Part Nine

Paradise Lost

I was a fool to believe . . .
A fool to believe. . .
It all ends today. . .

Yes, it all ends today

Today's the day when dreaming ends

"Fool To Believe" Moulin Rouge

I sighed bitterly; this had not gone to plan. He was meant to be ecstatic at the news I had given him, but instead he was frowning, his handsome face twisted with an uncanny pain. Suddenly I grew angry; his utter lack of pleasure or excitement infuriated me."Aren't you glad that you are going to be a father then?" I demanded, stamping my feet rather roughly on the leafy ground. I flinched as my ankle caught in an unexpected hole causing a spasm of pain that in no way aided my temper. He stretched out his arms in supplication, but I ignored him, instead becoming intensely interested in a rather ordinary leaf that curled, green and spiralling from its slender stalk, trembling in the slight breeze. My eyes traced its fine veins, the delicate green, through which the light shone translucently. Tipping my head I flicked my gaze to study the underside, and then gasped as I noticed the creeping canker, like some vile army, ravishing the tender purity of the leaf, corrupting its life force. Quivering with revulsion I tore it off its stalk, hurling it ineffectually at him. My anger rose like an incoming tide and I reached out to grab the leaf next to the one I had just removed, convulsively breaking the frail stalks in my feverish hands. "Careful Osellë," Legolas exclaimed, "you'll kill it"

"That's the idea," I replied, my voice icy despite my wrath. "It will die anyway, as will everything on this damned earth – apart from us." Easily snapping a slender branch, I dropped it to the ground, trampling it into the dust. "I wish I was mortal, I wish I had died of old age or illness long before this, or had a hope that I could break free of this earth. I bet you wish that I had kicked the bucket, that she had lived and was still living with you?" I risked a glance up at him, my anger fading at his handsome face; his beautiful eyes full of sorrow and pain, a single tear etching a silver path down his high cheekbone. Sighing, my fury left me – yet I could not retract what I said. I still wished for death, for oblivion. But that non-existence would never be mine. I was an Elf, an immortal.

My self-control broke, and the tears rose unbidden to my eyes, falling unchecked down my face. He advanced to me, folding me in his arms, "Meleth-nin, my love," he whispered gently, stroking my raven hair. "As usual, you have taken the wrong end of the stick, you misconstrue my meaning entirely." He paused, and I felt a small sense of relief, perhaps he loved me after all. "I do love you," he continued," I would be proud and honoured to be the father of your child."

"Yes," I cut in, sarcastically, his tenderness not completely banishing the last tendrils of my ire. "Your ecstatic reaction to my news shows perfectly that you are overjoyed to be a father." He winced, my words cutting him; his arms clutched me convulsively, gripping my neck. "I reacted as I did, not because I don't love you or don't want the child, but because I'm afraid of what could happen to you. My mother suffered cruelly having me, Vénea died in childbirth. I do not want to lose you in the same way."

I pulled myself away from him, trying to stand up proudly, but failed miserably. My head started swimming, I swayed, and collapsed in a wave of nausea, my eyes flashing as I retched. Clutching hold of him, I tried to regain my dignity, "Thank you for your concern, meleth-nin, but if I can survive being mauled by Orcs, savaged by wargs, near drowning by that thing in the waters of Moria et cetera, than I can survive giving birth. It can't be so painful that I cannot endure it." I glared sharply at him, but his only answer was to burst out laughing, despite, or because of my murderous look.

"Osellë, Osellë, only you could pull off that dignified stance, when your beautiful hair is all over your face and your mouth is covered in vomit." He wiped my mouth, cooing as if I was a baby, and I collapsed into giggles, my previous anger forgotten. He swept me off my feet, kissing my now clean mouth, as I promptly threw up into his face. He dropped me pretty quickly and I landed with a bump on my feet, "Damned morning sickness," I muttered.

I rolled over with difficulty, my cramped limbs and large stomach making normal movement impossible. Sitting up clumsily, I felt a searing pain across my belly, and then another one. I stifled a scream as the agony became intense, thumping rather hard on the bedclothes in my suffering, only to hear another scream that certainly wasn't mine.

"Ow, that was my head," Legolas grumbled, endeavouring to punch me back.

"This is no time for messing," I snapped. "It's coming!"

"What?"

"The baby, you fool," I growled. Pain took the better of manners, as I kicked him rather roughly out the bed.

"A sorry, are you hurt? would be in order now, I think." he grumbled, but I was too much in pain to oblige.

He shook his head, and seeing the agony I'm sure was apparent on my twisted face, he quickly leapt off the ground and into his clothes, before dashing off to fetch the midwife. I smiled amidst my pain; he was so caring – or so eager to get out of the way before I could damage him again.

I endeavoured to make myself more comfortable as my waters broke, soaking the bed. Sighing, I gave myself up to the pangs of childbirth, only hoping they would soon be over.

I opened my eyes again, to find my feverish brow being gently sponged and my legs in a rather undignified position. The contractions were fiercer and more frequent now, the baby forcing itself out of me with excruciating pain. Screaming, I pushed hard, and at last it came, the bawling infant. I had brought life into the world and survived the ordeal.

Cradling my little girl in my arms, I gazed up at my husband sitting by my side, beaming with fatherly pride at the tiny creature we had given life to. "What shall we call her?" he enquired proudly, gently stroking her tiny cheek with a long finger. I smiled, I had already thought up a list of names – Ithildin perhaps, or Alcie after my mother, or even Tawariell, as she was a girl of the forest. I was just about to mention my choices when the infant in my arms opened her eyes, intensely blue, blue as sapphires or the sea. Legolas gasped, "Vénea, we shall call her Vénea,"

"Damn," I muttered. But it was too late, the name had stuck.

Vénea stirred and opened her deep blue eyes as I kissed her gently on the cheek. "Come yende-nin, we are leaving for Mirkwood. You will have to wake up now; we wouldn't want to leave without you." She groaned, brushing her long, dark hair from her face, burying her head into the pillow. "But mother," she muttered, "it's barely light."

"I know, I hate mornings too. But as usual your father has no time for indolence. Besides, he is eager to be back, he doesn't like leaving your brothers so long. You know what nuisances they are, they take after their parents so much."

I sighed, then shaking my head in mock despair, I pulled her out of the bed, and after making sure that she wouldn't crawl back into it again, left her to dress.

I walked quickly out the room and along the short, airy corridor to the hall where Legolas was waiting impatiently. "Is she up then?" he demanded. I nodded and sat beside him, as he wrapped his arms around me. "I am sorry I snapped," he whispered gently. "But I've been thinking of old times and dead friends, and such reveries tend to try my courtesy."

I nodded sadly, as he kissed me, pulling me closer to him. "We have lost Aragorn, the Hobbits. Gimli is ancient, Arwen is dead, the race of Elves is vanishing from this land. But there is light in this darkness. I have you, I will always have you, and I will always be happy." I nodded, kissing him back, little knowing how soon that his words would be proved a lie.

Much had changed in our two hundred years of marriage, other than the birth and growth of my daughter and the "maturing" of Keldarion and Estel. They were now incredibly handsome, but no less mischievous, youths. Elrohir had at last got over me, marrying Galadh and taking her with him to Rivendell. I still felt a little regret even now, despite the pain of his attachment, both to me and to him, it had been good for my vanity to have a scorned lover.

I had not seen Galadh these many years; they probably had gone into the West. Most of us Elves had gone, apart from those of Mirkwood and of Ithilien, where we now were. In Ithilien we'd founded a community of Elves; we spent most of our time here, working to remove the shadow of Mordor that had stretched over the land, making it again bright.

Aragorn had died a hundred years before, after having had a long and happy reign. He was well loved. The pain of his loss affected me greatly, but Legolas most of all. It is said that on his deathbed;

'A great beauty was revealed in him, so that all who after came there looked on him in wonder; for they saw that the grace of his youth, and the valour of his manhood, and the wisdom and majesty of his age were blended together. And long there he lay, an image of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.'
Lord of the Rings. Appendix A

Merry and Pippin had died and were buried close by him, in Rath Dinen among the great of Gondor. Arwen had lingered on for a short time. She had rejected immortality for her true love, at last dying in Lothlorien, where she was buried on Cerin Amroth where she and Aragorn had been betrothed. Their son Eldarion, with whom Arwen had been pregnant on my wedding day, and who had almost not survived Aswen's and my catfight, now ruled Gondor. He was no longer young, but shared the long lifespan of his father, who had lived to two hundred and ten. He too had sons who would rule after him. As for Aswen, she had disappeared with her husband Eldreth; I didn't think that she could bear my company. The fate of Vénea had been a constant gall between us.

I sighed, as a single tear trickled down my cheek. This was indeed the curse of the Eldar – eternal youth, while all friends grew old and died, while the world withered and only memories remained.

Legolas kissed away the tear and lifted me to my feet, as my daughter stumbled through the door, fastening her cloak about her white neck. I was proud of her, proud of her beauty and intelligence, she possessed the best of her father and I, as well as a wicked temper and strong loyalties. All in all she was a well-mannered and polite girl.

"Come on mother, father," she yelled, pulling me towards the door, "I thought you wanted to leave early, dragging me out of bed at night. And now I find you are not even ready. What have you been doing?" I shook my head hopelessly as the three of us made our way towards our waiting horses, Legolas keeping her back to have a quiet word. Well, she was polite and well mannered most of the time.

We mounted and rode towards Mirkwood, Legolas forcing a fast pace, as if he was anxious to be back. After a few days riding, we reached the eaves of Greenwood the great (as it was now known after the passing of the shadow) and for some reason, Legolas spurred his horse to a gallop. He disappeared ducking lithely between the swinging branches, as I followed him, trying to avoid the whiplash of sticks from his breakneck progress.

Soon we burst together into the glade where Thranduil's hall lay. Legolas, dismounting and flinging his reigns to a waiting groom, disappeared into the hall without a word. I dismounted also, waiting for my daughter to catch up. I sent her into the hall and was about to follow her when I heard a familiar voice, a voice that made me freeze in my tracks, turning my blood to ice. It was a voice that I had not heard for two hundred years, a voice that should have been sealed in the grave. Surely I was dreaming. It couldn't be that this ghost had come to haunt me. "Vénea," I mouthed, barely able to pronounce the name as she came bursting into view, as lively and vibrant as ever, her dark hair glinting red in the sun, her slender arms open to receive me, a charming smile beautifying her face. She embraced me, but I couldn't move, couldn't speak, my best friend, my worst rival, had come back from the dead.

She was soon gone, dashing into the hall, but I remained dumbstruck, my brain unable to believe what my eyes and ears had told me. Suddenly it hit me, sledgehammering me to the ground with its weight. She was his wife! She loved him. My brief moment of happiness that I had been longing for almost all my life had been shattered by one swift blow.

I flung myself on a chair, my brain swimming, trying desperately to decide what I should do, what Legolas would do. The canker had infected our love, just as it had that leaf long before. I could only watch, and hope that her coming didn't blast irretrievably our devotion.

I could only hope, but soon even my hope, the hope of a wife toward her husband, the total trust in his innocence against all outside 'proofs' of his guilt – even that failed.

As I walked through the forest, looking for Legolas, since I had not seen him in hours, I heard a rustle deep in the undergrowth and caught a glimpse of golden hair. "Legolas," I said, smiling. But my smile quickly faded as I realised that he was not alone, there was black mingled with his golden locks. He was standing with Vénea in his arms, her lips only a hairsbreadth from his.

I screamed, a long wordless cry of pain, misery and anger, as I turned, dashing blindly along the path that I had just come, utterly numb, my heart tearing in two within my breast. I was in shock, hardly able to believe what my eyes had seen, hardly able to believe that he had betrayed me. It was only when I had flung myself onto the bed, unable even to cry, such was the magnitude of the blow – that it dawned on me. The one stability of my life had been knocked away. I was without friend, without prop, lost in the doom of rejection, betrayal and loneliness – and she, my best friend, had done this to me.

I rushed over to the chest and began stuffing my belongings into a bag. I couldn't stay to watch my marriage, the happiness that I had worked so long to build, crumble and fall about my ears. I couldn't stay to have my love betrayed, to have my heart torn in two and the bleeding pieces impaled on the trees of Mirkwood as a warning of what happens to those who build all their love and faith on one person, as I had done – and who find their trust betrayed.

Soon though, the wild desperation retreated, and I regretted my hasty action. I was overreacting somewhat. She had only kissed him quickly; a brief kiss is quite understandable if you are meeting someone for the first time in two hundred years – especially if that person happened to be your late wife who had just risen from the dead. I sighed, wearily, and began to bring order to the chaos that my hasty packing had made, resolved to observe the situation and find absolute proof before I did anything rash. Surely he loved me enough to be faithful, I was too jealous by half.

I made my way downstairs, determined to play the affable hostess to my long lost friend. Yet my resolve was tried the next moment as Legolas walked in, his arm about Vénea's waist. He noticed the pain on my face and quickly released it, kissing me apologetically, yet his kiss could not remove the disquiet I felt.

My anxiety grew through the evening, fuelled by nods and signs shared between the two that spoke of something other than friendship. She related, somewhat sketchily, her time in the Halls of Waiting, out of which Mandos had thrown her out after her constant nagging to see her husband and sons. Legolas laughed, commenting that her ability to pester could try even the patience of a god, yet I could see that he was flattered by her love for him, which had brought her back from the dead.

I found myself gradually more and more excluded from the dinner conversation, more and more galled by the change that Vénea wrought on all around her. All eyes but mine and my daughter were constantly on her face, her sons hanging on her every word, laughing and joking with an easy, unconstrained warmth that they had never shown towards me. However much I had cherished and cared for them, they had never behaved like this to me – they held me in awe, and had been reserved in my presence, almost if they though that I would punish them – Oh Ilúvatur, I was too protective, too careful of their welfare for them to ever really regard me as a friend.

My daughter was the only one who sympathised with me; she was cool and aloof from her namesake's advances, almost as if she sensed the growing dislike inside my heart. I pretended to be glad at Vénea's return, but I was not – she had come between me and everything I loved, and was gradually eclipsing me with her talk and her vivacity.

I hoped that their reaction was only due to the novelty of her presence: that things would return to the old ways, but, as the days progressed, Legolas became more and more entranced by her vibrancy, vitality and mischievous ways. He seemed only to talk of their brief ten years of marriage, and was diffident and almost withdrawn in his manner towards me; as if unsure whether I was indeed his rightful wife now that his first one had come back on the scene.

I grinned and bore it as much as I possibly could, but I could not endure much more of the pain and jealousy that her presence gave to me, the well of suffering within me filled to overflowing.

I walked again through the woods, again searching for Legolas, determined to confront him on our changed relationship, yet my search had so far been fruitless. I was just about to turn for home when I heard his voice coming from behind a rather large and venerable oak. I moved towards him, unnoticed due to the silence of my tread, and was about to reveal myself, when the musical tones of Vénea stopped me in my tracks. "What shall we do about Osellë?" she whispered, and Legolas leaned closer, his voice full of restrained passion, "I know not, all I know is that..." the sound of kissing cut off his last words, and I edged closer to see them entwined in each others arms! Suddenly the dam burst, all gratitude or love I had once felt for her was swept away by the full force of her treachery. I had welcomed her into my house and she had betrayed me, she had stolen my husband, she had snatched away all my happiness and now held my beating heart in her cruel grasp. I again turned and ran for my bedroom, again frantically packing my belongings, but this time I was not overreacting, I was determined now to leave for good.

As I gave a last look around my bedchamber my eyes passed over the dresser, and stopped, for there was something on it that reflected the sun's dying rays. I stepped over to get a closer look and my eyes rested on my dagger, who's short but vicious blade caught and scattered the light, so that it appeared red with blood. The sight of it pulled a blind from my eyes, making me see with clarity as sharp as the knife-edge, the cause of all my suffering – Vénea.

With dawning realisation came a growing hate – I despised her more than I had ever hated Sauron. He had only threatened my life while she had shattered something much greater, my love. She had stolen his heart, destroyed our bliss. She had come back to life to ruin mine, and I would make her pay!

I grabbed the dagger, not heeding as the sharp blade cut into my hand, feeling only a wild, burning rage. I crashed out the door and dashed up the stars to her room, the one thought in my boiling mind – to make her feel the same anguish that she had caused me.

My right hand, trembling with rage, grasped the latch, flinging the door open and slamming it behind me so hard that the frame shook.

Vénea leapt round, staring at me, first with shock, then relief, then her blue eyes widened with fear and disbelief at the knife that I held levelled at her chest. I advanced forward, threateningly, as she backed away from me, her retreat soon stopped by the wall. She held up her trembling hands over her face, as the sharp point of the dagger made a dint in her grey dress, just above her heart.

"What is it?" she gasped, and I exploded, my fragile self-control shattered completely.

"What is it? What is it? Is it nothing that you have stolen my husband from me? Is it nothing that you have broken my heart; that you ruin my life after all I have done for you?"

"I only kissed him, for heavens sake. From the way you're going on, one would think I had slept with him at least." I slapped her across the face, savouring the angry red handprint on her white cheek. She winced, but I only laughed – part of me quite frightened at the insane, almost demonic quality of it.

"Have you lost your wits?" she choked and I repeated my fiendish chuckle.

"Yes, I suppose I have." My hands reached for her white throat, batting away her pathetic defence, and wrapped themselves around it. I tightened my grip and she gasped for breath, her pale face turning red, then purple. I gradually relaxed my hold, allowing her to breath; I didn't want to kill her just yet. She collapsed against the wall, clawing my hands still about her neck. I laughed again, ecstatically aware of her pain. "And yours is the delightful knowledge that you have driven me to it. I am going to give you a small taste of the misery that your dallying with my husband has caused me – and as you are only human, that misery will kill you."

I removed my hands from her throat, making her sigh somewhat with relief, but the dagger pressed against her neck quickly brought back her anxiety. She writhed in terror as I pressed the knife closer to her throat. "Careful," I hissed, "it would be better if you remained perfectly still; you wouldn't want to hasten your death by wriggling around, would you?"

Normally I would have baulked at this act of cruelty, to torture even my worst enemy would have been disgusting to me; but seeing her in his arms had broken something in me – destroying my compassion and giving me an animal rage. And now I was going to kill her.

Suddenly the door banged open, breaking my concentration. I turned to see Legolas, who stood framed in the shaking doorway. His eyes flashed with righteous indignation, suffusing through his handsome face, his mouth compressed tightly into an angry line. Oh Ilúvatur, he looked so terrifying, I would hate to be the person that that wrath was aimed against – and then I realised with a start, that I was.

I froze, petrified by his glare, as he leapt towards us with the agility of a cat, dashing my hand away from her throat, and the dagger sailed through the air, to clatter to the ground near the door.

I screamed in rage and pain, making to throw myself on her with tooth and nail, but something in my eyes made me stop, rooting me to the spot. Instead I snarled at him. "Thank you," I said, my voice icy cold and dripping with sarcasm. "Thank you very much for showing how much I mean to you. I thought you loved me, but it seems that you do not. I see you have found your heart's desire, and I am happy for you." I paused, my heart melting at the look of pain in his eyes; my words were cutting him to the quick the righteous indignation faded from them, to be replaced by - pity, sorrow, for the wild animal he had seen me become. My anger left me and I longed to put my arms around him, but damned pride, and an awful sense of gnawing guilt, got in the way. I had to keep up appearances; I had to justify my actions – lest he lost all faith in me. "No matter that you have broken my heart. I see that you have no need for me, so I will convenience you by leaving your lives for good."

I shot him the full fiery defiance of my glare – all that remained of the bestial hate that now left me broken and shaking. He was so achingly handsome that I wanted to fling myself at his feet, to beg for forgiveness and to throw myself on his mercy. But instead I turned my back with icy dignity, walking haughtily towards the door. "Osellë," he sobbed, his voice full of pain, longing and regret, yet I continued on, shutting the door behind me with enforced carefulness, praying that he would call me back. I had already wrenched my heart out by walking away, one word from him would have me at his feet – but that word did not come.

Abandoning all dignity, I launched into a headlong rush down the corridor that almost ended in a pageboy having his brains dashed out on the flagstones below, but I continued on. I reached the main gate and burst out in to the joyous sunshine that made a foul mockery of my mood. Resting my hands on my knees, I stood there panting, letting the tears fall unchecked down my cheeks.

I waited there for ages – his last look imprinted on my minds eye. There was love in that gaze – surely he would follow me. I waited there for ages, but he did not. Of course he wouldn't follow me; I had just tried to murder someone. I must have been dreaming to think there was love, or even pity in his voice. He did not love me; he loved her, and no wonder. How could he love me when I so despised myself?