's gone.
Every time he ever called her beautiful, every time he stroked her skin, every time he kissed her tenderly on the mouth and wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tight, promising silently to never let her go. He had kept his end of the promise. What had happened to her?
She fell on the bed and cried. It was the most she could do.
-
Lina knew her father meant well, but he didn't seem to care as much as he said. It was as if duty was all that mattered to him, duty to his King. She respected that, but she also had another duty – one to her heart. That duty was the most important of all, but he didn't seem to understand.
"But Father, I love him! Haven't you ever loved someone so much that when you were apart, your heart hurt? Haven't you ever loved someone so much that being away from them for ten minutes made it seem like ten years? Haven't you ever wanted to wake up in the morning and feel their face beneath your fingertips, but wake only to find that it was a piece of cotton that was your sheets? Haven't you ever felt like that?" she asked him pleadingly.
Onónion sighed. "I did, Ithilwen. I did. But I no longer think I am capable of that kind of love, nor that kind of understanding."
Lina sat down next to him on the bed. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well, it's a long story, but I have a lot of time, so I suppose I can tell you," he said. "It begins and ends with your true mother. Her name was Nátulcien. We met many, many, many years ago, probably four-thousand, eight-hundred something years ago."
"Don't you remember your anniversary?" Lina said.
"Well, after knowing someone for that long, the date starts to disappear out of your mind," he replied. "Besides, we don't have an official anniversary. We never married."
Her mouth dropped open. "You mean, you . . . you screwed her before you were married? And after she had me, you didn't marry?"
He shook his head. "No," he said reluctantly. "I loved her dearly, but we never married."
"Why not?" Lina pursued.
"Because. When we met, we fell instantly in love. She was quite beautiful. In fact, she looked a lot like you. Long, dark hair, deep blue eyes, fair complexion, and obviously, pointy ears. She attracted many other males. You cannot imagine how happy I was once I found out that she loved me the same way."
He stopped there, but Lina wanted to know more. She did not understand yet. But at the same time, she felt something within her. A stirring in her mind, in a way. She looked to Onónion to see if he had any idea what was going on, but he was staring at her intently. She knew in an instant – he was transferring a memory to her. It was a lot like how she could talk to others in her mind, only this time, instead of words, pictures were sent as well.
-
"Onónion!" she heard a voice call through her memory. The younger version of her father turned to face the person who had called him, and his face lit up. He ran to her.
"Oh, Onónion, my love," she whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. "Oh, I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to leave."
"Neither do I," he said, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.
"I suppose that I . . . I was scared and intimidated. I know you would never do anything to hurt me, but so many others had. I guess I just did not want to take the chance. But once I left, I realized . . . I could not live without you in my sight," Nátulcien said softly.
Her father ran his finger down her face and asked, "Are you trying to say that . . . ?"
"Yes, Onónion, I am," she replied, cutting him off. "I love you."
Although it was sweet to watch her parents kiss like that, it was also a little bit disturbing. She laughed quietly to herself, but not before the memory changed. She was now in a room filled with light. Her mother was lying down on a bed, and someone was cleaning a baby that looked as though it had just been born. Lina realized that it was herself. But then she also realized something else – her mother was dying.
"Nátulcien, please do not die. Our time together has been so short. I cannot live without you, meleth nin," Onónion whispered.
"Oh, Onónion . . ." her mother rasped, taking a long time to say each word. "I am not that sick. I will get better. Do not fear, Onónion. Everything . . . will be alright."
But by the wry smile that crossed her father's face, she could tell that everything was not going to be alright.
She took a deep breath and, as strongly as she could, uttered the words, "I love you, Onónion. Take care of our child, of my Ithilwen." And then . . . she breathed no more.
Lina didn't want to see anymore. By now she had realized why her father could no longer love anyone the same way. It was all her fault that her mother was dead. All her fault.
-
By the time she had forced herself out of the memory, she looked to her father. It was not often that you saw a man cry, especially one as strong as he was. But even as she stared at him pleadingly, she saw a small tear trickling down his cheek.
Lina couldn't take it. Even though she barely knew who her father was, she could no longer stand to be with him, knowing the pain she had caused him. She knew that even though he pretended to love her, he must have really hated her for it. Perhaps that was why he was so firm about bringing her back to the Elven world – he wanted her to feel the pain of loss that he felt. Nevertheless, she fled from the balcony on which she and her father were standing.
