Shadows Of Eternity

by Oselle Atanvarne

A meeting on the battleground is the start of a friendship between and elfmaid and a woman. But that friendship is blighted by the appearance of Legolas.He chooses one, abandoning the other to the tortured jealousy of unrequited love. A darkly comic tale

6. Flee into the Shadows

Part Six

Flee into the shadows

"How many times have I done this to myself?

How long will it take before I see?

When will this hole in my heart be mended?

Who now is left alone but me?

Everyone leaves me stranded,

Forgotten, abandoned

Left behind.

I can't stay here another night"

"Solitude" Evanescence

I rode wearily to the edge of the forest, swaying greatly in the saddle, the effects of the cider beginning to tell on me. I rode as far as I could, to a secluded place at the woodland rim where I knew that both the horse and I could remain unseen until morning. I dismounted and tied my horse to a tree managing to unsaddle it before my strength gave out and I collapsed to the leafy ground, wrapped in my grey cloak.

I dreamt that night: I was again walking through Lórien, the fresh wind whipping my hair, the trees sighing in the breeze, their grey trunks decked with green. The whole place had a festival air, so different from the ominous shadows of my previous life. I was revelling with the rest of nature, feeling beautiful and young and free. I was quivering with anticipation, as if I was waiting for someone whom I very much wanted to see. I found myself again approaching my accustomed tree, the very roots sharing my delight. I had a rendezvous, a tryst, with the beautiful being whose rippling laughter echoed from his lofty perch. I flew up the rope ladder into his arms. 'What about Vénea?' I whispered, only to hear the reply "Who? She does not exist." Legolas took me into his arms, I gazed into his deep, grey eyes as his lips softly approached mine and they met in a kiss... I awoke with a start from the glittering summer's day in my dreams to the cold, solitary night, yet a warmth lingered here, a sense of presence that was not mine or the horse', and my lips felt warm, as if they had been but lately close to those of someone else, and a golden hair was intermingled with my raven locks.

Unwillingly I pulled myself up, my head feeling as if it had been used as an anvil by a cave troll. I shivered and sighed, wondering what on earth had got me into such an awful situation. It was not of my doing my falling in love. I began to think what would have happened if Legolas had been but a friend, or if my love for him had died once I knew that he loved Vénea. Firstly, I would not be here, cold and alone in the dark of the early morning, but in a warm bed at Lorien. I could have married Elrohir and have grown to love him, bearing and bringing up his children, instead of being in solitude, rejected by him whom I loved. No, I couldn't not love Legolas; it was as much a part of me as my beautiful but weary body and the spirit that burned within. Who could see Legolas and not adore him, who could gaze at his lithe arms and not want to be in them, who could behold his lips and not wish to kiss them, or hear his lovely voice and not wish it whispering words of love to them?

I shook myself, this is no time for delusions of Legolas, I had to leave this place and be away from prying eyes before dawn broke and the alarm was raised. I felt rather like a thief sneaking away from the scene of his crime. I stealthily saddled the horse and made my way out of the forest, galloping along the path towards the shadow of the Misty Mountains. I stared at their towering peaks, going over in my head the means to pass them. They seemed like impregnable barriers in my path, yet I knew that there were two ways through which I could travel. Tales of these mountains rose to my mind, those told by Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit that first brought to light the One Ring in the present age, and by Legolas who had travelled through the mines of Moria, where Gandalf fell. These tales had been dark and full of Orcs, yet the way over the Gap of Rohan was equally as treacherous and was far out of my way. The horse whinnied, wanting to be on the move, so I decided to let it choose for me. I sat back and gave it free reign, half expecting the beast to turn tail and head for its stables in Lórien, but instead it turned and headed towards Durin's dale and the clear depths of Mirrormere, where it stopped at the lakeside and drank. I would go this way then; I would brave the mines, and follow the route that Legolas had taken.

Dismounting, I unfastened my saddlebags and let the horse go. This was no place for an animal. I would travel much easier without such a burden, less of a target for a passing Orc or Goblin.

Thoughts of death crossed my mind as I entered the dark gateway, I would have to pass over the bridge of Khazad-dûm as the dwarves called it (Nasty, guttural language, for a short, uncultured people – although Gimli isn't that bad, probably Legolas' good influence,) and thence through the darkness of the mines, through which no light penetrates. I unslung my bow and fitted an arrow to the string, walking carefully as my keen eyes adjusted to the gloom that would be pitch-black for a man I tested the air for sign of Orc, there were none visible yet, but I could smell their foul stench, knowing that they would be near.

At last I reached the bridge, a narrow causeway of black stone, stretching endlessly and treacherously in front of me. I could see that some parts of it were broken and cracked; I would have to be careful as I crossed. I gazed ahead of me, memorising the route I would have to take and the obstacles that would hinder my passage. Then, when I had 'screwed my courage to the sticking point' I set foot on the bridge. The first bit was easy as it curved up in front of me, I made it at a light run, quickly reaching the summit and then stopping dead.

It was well that I did, for one more step would have had me plunging down into the depths, I did not wish to die because of clumsiness. Shivering with fear I drew back from the edge, forcing myself to be calm as I calculated the distance I would have to cross. I would have to be careful, especially in this light, for swaying a little to the left or right in this jump would have me plummeting down into the chasm. I again measured the gap with my eye; I should be able to jump it, just. Drawing back from the brink I ran up to the verge and then leapt, the air rushing through my hair as I willed for more height. My panic intensified as I saw the opposite edge draw towards me, and realised that I did not have enough height. I would not make it, I was going to die. Fortunately, I managed to grasp hold of the parapet and cling on, my body jarring as my fall was so halted. I managed to pull my self up on trembling arms, and I lay, my stomach resting on the smooth stone and my legs still dangling in space, thanking Ilúvatur that I had been spared.

Suddenly I felt a swoosh of air past my cheek and a thump as an arrow hit the smooth stone a few inches from my ear and bounced off to clatter down the chasm. I flinched and started back, coming to my senses and leaping to my feet as the next arrow rebounded from the stone where my head had been a few seconds before.

Fully alert now, I notched an arrow to my bowstring and sent it winging away to a ledge above my head, hearing a soft thud as my arrow hit its mark and sent the flailing Orc crashing down into the depths. I gave a quick smirk of satisfaction and reloaded my bow, darting quickly off the narrow bridge and on to the firmer ground of the mine floor. I released my shaft into the breast of another of my foul assailants. On the spur of the moment I threw back my head and sung out at the top of my melodious voice;

'A Elbereth Gilthoniel

Silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-díriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, sí nef aearon!'

"There is an Elf here, to banish the dark and to destroy the evil. Beware, for my sword is swift and my arrows keen, and I will not rest 'till all the Orcs are banished from this place and it has been returned to the Light" I felt all my zest for life returning as a new confidence surged through me, bearing all my thoughts of death away, lifting me up to face this new test.

I almost saw the shadows part as my challenge sent a shiver of fear through the Orcs amassed on ledges in the walls high above my head. I sent another dart into their midst, scattering them. I would have no more trouble from Orcs and Goblins at least in the near future. This cave-dwelling kind was smaller and more timorous than the hideous masses of Sauron's legions; they would not now have the courage to launch an attack on me, for some time at least.

Bending down, more out of bravado, and curiosity about how they would act than anything else, I noticed weird shapes and patterns in the rock, where it had been seared and singed by an intense heat. I also saw similar marks on the pillars that supported the massive roof, some of which were sporting large cracks that seemed to be the work of fire, the shape of a huge whip. A Balrog, a spirit of fire, had passed this way, melting the rock that it crossed over with its scorching flame. I followed the tracks as they lead deeper into the mines. I arrived at a room where the tracks seemed to have ceased, moving through the doorway, the relics of a fine wooden door lying in splinters around my feet. Here were signs of battle; the ground was littered with the skeletons of Orcs. They were picked clean by their own kind and showing signs of horrific wounds that could have only been sustained by sword or arrow. Amongst the clutter of skeletons and Orc arrows lay a huge carcass that could only belong to a cave troll, it's hideous, twisted shape sprawled massively over the ground, its leathery green skin still clinging to the dark bones. I baulked at the rancid stench that issued from it. I wanted to turn and run out the door, out of the mines and into the fresh sunlight. Elves were not meant to dwell in caves but to live under the trees and in the starlight; I was no dwarf that relished this claustrophobia.

I was about to leave when I noticed the fletching of an arrow sticking proudly out of its loathsome eye socket. My eye caught the green and gold feathers and recognized it as Legolas'. So he had fought here, he had killed a cave troll, and left his shaft, too much in a haste to collect it. Looking around I noticed other, similar arrows, bristling out of the corpses of the Orcs, along with the red and gold fletched arrows of Aragorn. I blessed their oversight. Between them, they had saved me. I was running low on shafts and here they were aplenty, I only had to wrench them from their grisly quivers.

I set to work, knotting a cloth round my mouth and nose so I could bear the foul stench. Kicking aside corpses and rummaging through piles of bones I gathered arrows like firewood, tossing them in the quiver slung at my back until it was full. Gagging, I quickly left the room, stepping over the disturbed remains to the door at the other side. I put my hand on the huge knocker and wrenched it open, blinded by the stream of light that issued from the opening. Blinking in the unaccustomed dazzle I entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I flung myself down on the ground, only to jump up again as something sharp pricked into my side. Was I doomed never to rest here?

I reached down to remove the object that had hurt me. About to toss it away, I noticed the glimmer of gold; it was not a stone then, but something valuable. I brought it closer to my tired eyes and studied it closely. I gasped as I recognised it; it was the green leaf of Legolas, his birth brooch. I had always seen him wearing ever since I first knew him, and I had noticed its absence though I didn't like to say. I fell back, overwhelmed by the tide of love and desire that overtook me. I could almost feel the touch of his cool lips on my forehead, on my mouth. He had kissed me there once, when I had so foolishly broken the contact I so needed by reminding him of Vénea. In memory of it I raised the brooch to my lips and kissed it, only to feel it fused to me, borne by it into a swirling vortex through which came voices, echoes from far away. I recognised Vénea's soft tones, choked by tears, then his voice, calm and reassuring; then sad, despairing. I heard my name "Osellë, yes I loved her, but she was too cold, too distant, I despaired of ever being worthy of her; not thinking that she herself was yearning after me... When I realised it was too late, I had already fallen for you – you returned my feelings and were so vulnerable, gentle, human, while she as beautiful and remote as a star..."

Reeling, clawing for breath, I at last managed to pull the broach from me, to scatter the vision that had overwhelmed me, collapsing, utterly spent, against the cool marble block behind me.

I did not know how long I stayed there, but when I finally came to, the light of Eärendil, Gil-estel, replaced the shaft of sunlight. I blessed Elbereth, Queen of Stars; she had heard my song and had sent the Great Mariner, the star of hope, to watch over me. She had protected me from Orkish blades while I slept, proving even more that it was not my part to die just yet. The Valar had a destiny for me yet to play out, although I did not know whether it was one of good or evil.

I fingered the brooch still clasped in my cold hands. I had been right when I said that our destinies were intertwined. This was proof of the tenacious link between Legolas, Vénea and I. Through this symbol I could see what Legolas saw and hear what he heard; the ultimate link with the one that I loved. Yet I would have to be sparing in my use, I was so physically drained by my brief vision, that I had slept thus in such a dangerous place.

I stood up, my head spinning, as the cave troll resumed its tattoo in my skull. My mouth was dry, my tongue cleaving to the roof of my mouth. I had not eaten or drunk since the early hours of the morning, whether today or yesterday I did not know. I opened my pack and pulled out my water bottle and a piece of lembas. I ate a piece of lembas, then, uncorking the flask, I raised it to my lips, but instead of the cool, sweet water that I expected, the burning fire of the Hobbit's Cider seared down my throat. I gasped, retching. How foolish was I? How stupid that I had forgotten such basic training, the words of my father echoed in my head; "Osellë, yende-nin, always bring water when you travel, it is the basis of life, even an Elvish one"

"I am sorry, my father, I forgot, I left too much in haste, too grief stricken to care about such things" Was I losing my mind? I was delusional, for I saw my father, Eldarestalo, standing in front of me, his brow furrowed with concern after I had come back in the middle of the night. I had come back dirty, tired and dehydrated, after a day spent adventuring with Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir. I remember my annoyance at being so scolded, I had brought water with me but Elrohir had nicked it. I was just about to answer back to my father; a deed frowned upon by Elven parents, when my mother, Alcie, ran up, burying my complaint in her breast.

I sighed, overwhelmed with the weight of memories, and with a great longing for the idyllic days of the past. Yet now I was fit, the lembas had given me the energy I needed to go on, I would not test the benevolence of Elbereth, by remaining undefended in this place. I stood up, stiffly, aching in every limb from my long sitting. I rested my pack on the block of marble that I had leant my back against, only to snatch it up swiftly and fall to my knees in shock. I had slept leaning against a tomb! Plucking up courage I read the rude Dwarvish script.

"BALIN, SON OF FUNDIN

LORD OF MORIA"

Gimli would be pleased; I had slept, leaning on the grave of his kinsman!

I must leave this mine soon; it was surely disturbing my mind. I had always looked where I slept before this, and I never used to have dreams or visions. If this is what unrequited love does to you, then I want out of it; but sadly that is impossible.

I spent the rest of the night revelling in the sweet music of the stars, seizing this comfort eagerly – before things became so desperate that even they couldn't console me. It was strange that now when times were the worst, when I was far removed from the gaze of the one I loved, and stuck in such a hostile place, I was at peace enough to appreciate their song.

I was up with the single shaft of sun that was all that relieved the heavy darkness of this place. I was so eager to be out, yet I had a commission, a promise to fulfil; to rid the mines of Orcs and to bring it back to the light. No matter that it was self-appointed, I had the honour of and Elf to sustain, and a vow once made cannot be unmade. So, after eating, I fitted an arrow to my bowstring and issued out of the radiance of the room to the blackness of the Mines.

There I spent many months in my wandering, months full of the pleasure of the chase and the kill, months where my bow sung form dawn to dusk; creating music that was the funeral march of my twisted foe. I relished this life, one of action and purpose, although bloody beyond reckoning. For not a day passed that I did not send a pile of burning corpses reeking to whence the spirits of such loathsome creatures go. Yet my work was not just that of killing, I also sought to rectify the damage that the Orcs had wreaked on a once fair place. I unblocked shafts, letting the pure light that for years had been fouled and filtered by a congealed mass of cobwebs, dirt and corpses of birds, banish the shadows. I dusted old manuscripts and rewrote those too rat eaten and faded to be legible to any but Elvish eyes, filling up pages and pages with my fair hand, binding them with my hair. I found fish and water in an underground stream, unpolluted by Orc filth, so I lived well enough. Finding flint and tinder, I burnt all the bodies, turning bleached bones to ash, the smoke banishing the Orcs deeper and deeper into the mines, from which I ferreted them out, no place to dark or dangerous for me. My life seemed indeed charmed as I sacked their strongholds, freeing Dwarves that had long rotted in their captivity, sending them, mortified at having their lives in the debt of an Elf, to Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, where Thorin Stonehelm ruled as King under the Mountain, successor of Dáin Ironfoot who was killed in the War of the Ring.

One day, about a year from my arriving in this place, having just relinquished the bow for the pen and settling comfortably down to my task in the records room, I was startled by the sound of hammering that seemed to issue from outside the mountain. I followed the noise to the front door of the mine. As far as I could hear from the loud banging and vociferous curses that were audible through such a thickness of stone, someone wished to enter but was unable. Placing my eye to a peek hole in the door I looked out, but saw nothing. It was only when I peered down as low as I could that I spied the tops of dwarvish helmets, moving in some agitation, while ever and anon the mountain was shaken to its roots by the huge mallet that bounded fruitlessly of the stone.

I could not suppress a laugh at their vain efforts as I shouted out, tauntingly, through the chink "Stop your noise, Dwarves, it is enough to awaken Durin's bane and Balin all in one – do you not know the secret of your own door?" I laughed again as the infernal racket ceased.

"Now, I can hear myself think, what does the motto on the door say?" I heard a low grumbling from the other side of the door, but was unable to make out the words "Speak up, you are so low on the ground that I am unable to hear you"

After much grunting and scrambling, I at last caught a growl that was at least recognisable as words, "Let us in you infernal Elf, or we will break down the door!"

"I doubt that" I taunted, "Your paltry efforts have not even dented it" The banging again resumed, but it soon ceased as they could see, as well as I, that their efforts were fruitless, instead replaced by a gruff voice that was doing its best to remain civil "It says in your overblown tongue 'pedo mellon a minno,' now let us in!"

"Why, you already have it, it's a riddle, 'Speak, friend, and enter, quite simple really."

I heard more grumbling as they deliberated over it, taking so long that I was about to tell them the answer, when one of them spoke up "Mellon"

Suddenly the doors folded away from me and I was confronted with an army of undersized warriors, all fuming at their embarrassing arrival. With effort I managed to control my mirth and address the leader, an elderly, white haired dwarf clad in a mithril shirt, with some attempt at courtesy, "Do come in, small warriors, I have been doing some spring cleaning for you. You will find the place rather well lit and relatively Orc free, although the living accommodation is poor, I have had to share a chamber with your dear friend Balin"

I watched, amused, as the bearded face of the diminutive creature in front of me grew redder and redder, in strange contrast with his rather grubby white hair. Holding my sides as I tried to control my hilarity, endeavouring to keep a straight face as the dwarf bawled. "How dare you insult my cousin like that you, Elf! I have a mind to have you killed on the spot!"

This time I couldn't control my merriment, so laughing rather rudely in his face, I endeavoured to placate the irate dwarf, "So, you must be Glóin, son of Gróin, and father of Gimli who is surnamed Elf Friend. I am Osellë, daughter of Eldarestalo, of Rivendell."

"Elf Friend! Elf Friend! What on earth has that idiotic dolt that I had the grave misfortune to sire, done now that he should be called Elf Friend? I told him not to mix with elves, especially that damned elf prince, Legowhateverhisnamewas, whose blasted father imprisoned me and thirteen companions in that hellish hole of Mirkwood, only rescued by our friend Bilbo the hobbit; who decided to half kill us by barrels instead. When I get my hands on my son..."

I drew myself to my full height, towering over them, with the utmost hauteur. "I will have you know that Legolas, son of King Thranduil, is a dear friend of mine," And I love with all my heart, "I will not have him insulted, I would see you dead first! Moreover your son Gimli is not a foolish good for nothing; he had a great part in the overthrowing of Lord Sauron and in the binding of the Fellowship. Remember, it is unwise to offend an Elf" I stared arrogantly at him as he quailed somewhat under my fierce gaze although he tried his best to hide it. He grumbled rather ungraciously "I apologise, I didn't know Elves were so touchy. We came here to thank you for your work, not offend you."

I saw the supreme effort those words of forgiveness cost the aged dwarf and my heart melted. Reaching out my hand I said "I too apologise for my discourtesy, Glóin, Gróin's son, it has been a long time since I have spoken to anyone, or found humour in anything. Come, take my hand and let us be friends"

My words seemed to break the tension, the anger dissipating gradually as Glóin, after some hesitation, took my hand and shook it firmly. Soon everyone was talking and laughing at once, the sea of dwarves lapping around my waist, each shaking vigorously my hands or what ever part of me they could most easily reach, loudly congratulating me as I hurried backwards up the stairs into the mines.

I did not stay long in the company of the dwarves; their coming had brought longing for other, more congenial companionship. I had spent a year in silence, mourning for my lost love and felt I needed to come out of my sadness, to reconcile myself to my mistakes. I craved music, open spaces and the joy of freedom more than anything now – to get a last taste of this world before I left it forever...

So with this resolution, I bid goodbye to Balin's tomb, which had sheltered and supported me for so many nights; gave my regards to Glóin, asking him to remember me to his son, as a sure way of giving news to Legolas, and left through the front gate, towards Rivendell.

Outside the main entrance of the mine, lay a dark, polluted pool, in whose murky depths lurked a creature more evil than the Balrog. Moving carefully along the side of the pool, I saw its many tentacles waving in the centre of the lake as I edged past. I thought that I had passed the pool safely and was about to relax my caution, when I felt something wet, slimy, and immensely strong wrap crushingly around my leg. I tried to shake it off, but to no avail, as it lifted me swiftly up, until I found myself hanging upside-down, with the dark waters moving steadily towards me. I screamed;

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel

o menel palan-díriel,

le nallon sí di-nguruthos.

A tiro nin, Fanuilos"

Suddenly the foul creature let go its hold and I found myself falling, falling into the foul mere. I landed with a splash, and swam quickly out. Crawling breathless out of the water, I dashed away from the bank, seizing my pack, and my bow, which luckily had fallen of my back and escaped wetting. Soaking wet and shivering, I hurried on my way, not wanting to stop until I had left that dark place behind.

I passed through a sinister thicket of tall trees, littered with Orc tracks and that of Wargs. This was indeed a fell place; I would have to be far from here before nightfall if I wished to keep my shuddering skin whole. Not far ahead of me a wolf howled, then another, a wild, ominous sound that froze the blood in my veins, yet I hastened on, brushing away branches and thorns that threatened to ensnare me as prey for the Wargs. Suddenly I froze, the howls were coming nearer, and I could hear the swift, fierce tread of the advancing beast. It drew nearer, baying for my blood, its slavering jaws and fierce teeth advancing towards me. Suddenly it gathered itself up and made to bound upon me, its raking claws and vicious teeth clearly visible as it prepared to attack. I felt it's hot, stinking breath in my face, its sharp claws raking my shoulder; the long fangs ready to close around my slender neck. "This is it" I whispered, as I felt the teeth reach for my throat...

Suddenly the beast loosened its grip and fell back, my dagger through its breast.

I collapsed on top of the foul corpse, still writing in its death throes. With difficulty I managed to struggle free, my head spinning from the stench of blood, it's and mine. I raised my head and found myself staring straight into malevolent yellow eyes of another of those vile beasts. I stared back at it; fighting my weakness, forcing myself to put command and defiance in my voice as I said, "Go back to the stinking hell hole from which you came. You see what I did to your leader; I could decimate your whole number with one arrow. Now go, before I kill you!"

To my surprise it turned tail and fled, the pack following in its mad retreat, merging silently into the shadows. I struggled, painfully, to my feet, blood pouring from my chest and neck. I staggered, but righting myself, suppressing the pain and forcing my head to remain clear. With difficulty I broke into a slow shambling run, my burning eyes fixed on the narrow, winding path, half obscured by the overhanging trees and undergrowth. I fell, and righting myself, I continued on, while all my limbs screamed at me to stop, to collapse.

I cannot remember how I managed to leave that ominous forest, or make my way through the barren landscape of scrubby hills. I knew that Rivendell and safety was near, that was the only thing that kept me struggling on, preventing me from falling down to die. Just I was about to give up the struggle and resign myself to death I saw ahead of me the gates of Imaldris, rising from the dell in which it lay. Hope surged in my breast and I bounded forward, fuelled by strength of will that I was not aware I possessed. At last I could go no further and I collapsed outside the gateway, laughing weakly. I had collapsed senseless at someone's gates so many times it was almost an accomplished art.

I had a dim recollection of the gates being opened and someone screaming, then of being picked up by strong arms and carried inside before sinking gratefully into the gentle embrace of forgetfulness.

The feeling of déjà-vu came strongly upon me as I again woke in an unfamiliar bed with someone bending over me, but this time, the head was not golden, but as dark as mine.

"Where am I?" I asked absentmindedly, knowing full well the answer.

"You are safe, O Osellë Atanvarne. We found you, half dead and bleeding profusely, but I trust you will recover without too much discomfort." Elrond's voice was soft as he gently pushed an annoying strand of hair from my eyes.

My scream belied his gentle words as I endeavoured to sit up, but pain, like a cruel knife twisting in my lacerated flesh, sent me collapsing onto the bed. Pushing down the agony and trying to collect my wandering thoughts I knitted up my brow and said "But why do you give me a title that isn't my own, I am plain Osellë, I was never Atanvarne – what man have I ever defended?"

He smiled gently, reminding me so much of my father that I almost called him such, "You are Atanvarne because you are a defender of Men. You have been a vital part in the winning of this War of The Ring. You have championed a poor woman, saving her from certain death, and most of all, you have sacrificed yourself and your love for a friend, when you could have usurped her at any time – Ilúvatur knows you have charms enough to bewitch the Valar themselves, only look at the destruction you have wreaked on my son!"

"Well, I don't feel very charming at the moment. What man would look at me twice with this horrible bandage around my neck, probably hiding something even more dreadful – I shall be scarred for life?" He laughed at this, a soft, merry laugh that sent me giggling feebly, although I soon stopped, the agony in my chest soon put paid to any chance of humour. I groaned again, crumpling like a puppet with the strings cut, as a heady drink was poured down my mouth. I sank into torpor, pain and mind dulled by that potent brew.

Slowly, I emerged from inertia, dreaming fitfully through the night, Legolas the centre of my nightly wanderings. I dreamt that he was lying over me, his arms around me, my body moulded against his. He kissed me gently on the lips and I responded, love and desire welling through me, bearing me away... His hands moved to the bottom of my nightdress, his mouth pressed harder upon mine. There was something strange about the touch of his hands, his mouth seemed different somehow than when it had last touched my lips. I realised suddenly that I was not dreaming, that my bedfellow was real, those hands on my leg were not a figment of my imagination! I opened my eyes and screamed. It was not Legolas whose arms I lay in, but Elrohir's!

I summoned all my available strength to push him off, sending him landing on the floor with a bump. Pain shot through me at this unwonted effort but I shut my mouth on the cry that welled up inside me, compressing my lips tightly. I glowered at him as he struggled bemusedly from the floor; if looks could kill, he would have never risen from the ground. He started to stammer out an apology, but I cut him short with a look that made him writhe with embarrassment, if he wished that the earth would open and swallow him.

"What are you doing here? Why have you taken such advantage of me? Do you wish to rape me, to sleep with me and so bind me forever to you? Do you wish to kill me? I questioned sternly, my intense fury giving me strength, overcoming my agony.

He moved towards the side of the bed and reached out to touch my shoulder, but I shoved him away. I felt only absolute revulsion at the thought of him laying even a finger on me; his presence in the room sickened me. He could sense my abhorrence, and this angered him, he cut off another faltering excuse, and instead advanced towards the bed, drawing himself to his full height and staring down at me "Osellë Atanvarne. Do not reproach me with an act that is purely your doing. I admit that I took advantage of your situation but you are so damned beautiful, I can't get you out of my head. You torment me constantly; I cannot get your face, your voice away from my mind. Waking or sleeping your image persecutes me – do you not think that I am faultless, or my father?" He demanded his voice rising as his ire grew. He positively quivered with desire as he towered over me. I felt terrified despite myself but I endeavoured to control my fear, staring unwaveringly back into his passionate eyes. We seemed to stare at each other for ages, out gazes locked, out of space and time, the only issue his love and my refusal. He turned away first and hid his embarrassment in bravado "You responded to me – I found that the cold statue was not stone but flesh and blood, no wonder my desire grew when you fed the flame."

"Sedho, Silence!" I shouted, my fiery rage taking control of me, "How dare you say that I responded to you! I responded to my dream, the figure of Legolas that my delusional mind inspired, not to you. You took advantage of my weakness to force yourself upon me. I said I was delusional. No it is you that are delusional, to think that I could possibly consent to lying with you, someone who I considered only as my brother." I paused, gasping for breath, and continued, my voice quivering with anger." I have nothing against you loving me, I know that it is beyond your power to cease this infatuation, but it does not mean that you should impose yourself upon me!" I drew breath, lowering my tone as I repented the rashness of my words, it would not do to insult the son of my host and my childhood friend. "For both our sakes you had better leave. Go now, and I will quit this place as soon as I am well and withdraw my tormenting influence from your sight." He stared angrily at me for a moment, as if he had not heard my last words and was still stunned by the fire of my outburst. He breathed deeply like a swimmer coming up for air, letting all the rage fade from his deep brown eyes, to be replaced by a great sadness that affected me more than all his loud expletives did. I sighed bitterly and turned my face to the wall, I did not wish to see the raw pain in his eyes, I hated myself for what I had done and what I would have to do to him, yet there was no avoiding it. "Mellon-nin, my friend, you had better leave me. I do not wish to cause you pain, but I cannot love you."

"Nan, le melon, but I love you" he interrupted, his voice whimpering, pleading like a child, all the fight gone out of him, reducing him to begging for my love. I couldn't answer him, the lump constricting my throat preventing my speech. Instead I shot him a glance of sympathy and understanding, but he did not see it, burying his face into the soft quilts of the bed, his shoulders shaking, wracked with sobs. It grieved me to see such a proud and handsome warrior reduced to tears, especially as I had been the cause of his affliction. It increased my self-loathing to know that I could be capable at doing that to someone; but it also tickled my vanity that he could be so distraught at my refusing him.

At last he gained control of himself and stood up, the tear streaks on his pale face adding an element of ludicrousness to his demeanour, which jarred sharply with the resolve in his fierce eyes. "Forgive me for my outburst; I do not know what came over me. It looks like we are both doomed to strive for the unattainable," he smiled bitterly "At least we have something in common." He turned to go, but paused at the threshold, rushing up and implanting a burning kiss on my stunned lips, "Namárië, meleth nin." Farewell, my love.

"Namárië," I sighed, as he left, shutting the door gently. An immense sadness crushed me to the bed. I felt that I would not see him again, if not never, than at least for a long time. I hoped that he had strength enough to prevent his grief from overwhelming him, that my refusal would not drive him to insanity or even suicide, for I knew the intensity of his character. I would not forgive myself if he became ill or died because of me.

I had sent him away, I was now loveless; totally without friends or other ties – no one now cared for me. I craved affection. I longed to feel the warmth of arms around me and soft words of encouragement and love. "Legolas, Oh Legolas, where are you? Come to me, I need you I need your love!" I cried into the dark, listening vainly for an answer but knowing that none would come. There would be no love for me now, I had banished the one person that had offered me it and I was now lying on the bed that I had made.

The bed I lay on was comfortable; the pillows were thick and the mattress soft – yet it could as well have been made of thorns for the rest I gained from it. I tossed and turned feverishly, longing to be out in the cool night air, yet the agony in my chest prevented me from freeing myself from the tangle of sheets.

I must have fallen into some sort of fever or delirium, for my memory of the next few days was one of disjointed images and burning pain. Oft and anon I could hear the anxious tones of Elrond – seeming a guiding, guarding presence, yet even he appeared to be mystified by my illness. I wanted to cry out that I was well, but I couldn't open my mouth, my limbs flaccid, I had no control of them. I was trapped in my own dark world, full of fear – a constant agony with no release, the dim, concerned faces a world away, gazing down at me while I was falling, falling...

One day I woke, cool and calm, almost free from pain, yet with a burning desire to quit this place that was too much a part of my old life, my happy childhood. It bore so many memories, bittersweet memories that had no place in my new, dark, solitary existence – only increasing my anguish.

With this intention I rose, standing properly for the first time in, I didn't know how long. I immediately sat down, weak and dizzy from the unaccustomed effort. I shouldn't be like this, unable to even stand on my own two feet, I was frustrated at my own frailty, determined to overcome this feebleness. I had no gentle, restraining hand to push me back onto the bed, to sooth my impatience with kisses – Legolas was Vénea's now, he would never kiss me again.

But, she was mortal; she would die sooner or later, and then... No! I couldn't think of such a thing, she was my friend, I wished her every happiness in her marriage, and yet...

I stood up again, fuelled by self-loathing at my hateful thoughts; the sooner I buried myself the better – I loved, nay adored, a married man. I was sinning against my friend and the Valar themselves.

It took a matter of minutes to pack my few possessions; I would make another escape in darkness. I was always fleeing. I wished that I could find somewhere to rest, but there would be not rest for me while I was trapped by unrequited love. But I would never be free of it for I did not want to be, the illness had consumed me totally and I knew no cure...

I shook my head to banish the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me – this was no time for thoughts, but action. Tentatively, I placed my hand on the door handle, glinting silver in the moonlight. I pushed it gently open – just enough to slip through, before I shut it behind me.

I stared down the long, low corridor; moonlight casting weird shadows on the panelled floor, soft pools of ethereal light dappling the boards. I slipped quietly along, as only an Elf can. The main door at the end of the corridor loomed out of the pale light, I was not far from freedom, I could almost reach the richly carved handle. I placed my hand on it, feeling the cool metal, then froze, petrified by an untoward sound that reached my ears. I felt a soft touch on my shoulder and spun wildly around, dropping my bundle in my confusion.

"Osellë, Osellë, why are you running?" I heard the soft, mocking tones of Elrond, his deep eyes glittering in the starlight as he laughed again.

I stammered, greatly perplexed, "What are you doing here? How did you know? Let me go." He held his slender hands up, taking a step backwards, a sardonic smile playing across his thin lips. "I will not prevent you going if you feel that is what you must do. I knew that you would leave as soon as you were well. You cannot rest, can you?"

"No I cannot" I replied, "It is best that I should go. I am too much out of place here, my time for dwelling here is past; it brings back to many painful memories of a halcyon time that will never be repeated."

"And you are painful for others as well," he laughed, obviously in a high humour, although his mirth had an element of sarcasm in it. "The state you have reduced my poor son to, he hardly eats or sleeps," The mockery was replaced by fatherly concern. "He just sits and sighs, whispering your name to the stars. You are destroying yourself, and, I fear, him too." His words were too much for me, full of the stark reflections that had been haunting me throughout my illness, causing me to break down in to uncontrolled sobs. He hugged me, resting my head on his shoulder as he gently stroked my hair, whispering words of comfort like a father. At last I regained control of myself and entreated through my sobbing, "Please, that is why I must go. I am fully aware that I am destroying him and myself, yet what else can I do but leave. I cannot stay, I cannot be his wife. I would quite willingly sacrifice myself for him; I love him as a brother. Yet I cannot give him the wifely love that he wants and deserves. I could give him my body, but I can never give him my heart, for that is another's. He knows this, and even if I never saw my Prince again, our union would be marred by jealousy, the knowledge that he can never fully possess me, heart and soul, would drive him mad."

He let go, and picking my bundle from the floor, pushed it into my hands. "I see now, you must go" he said, "You know my poor son better than I do. Hopefully, he will be cured by absence, for males are less constant and obstinate in love than women are, Man as well as Elf. He is naturally high spirited and carefree, he will recover. I just hope that his love is less tenacious than yours. Go, here is food, there is a horse tethered outside, take it. Namárië, yende- nin, belain na le" Farewell, my daughter, The Valar be with you. He opened the door and pushed me out, waving as I mounted the horse and galloped off into the night.

I wandered long, through the Shire, land of Halflings, along the Elven roads that criss-crossed these parts, the roads leading to Mithlond – the Grey Havens, where the white ships sailed from, to the Undying Lands. That long journey took me months to complete, my progress slow because of the wounds on my chest, which were still causing pain. I met Hobbits – I spent a merry few days in the company of Merry and Pippin, both obviously doing well, having gained the respect of the community. They asked eagerly for news of the Elves and King Elessar (as Aragorn was now called) but I told them that I had not seen him for many, many months, having left him before they did. They in turn told me of Frodo, who had just left for the Undying Lands, unable to find peace after his ordeal of the Ring, and of Samwise Gamgee, who was married with a beautiful daughter. I wished to pay him a visit, but what was not sure that his wife would welcome an Elf, especially such a miserable one. Unwillingly I left them and continued on, falling in with parties of Elves that were heading the same way as I.

All too soon the end of my journey was nigh. I had reached The Grey Havens, the place of Cirdan the Shipwright, where I would take ship into the west.

The waters of the River Lune crept slowly beside me, emptying in the immense, brown expanse of the Gulf of Lune, a huge estuary that in turn lost itself in the Sea. I felt crushed by the vastness of grey sky that stretched above and around me, unbroken by trees or hills. The land was flat, bleak and unsheltered, merging into the turbid waters, its surface ruffled by hidden currents, dark depths and dangers concealed beneath its brim and tug. Behind me lay mountains, forests; the bustling harbour decked with white ships, while before me, emptiness – and beyond that a release.

I could just make out on the horizon the deeper, blue-green depths on the sea – shrouded by mist, and I imagined being adrift on its waves, caught up in its expanse, while the small swan-sailed boat skimmed over the surging waves.

The Sea, the Sea, it calls to me

Calling to me to leave my home.

To flee from pain, from grief to go,

And over the flying spray to roam

Eternal rest I long to know.

To bury my love in the West

Where days are warm and no leaves fall,

And over the flying spray to roam

O Namárië, Farewell this land.

Farewell my grief and all my love.

My Elven Prince is married now

And over the flying spray I roam.

The Sea calls me, yet I am torn,

I hear his voice in sighing wind,

He wants me back, yet I must go

And over the flying spray to roam.

The words surged up from my depths – voicing imperfectly the intensity of my misery. I had not realised that I had sung aloud what was in my mind, until I heard the last, clear note carried away by the wind. I turned away on the water and walked slowly towards the bustling harbour that lay on my left. Here the air rang with the ringing of hammers from the ship-yards, the surge and slap of the water on the ships, the babble of voices, and above all the haunting cry of the seagull, behind all, the dark forest, reaching almost to the waters edge, tall trees shading the Lune's low banks.

"Lady Osellë, is that you" I looked round, startled to hear my name. I noticed a vaguely familiar face – male and Elvish, amicable and good-natured, with a merry twinkle in small grey eyes.

"Hello," I said uncertainly, and then recognition dawned. "O, Erestor, I didn't expect to see you here." I remembered him dimly as an Elf of Rivendell, not exactly a servant, but rather a trusted companion of Elrond.

"All the Elves are leaving now – so I decided to go too. Lord Elrond told me to wait to see that you arrived safely." was his reply. I nodded, wearily.

"Well, I am here now. I am sorry about the length of my journey, but I am still suffering a little from injury."

"I heard you singing, it was beautiful, milady. I've saved a place on the ship, so we can leave immediately."

I nodded my assent and suffered myself to be led towards the harbour, too weary to care. I felt myself immersed in the noise and bustle of the place, borne towards the ship in the surge of pressing bodies, an Elf in a sea of pointed ears. I waited, dull and passive, as Erestor helped me across the gangplank and up to the ship. I watched without interest as the sailors prepared the ship for departure, too absorbed in my own reveries to notice those that tried to speak to me.

Here was I, at the place that all Elves longed for, about to return from exile, yet as I gazed over the harbour, a wave of misery and regret tugged at my heart for the land I would forever leave. As the wind changed, the sailors cast off; the ship was quickly carried away from land. Suddenly, I heard a voice call to me in the breeze, from the slowly retreating land. "Osellë, Osellë," it seemed to say, "Don't go, don't leave me. You can't go yet. I still need you Osellë" I realised with a start the voice was that Legolas'. I couldn't leave Middle-Earth, I couldn't leave him. Without thinking, I dashed to the side of the ship and dived into the icy waves.

I plunged down through dark water, panic rising through me as the water froze my bones. I struggled to the surface, gasping for breath, only to find myself pulled under by fierce currents. I thrashed my arms, managing to surface, and then trod water, trying to keep myself afloat. Fear wrapped its icy fingers round my heart as I realised how far from land I was. I was drifting further away carried by wind and tide – soon I would be in open sea. I forced my head above water, and taking a deep breath, struck out for land, trying to block out the coldness of the water, my distance from land, my quickly waning strength; trying to concentrate only on kicking my legs, putting one arm in front of the other. I ploughed forward against the tide, as a fierce, crippling pain shot down my side. My tired limbs seized up, my last reserves of strength gave out. I pressed forward, trying to summon a final thrust of effort – but none came. I shut my eyes, "Legolas, my love for you has finally killed me." I sighed, before I felt myself sinking under and the waters closed above my head.

Suddenly, strong arms seized my hair, yanking me up from death's embrace, throwing me, limp as a drowned rat, on to solid wood. I crouched on all fours, vomiting water, gasping for breath, as rough hands thumped me on the back, and gentler ones laid me down.

I came to the babble of voices above my head. They spoke a strange, rough dialect that was different from the Quenya or Sindrahin that I had been used to, but they were obviously discussing me. I forced open heavy lids and found myself gazing into a pair of anxious but rather dim brown eyes, belonging to a square, brown, weather-beaten but obviously Elvish face, that wore – horror of horrors, a beard! I screamed and fainted at the sight.

I came to at last, finding myself, thankfully, on dry land. I struggled to my feet, towering over my rescuers. "Hannon le, herdir," he looked at me strangely, scratching his sandy head in a troubled manner. "Thanks for saving my life," I repeated in the common tongue, and he looked relieved,

"So, milady, you are not of these parts then," he growled thickly. I shook my head, shivering in my soaking wet clothes. From behind me a little voice piped up in a rather broken version of the Common tongue. "Look, the Lady is wet through, we'd better take her back to mother, hadn't we" I looked around and saw a rather young Elf-maid, hardly more than fifty, blonde and quite pretty. She came up and took my arm, smiling childishly, and said in hesitant Sindrahin. "Galadh eneth nîn, man eneth lín?"

I smiled at her, replying, "I am Osellë, daughter of Eldarestalo, surnamed Atanvarne. I came with the intention to go across the sea, but as you can see, I failed miserably."

The father turned to me and made a clumsy bow "I am Sardo, of the Falathrim. You are Noldor, of the high kindred are you not?" I then realised why their accents were so strange, why they spoke a different dialect, or even language. I, a Noldo of the High Kindred, had fallen in with the Teleri, those who were under the rule of Círdan the shipwright and who were of a lower caste than I. Yet I decided to pay little attention to class, after all, Legolas was of the Sindrahin, lower than I, despite being a Prince, yet I had fallen in love with him.

The young girl looked at me, and then taking me by the arm, she tugged it gently and I followed her, submissively, I was too cold and tired to care. She prattled beside me in Westron and broken Sindrahin, taking to me in my bedraggled and miserable state, just as a child will take in and nurse a sick animal or bird. She led me to a small cottage on the edge of the beach, which looked more like a dwelling of Hobbits than of Elves. I had been used to lofty halls, so the house was a bit of a shock to me. I had to duck as I entered the door, noticing that my host, Sardo, had no such inconvenience. Luckily the ceiling inside was slightly higher, so that I didn't hit my head. The dwelling was comfortably furnished, hung with tapestries and relics of the sea, and as I entered, I saw a motherly Elf sitting under a window busy at the loom. She stood up, gazing questioningly at her husband, who said a few words in his odd dialect. The woman made a quick curtsey, and, formalities over she stepped up to me, starting to fuss over me like a hen over her chick, "Come milady, you're soaked, let me get you some dry clothes, you'll catch your death. My name is Nanethiel. Galadh, get some clothes out the chest, no over there. Sorry milady, they'll be a trifle short, you are much taller than all of us..." She continued this bustling, busy chatter, while she moved around, handing me clothes, showing me where to dress, and hanging out my wet things, finding me a bed and preparing me a meal. She seemed to take it for granted that I would stay, and I didn't like to refuse for fear of offending her. "Have you got any more clothes other than these?" She asked, while setting a meal in front of me.

"Rhaich!" I exclaimed. Everyone looked appalled at my outburst. I blushed slightly, remembering my dignity. "I apologise for my language" I continued, "But I have left my bundle on the beach, I lost it when I jumped ship, it is very important to me." The mother smiled, and turning to her daughter said "Run now to the beach and fetch this lady's bundle, it should be washed up on the shore." Galadh immediately ran off, and when she came back, I was already asleep.

Seven years I stayed in that little hamlet amongst those simple folk. I felt that this was the respite I needed, with a close, friendly community, whom I grew to love for their straightforward ways and easy kindness. I found a vocation, teaching children the tongues of the High Elves, singing and making music, helping with the looms and bringing to them knowledge of the world outside. Galadh became a dear friend of mine. I lavished on her all my knowledge, her sisterly affection going in some way to fill the void inside me.

I couldn't leave the Havens. Every ship seemed to call me onboard, to taunt me with peace across the Sea. There was a peace, an end of love, of the canker gnawing at my heart. I couldn't leave the hope of escape, yet I couldn't seize it. I couldn't leave the land where Legolas still lived – while he still walked Middle Earth I was doomed to linger on.

But with the spring of the seventh year the pull of the Sea weakened, bringing restlessness. I longed to be away, to seek excitement in another place.

I paced the foreshore, trying to conquer its pull by filling my mind with the bleak, brown boiling waters of the Lune, of the desolateness of the waterfront compared to the forests and mountains behind me. The wind whipped my hair, bearing still the lingering chill of winter. I wrapped my cloak around me, trying to block out the chill, and as I did I caught sight of its fastening, the brooch, Legolas birthstone. On an impulse, I unclasped it and raised it to my lips, to be dragged into the swirling vortex, my contact with my love. Again, as long before, I heard voices – his voice, and then that of Vénea, coming to me over a great distance, so that I had to listen hard to catch them. "My love, my husband, I have important news to tell you. I am pregnant with your child!" The force of these words threw me backwards, the brooch flying form my lips to clatter to the ground. Vénea was with child! I couldn't believe it, yet it must be true. Suddenly it came to me. This was the reason for my restlessness; this was my excuse for leaving. I had to go to her, to be with her in her pregnancy, I was after all her friend.

Soon I had sadly bidden goodbye to my dear friends, exchanging tears and necklaces with Galadh, and promising to see her again. After a few days I had saddled the brave horse that had borne me here from Rivendell, and set off, back to my love and his expectant wife.

On the second day of my travels, early in the morning, as I was trotting slowly through woodland along the Elven path that led to the Shire, I heard the sound of hooves ringing against the path, moving at a gallop towards me. I reigned in my horse, and moving off the path, I waited for the rider to pass me. The foaming beast soon streaked past me, its small, blonde rider clinging doggedly to the reigns. As it passed I kicked my horse forward to a gallop and followed the steed in its mad career, until it stopped suddenly, exhausted, the rider falling off with the shock.

I dismounted quickly and ran to her side, seeing that she was unhurt. I then secured the horses to a neighbouring tree and went over to help her up. As the young elf turned towards me I realised that the face was surprisingly familiar. "Galadh, what on Middle Earth are you doing here? I left you back with your parents!" She looked at me, somewhat affronted, holding her horse tentatively as she said simply, "I came to follow you." I looked at her worriedly; she was so young, so innocent.

"Don't your parents need you?" I asked, "Why should you wish to follow me?"

She looked up at me, tears starting to her eyes, screwing up in her face in an expression of petulant annoyance. "My parents don't need me, my mother sent me to you. She thought that I would benefit more from following you, from seeing lands other than my own, and perhaps getting a husband while I am at it, there are few decent ones in Mithlond"

I laughed despite myself at her eagerness and she looked even more upset, bursting out, "Why are you laughing. Don't you want my company? Shall I just go back?" The tears began to run down her young face, and I moved over to wrap my arms around her, whispering to her "Don't cry, don't cry, I do want you with me, I do want your company on my journey if you will leave your family." She smiled at me through her tears, wiping her face. I helped her mount her horse and she rode beside me, my companion in the long, memory-dogged journey to Mirkwood.

We passed an uneventful journey. There was little danger now from Orc or other evil, and the roads had been repaired. The arm of Aragorn was indeed long, that he could thus improve his realms so far away from Gondor.

After months of journeying I at last saw in front of me the dark trees of Mirkwood, or Greenwood the Great as it had been known in happier times, before the coming of the Evil.

I rode through quickly, remembering familiar paths that I had not traversed for a long time, feeling the air and the darkness, revelling in the memories it bore. However, there was something subtly different, a new air of sadness or grief in the place that oppressed my joy and filled me with foreboding. Galadh shivered beside me, "There is something wrong, it feels so sad. Look even the horses are disturbed." Suddenly grave alarm rose inside me, there was something seriously wrong.

"Legolas!" I cried, and put spurs to my horse, my mind fixed on the horror that something may have happened to the one I loved.

Soon I arrived at the gate of Thranduil's halls, where I leaped of my mount and, throwing the reins willy-nilly to one of the guards, dashed through the main gate and ran quickly up the spiral staircase. I heard behind me the sounds of pursuit, and then a gentle voice saying, "She is Osellë, a friend of the princess, let her go" I continued on, towards Legolas' chambers, where I burst in, in a fit of panic, to find him sitting on the bed, weeping as if his heart would break.

He jumped up, turning pale when he saw me, as if I was a ghost. He stammered my name, and I stepped closer to him, "Yes I am here, what is wrong?" Somewhere close a baby cried, and I knew at once what the cause for his grief was. "She is not dead is she?"

My words seemed to bring him to his senses, as he shot me a look of such raw misery that my heart almost broke within me, "Not yet, but it will be close. Come I will take you to her, she would like to see you before the end." He took me by the hand, and led me to the neighbouring chamber, where the infant's wails were coming from. "There she is," he said, pushing me towards the bed as he covered his desolate eyes with his hands. I longed to put my arms around and kiss him, then and there, but I couldn't. So I walked up to the bedside, and taking the chair beside it, looked sadly at the sleeping form. Ten years had passed since I had last seen her, but the years had been kind to her. She had matured; the innocent vulnerability of childhood replaced by a confidence and peace that gave her beauty. Yet that beauty was changed, though unspoilt by the illness that had robbed the soft contours of cheek and chin, hollowed her eyes and made her breathing ragged and difficult. As I watched her, she opened her blue eyes, once so happy and young, now weary and full of pain. She gazed at me blankly for a moment, and then recognition filled her gaze. She smiled, but wanly, pain was too much for her. "Osellë," she whispered. "At last, you have come. I have waited and prayed for you to come, and now you are here, but on my deathbed." I felt a soft touch on my shoulder, and glanced upwards. Legolas had laid his hand on my shoulder and was beckoning me over to a cot beside the bed in which lay, not one, but two beautiful children, but a few hours old. "My sons, Estel and Keldarion" Legolas whispered, a hint of fatherly pride under his grief. He picked up one and me the other, bringing them closer to the bedside so that their mother could see them. She smiled at me and whispered, "Aren't they beautiful, just like their father." I nodded, the lump in my throat choking my words, I felt that if I spoke I would cry, and lose utterly my self-control. Suddenly she sat up, and reaching out her arms said "Give them to me, please let me hold them." I placed Estel on the bed beside her and she smiled again, her face set, as if conserving her remaining energy for one last effort.

"Legolas, my darling love," she sighed, "I must go now, I love you more than anything, look after my sons." He wept at these words, then suddenly he lost control and flung himself to his knees by the bed, "I will never see you again, for you will pass from the Halls of Mandos to the place where only Men can go, and where I cannot follow you. Let me come with you, I shall become Mortal for you, just as Arwen did for Aragorn."

"No, you are needed here. Look after our sons. I will not allow you to make this sacrifice for me." Her voice broke, and she seemed to flop down in to the pillows. I thought that the end had come, that she had at last died, but I was wrong. Her head rocked on the pillow and she opened her mouth, seeming to be battling strongly to say something, yet unable to. Finally she gave up and said simply "Osellë, Legolas" and with the last of her effort she joined our hands. We looked briefly into each other's eyes, a glance of understanding passed from each of us, both knowing what that action of hers had meant. I looked back to the bedside, to see her once laughing, vivacious, witty blue eyes glaze over, losing their shine. Her breathing became more erratic, the death rattle beginning in her pale throat. She opened her full, pale lips and mouthed the word "Legolas" Then her body became limp, the spark of life dying from her eyes, as she finally departed this world.

Choking back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me, I picked up gently the two children, leaving the distraught husband to his grief.