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

10. A short drop and a sudden stop

Part Ten

A Short drop – and a Sudden Stop

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
From Macbeth (V, v, 19) by William Shakespeare

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris.

Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

(I hate and love. You ask perhaps how this can be.

I know not, but I feel it, and 'tis agony.)

C. Valerius Cattullus, 85, Torment

I slumped against a tree trunk; head in my hands, letting the slow trickle of tears fall unchecked through my fingers. I was crushed absolutely – all pride, all self-respect, gone. I had tried to kill someone, to end someone's life in cold blood. I still saw the bead of blood on her pale throat, my harsh demonic laughter still ringing in my ears.

He did not love me. He couldn't love me after what I had done – or almost done. I had tried to kill someone, to murder the woman he loved because I was jealous. I was Atanvarne, 'defender of men' yet I had just dishonoured my name, my husband; I did not deserve to live. I could go back and hand myself in, or I could take justice into my own hands.

My hand fluttered to the girdle about my waist, hastily untying it. I gazed at it blankly for a moment, hardly believing the terrible thoughts that filled my head. Letting it drop, I stared blankly at it as it lay on the leafy ground. There was no way that I would find the oblivion I longed for. My earthly body may rot, but my spirit – my mind and memory, would live on. I would not find forgetfulness, only Mandos' Halls and the Undying Lands, where my pain would be with me for eternity.

I retrieved the girdle, twisting it around my hand, tugging on it involuntarily, as if to test its strength. No, I would not find oblivion in death – but I would find rest.

My fingers were deft now; my twisting for a purpose as I quickly scaled a neighbouring oak – the same one, I noticed bitterly, under which I had first seen Legolas and Vénea embrace. I knotted the rope around a branch so that it hung about six feet from the ground. Taking the other end, I tied it in a running noose, and then let it drop. I jumped down after it, and stood under the rope- a head above me. I rolled up a tree stump and positioned it under the rope, stepping on it, making sure that it was sturdy, yet could be kicked away easily.

I placed my head in the noose, tightening the slipknot around my neck. I would hang myself – and they would see my body swinging from the tree and know that justice had been done.

Taking a deep breath, I kicked away the log, screaming as the girdle jerked on my neck, stopping my fall. My neck did not break. Mine would be the long, slow dance of death; twirling and dangling on the end of a rope as my life was slowly choked out of me. My limbs writhed as I fought for breath, longing suddenly and desperately to be free – to live, but it was too late. Soon blackness closed over me and I knew no more.

I was falling, falling, through space, falling from death – hitting the ground with a thump that jarred my bones.

I opened my heavy eyes, gazing into nothingness. Is this what Mandos' Halls are like? Black – a solid black curtain, streaked with daylight, obscuring vision, stopping breath. I stretched out a heavy hand and touched the darkness. It was dense, soft and smooth, like hair – than it slowly dawned in my fuddled brain that it was.

"Mother?" a voice pierced my dull consciousness and I raised my aching head to discover its source.

"Mother." the voice came again and my brain painfully registered that it was my daughter bending over me, stroking my hair, cradling my aching head on her lap.

I gazed weakly into her troubled blue eyes, part of my mind thinking how weird it was to be looked down on by her. Suddenly, full awareness ambushed me, and like a hunter, sent the shafts of memory to pierce my breast. I cried aloud, clawing at my throat, expecting to feel the cruel bite of the rope, but it was free. I calmed down, "I'm not dead then?" I queried, knowing full well the answer, but dreading it all the same.

"No, thank the Valar," she exclaimed fervently, raising me up to a sitting position, moistening my parched lips. "Who did this to you?" she demanded, fists clenched, eyes blazing, "Who tried to hang you, and would have succeeded if I had not cut you down?"

"I myself," I sighed, and she stared at me, aghast, hardly believing what I had just said.

"What," she gasped incredulously, and I repeated my former statement. Belief, horror and pain quickly passed across her face like clouds, as the silent tears started to her eyes. "Why, mother, why?" she moaned, as I smiled wanly, reaching out to stroke her tear-stained cheek. "You are young, you have never been in love – you would not understand my motives. Suffice it to say that I was weary of life and wished to end it."

She stiffened, drawing herself away from me, a spasm of pain wracking her slender body. I tried to move towards her, to wrap my arms around her, but she repelled me, striking blindly at my outstretched hand. "So you would leave me," she burst out, her voice full of pain, of the sense of betrayal. "So you would abandon me, you would abandon father, you would..."

"No, my child," I entreated, "I would not abandon you. But I cannot take you with me and I cannot stay here – I am not welcome anymore."

She looked at me curiously, then realisation dawned in her blue eyes, and hate. "It's her – the other Vénea," she burst out, her musical voice disfigured by loathing, "You were happy until she came. I have seen the way he looks at her. The way she has insinuated herself between you and father, the way he hangs on her every word. She has bewitched him. She has ruined our lives."

I nodded dumbly, not trusting myself to speak. My daughter had hit the nail on the head and I would have to make sure that she didn't take matters into her own hands.

Vénea clenched her fists, snarling, "I'll show father what she really is, I'll make her pay for what she has done to you."

"No you won't." I interrupted, my voice silencing her immediately, "It is not worth it, I have tried – and failed."

"You tried?"

"I tried to kill her – only he stopped me. That's why I tried to kill myself – and failed again."

"What shall we do then? You can't just leave it. We must get him back, we must make father realise he loves you, I must..."

"You will go back home and try to get on with life – I want you to look after him, he will need you. Let him be surrounded by Vénea's, Osellë has no place anymore." I sighed again, appalled at my own bitterness.

"And you?"

"I will leave. I will look for my kinsman, Elrohir, and his wife Galadh, who I've not seen in years, they should be in Rivendell. Then I will go to the Undying Lands, the long slow way, as you have prevented me from taking a shortcut."

She gasped, bowing her head, as I stood up stiffly, brushing dirt and leaves off my dress, more out of habit than a desire to be clean. I helped her up and held her close, as if she had been a baby and not the bewitching she-elf that she had become. I cupped her head in my hands, kissing her burning brow." Chin up," I said, trying to make my voice bright and encouraging but failing miserably. "You must try to be happy. You have many years ahead of you – live them to the full. Don't grieve for me – I have had my joy. I was not born for happiness; mine was a melancholy star, yet I have snatched my ecstasy despite it. I have my memories to treasure – many have not even those."

I hugged her again, burying my face in her hair, the effort of putting on a brave face while my heart was again breaking within me, almost more than I could bear. We clung to each other as if nothing could ever part us, yet I managed to push her away, pressing into her hands the brooch, Legolas' birthstone, that I had always worn. I had no need of it now, it should be returned to her father now that his love for me was over.

"Return this to him, with my love." She nodded dumbly, too grieved for words. Taking the necklace, the one given me on my wedding day and that I had always worn, I unfastened it, clasping it around her neck, then turning her around, I gave her a slight push on the shoulders to send her on her way. "Wanya, yende-nin. Belain na le," (Go, my daughter, the Valar be with you,) I called after her, and then I turned, back into the darkness where the remainder of my existence would be spent.

I waited, hiding behind a tree, watching her slowly departing form – worry and confusion etched into every line of her slender back, her slow and stumbling stride.

Soon she vanished into the trees, and when I was sure she was out of earshot I let out in one shaking, curdling, wordless scream all the boiling rage and pain that had been burning within me. I stopped to catch my breath as the animal rage swept through me – blanking out all my thoughts, all my finer feelings, leaving only raw pain. I screamed again, falling to my knees, throwing back my head as a cloud of startled birds rose, flapping and cawing, from the undergrowth around me.

"This is pointless," I yelled, once the surging waters of my head had calmed somewhat. "Screaming will get me nowhere – I need action."

"But what can you do? What action can you take? You cannot make him love you. He is lost to you."

The whole forest echoed this mockery. Every tree, every plant, said the same thing. Even the blackbird in its flute-like tones seemed to sing, "He doesn't love you. He doesn't love you."

I forced my hands over my pointed ears, pressing hard to block out their taunting words. But every line of every twig still taunted my loneliness, my abandonment. Everything there was in pairs, every bird, every tree, every leaf had its partner. I was the only thing alone.

I screwed up my eyes, the world spinning around me, trying to block out the foul mockery of my diseased mind, trying to hold onto the last shreds of my fast vanishing sanity. I collapsed to my knees, burying my head in the leafy ground. I lifted my head up and slammed it down again and again on the ground, relishing the pain that dulled the intense, roaring agony of my shattered heart. At last the pain became too great and I ceased slamming my head against the branch, reeling drunkenly to my feet. The ringing in my ears gradually faded, only to be replaced by the words, "He does not love you, he does not love you." The voice seemed to come not from my surroundings, but from deep inside my fevered mind. My head burning, my heart an empty hole, I felt my last grip on sanity loosen and I took to my heels, all self control thrown to the winds, raving live a lunatic and dashing blindly (I still had my eyes closed) deeper into the wood.

Branches tore at my hair and garments, thorns dragged at my skin, yet I ran on. I was oblivious to pain, to the state of my clothes, to where I was going; only the wind's cruel ridicule echoing in my ears. "He does not love you. He does not love you." Nothing else mattered...That is until I ran a step too far, tripped over something and fell headlong – opening my eyes to see the ground and rushing towards me. I put out my hands, endeavouring to stumble to my feet – but gave up, but instead let myself fall to the ground in a paroxysm of tears.

At last the tears stopped, and I sat up, wiping my eyes, my breath coming in gasping sobs. My tears had cleared my temporary madness, leaving my mind, cold, broken, but icily sane. I gazed ahead of me, dashing the moisture from my eyes as they slowly focused on the tall tree in front of my nose. The bark was rough, brown and uneven, scarred with lighter brown. I reached out to touch it, running my fingers along the ridges in its surface as a thought slowly dawned in my stupefied brain. I dismissed it, horror stricken, but it came back, refusing to be banished. I couldn't live like this. I couldn't live without him. I couldn't live with his displeasure. I had to end it, to end my existence as well as I could.

I placed my hands tentatively on the branches nearest me, and then took a firmer grip onto them. I hauled myself into the tree, pausing to rest on the lower limbs, my arms aching from the unaccustomed strain. I looked up, at the tall, straight trunk with its lattice of branches, its canopy of leaves, stretching far above me. Gasping at the sheer height above, I continued my ascent; my eyes fixed on the trunk before me, feeling the free air caress my cheeks. I was filled with a strange sense of freedom, of liberation, as I climbed higher and higher, it was strangely bizarre yet quite refreshing after my devastation. I had never been so high, so far above the earth and its petty troubles, my problems seemed insignificant in this wide expanse of space.

I stood up on the highest branch that could bear my small weight, throwing wide my arms, balancing precariously on my slender perch, yet I felt no sense of danger. "Legolas" I called, elation soaring through me, banishing hate, pain, leaving only an infinite love. For I saw him in front of me, floating in mid air, beckoning to be with a slender hand, a jubilant smile playing across his face, his hair shining gold in the last red rays of the setting sun. I stretched out my hands. I could almost reach him, almost touch his hands. Only one step further...

Suddenly I was falling, the air rushing past me, my eyes gazing up into the deep blue. This was it, I was going to die.

CRASH! I lay winded, but definitely alive, draped across the shuddering branch that had broken my fall. I had failed again. I couldn't even kill myself without failing miserably. I opened my eyes, wriggling my limbs to check for breakages, holding on to my precarious perch for dear life. As soon as I saw that no bones were broken, I began to feel the futility of my action. What was the point in being unhurt when I was going to throw myself off this branch anyway, to continue my fall?

I rolled over, uncomfortably, precariously stumbling to my feet, lurching on my haphazard perch.

I managed to grasp hold of the branch above me as I risked a nervous glance down, and jerked my head up quickly, wishing fervently that I had not. I gulped, my head swimming, my heart pounding erratically against my bruised ribcage. My instincts of self-preservation were certainly very much alive and well – even if I myself did not particularly desire to be; and with them an overpowering desire to be on the ground. "Ha" I laughed sardonically, "That can be quickly arranged. I came up here to arrive back on terra firma double-quick – and preferably unable to climb trees again."

I let go of my handhold, suppressing my screaming instincts, and wobbled dangerously, but managed to right myself. I wanted to jump, not fall. I had tried falling to my death last time and had only succeeded in plunging a few feet.

Standing as straight as I could, I sauntered lightly to the end of the branch, feeling it shake madly up and down as I moved – and stopped, the rebound almost sending me flying off. I had heard a harsh, guttural voice coming from far below, undoubtedly human and pronouncing two words that made my hair stand on end – Elf, and death.

I tried to carefully lower myself to a crouch, but failed miserably, instead throwing myself down and clinging ferociously as the branch danced wildly, making sinister creaking noises.

"Wassat?" a stilted whisper came from someone below that had certainly not been taught how to practice correct elocution. I froze, praying that they would not see me.

"Nofin –prob'ly a squirrel," was the equally illiterate reply, but expressed by the sort menacing voice that you would have to be very brave or very stupid to risk correcting its pronunciation.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I crept down the tree like a cat in the darkness, until I was just above their heads. I gasped – silently of course, at the large number of men gathered under the tree. I could make out in the dim light at least a hundred, crouched together under the canopy of the darkening forest, firelight glinting dully off swords and armour – they were certainly a war band and they certainly meant business.

The tree creaked as someone leant against it, I could smell the hot reek of his breath, of bodies that had not seen water for a long time – combined with another scent, of rage and fear.

"You listenin'?" and the crowd gathered around the man and the tree, eager to hear what he would say.

"Why are we here?" he bellowed, and instantly the crowd replied,

"Kill the Elves, kill the Elves!" He held up a hand for silence, and they instantly hushed, waiting eagerly for him to begin. His voice, though rough, held a certain charisma, a certain charm, combined with a force of delivery that would make him almost irresistible to the poor peasant farmers as this gathering seemed to be made of.

All seemed to be enthralled by the force of his delivery save a few at the back, who obviously possessed a few more brain cells than the others. There was some guttural muttering and then one of them piped up, "What 'ave those blasted Elves don' to us anyway?"

The leader stared them down so that they quailed before him, then he burst out.

"What 'ave they done?" the leader exploded, and the others quailed before this outburst. "What 'ave they done?" He bawled again, "They're sorcerers, wizards. They steal our land. They bewitch our women with their damned beauty and inveigling ways. Can anyone be that beautiful without some witchcraft?" There were murmurs of assent from the men around, who, from the look of them, would have self respecting women leave them for the most ordinary of men.

"Have you heard them, their wild incantations and strange rituals? They curse the weather, our farmland; they cause the droughts that have blighted our land for years, they horde gold and precious jewels while we starve!" I gulped, as the men roared their assents, drumming sword on shield, obviously fired by the man's words. I was scared by their harsh words, worried at the anger against us Elves, who were a diminishing race anyway. I laughed it off though, secretly like as I did not wish to be heard – these men weren't bright enough to find an Orc in Mordor, let alone the hidden realm of the Elves, crafted for centuries to be elusive to all but the knowing eye. How could they find Thranduil's court when only those who have been there before can discover it?

I smiled again, settling myself to wait until they went away – there would be no threat from them. They settled down around the fire, whispering plans of invasion and attack, as I shut my eyes and gradually let my mind wander...

I snapped awake, hearing a twig crack on the edge of the clearing, some way away. I peered into the gloom, seeing a shape moving in the shadows, edging slowly towards the men with a lightness of step that could only be Elven. The figure moved nearer to the fire, almost invisible in the shadowy night. I watched as the Elf fitted arrow to bow, aiming at the chief who stood clearly illuminated by the firelight. Obviously she too had overheard their talk and wished to prevent their foul aim. She drew back the bowstring, and as the arrow sped towards its target I recognised the she-elf, Aswen.

The arrow sped through the air and quivered to a halt, embedding itself in the tree just above the chief's head. He jumped back, slamming into my tree. Suddenly the air was filled with a horrible creaking sound, I screamed, clawing the air as the branch broke and I was thrown headlong on to the ground.

I leapt to my feet, seizing a branch from the ground, swinging it at the first one to snap out of the momentary shock which my sudden appearance had plunged them in. He screamed in pain, bowling back in to the man behind him, as I swung the branch to knock down the next one. They paused and I had a chance to look around me, shuddering inwardly at the circle of savages that surrounded me. I would never be able to beat them.

The leader drew his sword, a horrible leer on his cruel, bearded face. "What a pretty piece, eh, I didn't know such beautiful birds lived in these trees. Shame we'll have to pluck this one." He advanced toward me and I swung the stick, yelling, "But this bird has claws, and she doesn't take kindly to having her plumage removed." Yet, despite my defiance, I felt my courage fail. This man I could beat with proper weapons, but I was armed only with a stick that showed distinctive signs of breaking, and there were at least fifty others to finish me off if he failed.

"Help me, help me?" I sent the silent plea into the night, as I punched my wooden weapon into another lewd face, where it shattered into fragments, leaving me caught, defenceless in an army of lecherous barbarians.

I screamed as I felt rough hands claw at my body, and I kicked out, my foot meeting air. I stumbled and fell, hitting my head hard against a tree root.

The next thing I knew I was seized roughly from the ground, trussed up with ropes, a filthy rag forced in my mouth. The chief shoved his face close to mine; his hot breath reeking, his face disfigured by many lacerations, half his ear was missing and a particularly nasty scar fixed his thin-lipped mouth into a permanent sneer.

"What have we got here then?" he leered, as I drew back, the stench of his breath overpowering. "An Elf, eh, and a pretty one at that," the others cackled lewdly. "Shame we'll have to kill her."

"Do we have to?" a couple of them whined, "Can't we have some fun with her first?" I struggled, despite my fettered arms; I kneed the chief in the groin, and he bent double in agony. Finding myself momentarily at liberty I spat the rag out of my mouth, stretching and straining my hands to free them, but all the knots held good. Suddenly I saw a shape detach itself from the shadows and come running towards me, "Aswen" I screamed inwardly, "Stay back, don't get caught too," She seemed to hear, and melted back into the darkness, just as the chief recovered and I was seized again.

"So you thought to escape then, Elf" he spat the word out as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. "Sorry, but you won't get away that easily." He slapped me across the face, but I didn't flinch, instead shooting him a glance of such impervious dignity and scorn that he quailed under it. "You don't intimidate me with your stares, princess" he scowled, throwing me roughly to the ground, two men pinioning me down as he leered above me. "I am going to kill you, don't doubt that. But first me 'n me men are going to use you as you've never been used before. I've heard Elves have prodigious powers of endurance, all the more fun for us, eh" he nudged the men beside him, who advanced towards me, lust in his bleary eyes. This was it, I was going to be raped and then murdered. I had wanted death, but not such a shameful one. I gritted my teeth, determined to bear what ever they would do to me bravely, without screaming. I was a princess, a High Elf, and I would die like one.

And yet, maybe there was a chance I could elude death, but could I risk it, would they fall for it? As the first man advanced towards me, I blurted out, "I know where to find the Elves of Mirkwood." The chief seized me by the arm and pulled me roughly up. "So you're going to turn traitor? You're going to betray your people to save your own skin?" I nodded dumbly, trying furiously to compose my raging face into a semblance of abject terror, to lid my blazing eyes.

I winced as Aswen yelled inside my head, her scornful voice ringing in my ears, "Traitor. You are going to betray your husband, your father in law, to save yourself. Is that how much you love him, and her memory?"

"No" I called back, just managing to prevent my words being expressed audibly. "I would save my own skin, but not at the price of him whom I love. I will lead them on a wild goose chase to the seven oaks. You will warn Thranduil, and the Elves will attack them."

"I hate you, but you are an Elf, and I can't leave you alone to face such danger. I would never forgive myself if I left you to be killed by your own idiocy."

"You're the idiot," I yelled, forgetting in my anger that this conversation was meant to be telepathic. The men around me jumped and I smiled weakly, continuing silently, "Two against fifty, what wonderful odds. The Elves would surely sing about our impossible battle, only they would never find out because we wouldn't live to tell the tale – and if these fools find them, neither will they. I can handle this, trust me, go find the Elves and warn them, and leave me to cope with these men."

Her voiceless assent calmed my fears as she darted off into the gloom; and I was able to put all my efforts into enough abject terror to convince the chief of my sincerity. I cringed before him, forcing down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me. This fawning sickened me, but he seemed to take to it, falling into my trap as easily as a fly into a spider's web. Soon I was leading them off into the forest, dangling on a rope tied to the chief's wrist so that I wouldn't bolt, while the whole hundred scuttled behind me, torches blazing against the black night.

"We'll stop and wait 'til day." the chief commanded, a hint of fear at the pitch dark and weird night noises evident behind his bravado. "No sir," I replied trying to make my voice deferential, "I can see as well by night as by day. It would be better to attack as soon as possible, so that there is no chance of them being warned." He nodded at the sense of my words – I could feel his eyes constantly upon me and knew that I had bewitched him. I would use the dark to get them hopelessly lost, and then get him to release me.

Tossing my head so that the long silk of my hair brushed past his cheek, I took him tenderly by the hand, forcing down my distaste at the knotted, scarred, callused and filthy state of it, so different to that of an Elf, and pulled him along gently. He shivered with lust, and I tried to hide my revulsion as I draped myself across him, whispering my words of enchantment into his hairy ear, leading him and his men off into the night.

The night slowly dragged in a slow, dismal slog, full of the whistles of lecherous men and the cruel hands of those not content only to whistle. Soon after midnight, the heavy, dense air gave way to torrential rain that pierced through the thick canopy of leaves as a strong drizzle. I knocked against a tree, to be drenched by an icy torrent of collected water, trickling insidiously down my neck and soaking me completely. I shivered, not from the cold, but the hot breath of the chief, as he leaned closer to roughly brush the water from my shoulders, imprinting a slobbery kiss on the nape of my neck. The hours dragged as the man drew closer and closer to me, entwining his burly arms around my waist. "Legolas, Legolas," I whispered, "please give me the strength to bear this for you." Give me courage to bear the endless monotony of this night. The shadowy forms of the trees offered no comfort, to them, to everyone but myself I was a traitor. I was caught in this dank, miserable hell – the heavy tramp of feet in the claggy soil, the wearisome drip of raindrops, the whining complaints of the men only increasing the tedium of it all.

When I was about to despair of an ending to this hellish night, the first glimmerings of dawn pierced the opaque shadows of Mirkwood. I was still in the thrall of the chief of those foul men, still bound to his filthy wrist, still leading his loathsome army further and further into the tangled trees. I glanced behind me at the stumbling mass of bestiality, rank with fear, whining with superstition. Their number had diminished throughout the night. I had led them on the most winding, torturous route I could find, trying to lose the stragglers, to drown as many as I could in the ghostly darkness.

The woods became darker, thicker and more tangled, the canopy so dense that the feeble light of dawn could hardly penetrate. The brighter the day grew above the forest, the stronger was the grip of night on the treacherous undergrowth and the twisted trees we forced a passage through. The man behind me jumped as a flying creature burst from the shadows, calling eerily as it passed over his head. The men shivered as the noise of birdsong ceased abruptly, even the night birds that had been our constant companions throughout the hours of darkness were no longer audible.

The chief gripped my arm, pulling me towards him, his face pale beneath its dirt. "Witch," he hissed." Where have you brought us? Where is the Kingdom of the Elves? Are you going to betray us?"

"Be easy," I replied, keeping my voice soft and reassuring. "We are almost there. Do you think the Kingdom of Elves would be easy to find? No, it is hidden in the deepest, darkest part of Mirkwood." My words seemed to assuage his doubt, yet suspicion was not completely removed from his face. Aswen and the Elves would have to come soon; else he would soon slip from my grasp. I peered into the gloom, opening my mind, straining every sense for one glimpse, one whisper of rescue; but even my Elvish eyes and ears could perceive nothing. I began to panic. The men were getting uneasy. They whispered nervously in the darkness, refusing to advance another step into the unknown. Their leader stopped too, staring murderously at me, and I knew that I had lost control over him. I tried my best, using every charm to persuade him to continue, but all my allure did not lessen his distrust, only heightening his lust.

"Witch," he spat, wrenching my hair, kicking me down to the ground. I fought, tooth and nail, but my struggles only caused him to laugh. I reached out, gouging at his cheek, drawing blood, biting hard at his hand pressed over my mouth. He grunted in pain as my teeth closed round his finger and I tasted blood. "Kurva" he snarled, grabbing a branch from the ground. I winced as he brought it down on my head, throwing up my arms to fend off the blow. Again he brought the stick down and a hot knife of pain slashed through my skin. He hit me again and again, others seized sticks and turned on me, thorns tearing my skin, bones cracking. I struggled, but the fight drained out of me. I was deaf to all but the thwack of the stick, the ribald shrieks of my oppressors. Blinded by my own blood I lay impassive, praying only for this agony to end.

Gradually a new noise other than that of sticks forced itself into my awareness; there were screams of pain other than mine, a whoosh of air that could only be... Arrows, I was saved!

I managed to drag my broken body to the edge of the clearing, and, cowering under a bush I surrendered myself to my agony.

"Osellë. Osellë, where are you?" His voice was full of anxiety – almost as if he loved me. I groaned feebly and I heard the light footsteps coming towards me. I forced open swollen, blood caked eyes as I felt myself being gently dragged out from my shelter. "Legolas," I croaked, as he knelt beside me.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded, gently brushing my hair from my face. I sighed, unable to speak for the moment, trying to force down the pain that threatened to overwhelm me. I winced as he carefully wiped the blood from my face, then felt my body expertly to check for injuries. "You'll live," he smiled reassuringly, but, sensing the state of my broken body, I doubted that – now only wishing that I could die in his arms, knowing that he loved me. I allowed myself to let go my frail hold on consciousness, sighing deeply as the rushing waters of oblivion enclosed me.

I came-to to find my head cradled in his lap, his blue-grey eyes gazing intently into mine, "Osellë," he sighed, imprinting a feather-kiss on my bruised lips, his silky, blond hair tickling my face. I found my pain strangely dulled, the fire in my chest and my right arm diminished, allowing me to concentrate on other things.

I returned his gaze, lifting my head as much as I could to allow our lips to meet...

"Oh, have I interrupted something?" Aswen burst unceremoniously into the clearing, the human Vénea in tow. "Not at all," was Legolas' cool reply, but his voice changed when he saw Vénea. A spasm of pain distorted his face as he jerked it away from mine. His eyes flicked from her to I, as if unsure how to react. "Vénea," he muttered uncertainly, signalling my battered body as an explanation for our intimate position. This irked me greatly, he was my husband, and he should need no explanation for intimacy between us.

We were saved by a pair of stretcher-bearers, who seeing me lying on the ground, obviously unable to walk, advanced purposefully toward us. As they levered me onto the stretcher, I caught a view other than of things above me, of the absolute carnage that filled this glade. The ground bristled with arrows, men lay, scattered like driftwood, bathed in their own blood. Blood lay in pools like rain, slowly congealing. Scattered limbs, severed from their owners – twigs hacked from the parent tree. In the midst, a fallen oak, sound on the outside yet rotten within – the chief, the knotted staff hung with my skin and my hair still clutched in his dead grasp.

"Such is the glory of the Elves," I said bitterly and lay back on the stretcher. He nodded, as I was swung up above their heads, like some pagan goddess, with the mournful procession snaking behind.

I flicked in and out of consciousness; whatever I had been given to dull my pain had a soporific effect on me. I found it hard to battle against the compulsion to sleep. I did not want to sleep, I wanted to savour each minute of this painful journey, he was by my side, he held my hand, and for once, nothing existed but he and I. He smiled sadly at me, yet I could sense some restraint, a knife sized barrier that separated us. "I am sorry, so sorry for that," I whispered, "I don't know what came over me – a temporary madness that I have atoned for ever since."

"It is not I you should apologise to, but she. I suppose I drove you to it. It is so hard, I love both of you and I do not know what to do." I sighed in condolence, and the barrier between us weakened, yet she still stood in the way and I couldn't remove her.

The procession drew near home – the place those men had wished to destroy, but for which they had been cut down themselves. I shut my eyes, wincing, as I was lifted off the stretcher and onto my bed. I gritted my teeth, determined not to scream, praying only to be left alone to my agony – fat chance of that happening.

I heard a movement at the door, looking round I saw my daughter, tears coursing down her cheeks. She dashed towards me, throwing herself on her knees by the couch and began to cover my face with kisses. I looked up at her, mildly confused, as she pulled herself together, apart from occasional sobs. "They told me... they told me you were hurt, but not this bad."

"I'll live, unfortunately," I sighed, pulling her closer to me. "I have you, I have you, and that's all that matters. Let him go to her, let him abandon me, I still have my daughter." She sat down beside me, talking about everything and nothing, bless her, she was trying to distract me from my pain. I relaxed, letting myself me lulled by her chatter.

Elvish bodies heal amazingly. What would have killed a human, I had almost recovered from in a week. A week after my assault I put my feet tentatively on the floor. My head swam, and I swayed dizzily but my daughter reached out to steady me, and leaning drunkenly on her shoulder, we made our way down to the great hall. As we entered, the whole room rose to their feet. All Thranduil's court was assembled to greet me, and I stood, embarrassed, gazing at their assembled faces. Thranduil himself advanced towards me, I stiffened as he embraced me, then he turned around to face the assembled crowd. "Behold Osellë, our saviour," he said. I blushed scarlet as everyone started clapping, everyone that is except Vénea, who only looked sad and rather hurt, as if she remembered vividly our last meeting. I knew then what I must do; however much it would hurt my pride. Walking up to her, I fell on my knees before her.

"Osellë" she said, looking at me as if I had finally lost it. She would not relieve my embarrassment; I would have to explain myself. I squirmed uncomfortably, my knee twinging painfully, as I fixed my eyes on her, forcing her to meet my gaze. When our eyes were locked I opened my mouth, "Vénea," I said, "I am asking you to forgive me. Forgive me for my momentary fit of madness spurred on by jealousy. I am sorry for behaving as I did, I do not wish you dead, far from it. I am sorry for causing you pain." She gazed, disbelievingly for a moment, doubting the sincerity of my apology, but seeing the utter remorse that my eyes portrayed to her (I had taken great pains to conceal the writhing serpent of jealousy in my heart) she lifted me to my feet, hugging me, and we wept together. I heard a sigh of relief from Legolas, and I flashed him a wan smile, Vénea and I were friends, yes, but there were was much between us still to be resolved.

Thranduil walked up to us, son in tow. "Now you are reconciled, there is another, pressing matter that needs to be settled, follow me," the King said, taking each of us on his arms and leading us out, waving the courtiers away. He led us to a cosy room at the back of the palace, which he used as his retreat. The four of us sat down on high backed chairs, Vénea, Legolas, and I facing him. I realised with a start that he was about to pass judgement on the awkward marriage situation that held Vénea and I both bound to his son.

"Yes, you have guessed why we are here, Osellë." he said, causing me to jump, he'd read my mind, Vénea looked at me strangely – she was human, however long she lived with Elves, we would always be strange.

"Now, my son," he continued, "you are in the attractive, though rather unlawful situation of being married to two bewitching females at once. I must ask you something important. Osellë, Vénea, would you please leave the room for a moment, I don't want your presence to influence what he will say."

Vénea and I rose to go, but Legolas signalled us to remain. "Their presence will not affect what I am going to say, father. You are going to ask me which one of them I love, are you not?" Legolas waited for his father to agree, and then continued. "The truth is I love them both equally. Not many, Elves or Men, are blessed (or cursed) by two true loves, but I am." He ended his defiant stance, and slumping in his chair, he flapped his hands helplessly by his sides, finishing desperately, "What shall I do?"

Thranduil looked intently at each of us, as if gazing our reaction to Legolas' words. "Do you two return his affections?" We both replied with an emphatic yes and he too collapsed, his face mirroring the powerlessness of his son.

"Then, I don't know what to do. Vénea married him first, that is true, and normally Elves do not marry again. However, Legolas' first marriage was not normal – being with a human, a mortal. Surely the fact of her short life as opposed to the averagely long one of an Elf entitles her husband to marry again, as he did, so that means that your marriage, Osellë, is perfectly legal if a bit unconventional." He paused for breath after his longwinded sentence. I had a feeling that he felt utterly incapable to resolve this situation and was only using lengthy explanations to make him appear to know what he was doing. "Your resurrection, Vénea, is certainly unusual, if not unique, among mortals, and so there is no law that determines what should be done. My only suggestion is that you share him."

Legolas gasped, while I gazed blankly at our judge. Share him? Surely that was wrong. "A ménage à trois, then," I blurted out, "We know who the husband is, but which one's the wife and which one's the lover?" the other three looked shocked.

"That you can judge for yourselves," Thranduil said haughtily, "But that is my ruling, unless one of you would relinquish their claim." Silence. "Well then, a ménage à trois it shall be, and I wish you the best of it."

The three of us left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. We gazed at each other uncomfortably, unsure what to do next. Vénea smiled brightly, trying to break the tension between us. "Shall we give it a go then – alternate weeks?" Legolas and I exchanged helpless glances, there seemed no other option short of either Vénea or I leaving, which we were both too much in love, or too selfish, to do.

For four months we tried it, four months of the darkest hell intermingled with snatches of heaven that were all to brief. The hell was the black pit of envy, the gnawing canker that ate at my heart whenever I saw them together. I still loved him intensely, a love only increased by the knowledge that he was still not completely mine, yet those brief times of bliss with him only made the nightmare blacker.

I so wanted to hate Vénea, to hate her for her resurrection, for this stealing of my husband, yet although I was jealous of her, I could not. I saw the same pain in her eyes when I was with him, and knew she felt the same. I wanted, between urges to stab a dagger in her heart, to talk to her, to seek solace from her as one would from someone who suffered the same; yet she grew more distant and more unapproachable. Our friendship was in tatters, and now she spoke to me as one would to a stranger.

The breach between us grew, forming a rift that split the whole court of Thranduil into two camps. I found myself gathering followers, those who collected around me on my days without, comforting me on my loss or spreading malicious rumours about Vénea and the other party. These were generally the elder Elves who had not approved of their Prince's first marriage, and they sought every opportunity to express their disapproval of the situation. The younger ones tended to side with Vénea, not through any hatred of me – I hoped, but because they wished to oppose their elders. The worst blow to me was the loss of Estel and Keldarion. I had nurtured and cherished them since their birth, I had been a mother to them when theirs was dead – but they seemed to forget that. They drifted away from me, avoiding me as if they blamed me for the current situation and spent more and more time with their mother.

I lay alone in my cold bed. He was with her, she was in his bed. I tried to shut my mind to it, to concentrate on the memories of his time with me, but I couldn't. She had my husband in her arms. I had borne it as well as I could for four months – the thought that when I was with him, she felt the same desperation, was the only thing that helped me cope throughout that time. I had forced down my moral scruples, trying to hold onto what I had got and make the best of it, but now I could no longer subdue my revulsion at what I had been a party to.

I stood up rapidly, throwing away the sheets, and began to pace furiously across the floor, endeavouring to force down my anger. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed, a rich, joyful sound. I stopped, the laugh jarring intensely, ringing a cruel mockery of my despair. Suddenly, something within me snapped, and the black waves of insanity rushed up to claim my burning mind. "I cannot cope, I cannot bear this anymore!" I screamed. But what could I do? I couldn't leave, not now. I could never really escape my love for him, I could never find relief. I could confront them, yes, go up to her and tell her how I hated this situation – but what good would that do?

I fell onto my knees, burying my head in my hands; I had never felt so helpless, so alone. I could think of no way to end this pain. But there is one way – one way that has failed before but may well work again. I gave a bitter laugh, not even death would be a permanent solution, but it appeared to be my best option.

"No," I cried, "I cannot kill myself. I promised him I wouldn't take my life,"

'But does that promise to him count? He promised you to love you and no other, has he kept his vow?'

"No, No," I screamed, trying to silence that cruel voice of dissent, "He loves me, he loves me!" Yet secretly I doubted it. Who could love someone as much as he said he did I, yet repeatedly tear their heart into shreds by living with another woman as well?

I tried to stifle my doubt, banging my head on the wooden floor to knock out that disloyalty, yet the misgivings still existed. Leaping to my feet, I ran madly at the wall, my brain obscured by a red mist. I threw myself at it, falling to the ground, and lay there, writhing in acute fear. I was going mad, teetering over the brink of reason, gazing into insanity.

I am reaching, but I fall.
And the night is closing in
And I stare into the void.
To the whirlpool of my sin.

'What Have I Done?' Les Misérables.

But there is no escape for me. The whirlpool overwhelms me. I am drawn deeper and deeper into the void of my sin, drowning beneath its swirling waters. The black tide of madness closes over my head. While above me the stars slowly die.

With a supreme effort I managed to pull myself up, forcing down the rising panic, compelling myself to lie still on the bed, to collect my scattered wits. Suddenly, the merry laugh sounded again, clear as a bell. It was her. I leapt up, all attempt at sanity forgotten. How dare she laugh, how dare she be happy while I suffer such hellish torment! I would show her the meaning of torment. I would kill her, and this time I would be successful. But where was the knife...

Dashing over to the chest, I threw it open, hurling out its contents over my shoulder, dress by dress, shawl by shawl, not even wincing as a precious glass goblet shattered behind me. I emptied it to the bottom, but the knife wasn't there. I pushed the chest over in frustration, turning my back as the costly wood splintered and cracked. I moved like a whirlwind, a howling banshee, turning over beds, chairs, pulling out drawers, searching for the knife, but I couldn't find it. In desperation, I flung myself on the bed, only to jump up as something cold bruised my ribs. I reached under the bedclothes and held up the slender blade triumphantly, wielding it above my head. I would kill her, I would ram it through her breast and laugh as she died – and then he would be mine!

"But no," said the small voice of reason, "murder is not the way. Will he take me if he knows I am a murderess – no" I gazed intently at the knife, at its sharp, blue metal, at the play of starlight on its killing edge. I couldn't use it to kill another, but I could end my misery another way.

I raised my arm in front of me, knifepoint towards my heart, then brought it down in a sweeping arc, glimmering in the moonlight...

"Noooo..." he screamed, jumping forward, dashing the knife from my grasp. I winced as the sharp point scored a line across my skin, before clattering harmlessly to the ground.

I collapsed on the bed, the demon that had driven my frenzy leaving me, wounded and broken, weeping in his arms.

He raised me up gently, cupping my chin in his hands, kissing the tears from my face. "Don't cry, my love, don't cry," he murmured, hushing me like a child. At last, the storm passed, and I managed to calm myself, though sobs still wracked my shaking body.

I smiled weakly at him, waiting for him to speak, to condemn my suicide attempt, but he said nothing, only smiling sadly and stroked my hair. Soon, I could bear the silence no more and burst out, "I broke my word. I made an attempt on my life when I promised not to. Are you going to condemn me for it? Say something, please. Don't just stare at me in silence."

I turned my brimming eyes to him, trying to force down the tears that threatened to overflow, waiting like a criminal in the dock for the judge's verdict. He shot me an intense, piercing look, which I quailed beneath. Then his face softened and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, you broke your word to me, but I an unworthy to condemn you for it. I too have betrayed your trust. I promised to love you totally and exclusively and remain faithful to you – yet I have not." He sighed bitterly, resting his head in his hands. "How can I force you not to put an end to yourself when I myself have driven you to it?" He turned away his head, as if to hide his misery, and I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. I was about to whisper some words of endearment when he moved suddenly, pushing me away. He leapt of the bed, dashing towards the spot where the knife lay, and seizing it in trembling hands. He came back to me, his limbs quivering, his face distorted with misery and pain. Turning his face away, he held out the knife to me.

"I dissolve your oath. Take it; it is the only way in which I can relieve your misery. I have brought you to this desperation by my disloyalty, the least I can do is give you the means to end it." I gazed, dumbstruck, as he stood erect, tears coursing down his cheeks, he paused for breath, shaking with painful sobs. With great effort he controlled his grief enough to speak again. "I have betrayed you, betrayed myself, betrayed her. I love her, and that is my sin, to love two at once. I have seen the agony I have put both of you through." He turned the dagger towards his own breast. "I will punish myself for my uncertainty, my gross treatment of two whose only sin was loving me." He tore open his shirt, driving the blade towards his muscular chest. "Farewell, my love..."

"Noooo..." I cried, dashing the knife from his grasp, where it scored a deep red weal across his torso. I expected him to collapse in misery as I had done, but instead he turned on me with blazing eyes.

"I thought you loved me. I am guilty, guilty as hell and you deprive me of the only means of punishing myself."

"Living is much worse than death." I cut in. "If you want to atone, then live, for if you die you are a murderer." I reached over, wrapping my arms around him." If you kill yourself, than you will drive Vénea and me to death, for we would be unable to bear life without you. Life now is a hell, where we sinners are tortured with flaming spears of jealousy – yet at least we know that there is a heaven above us. You die, and that heaven will crumble and our hell will become unbearable."

(I stifled an inward laugh at the sheer corniness of this melodrama – his attempted suicide had been incredibly painful, yet the way he carried it out was so typically heroic, and my equally theatrical reply so archetypal, though sincere, that it almost made me weep)

Legolas smiled ironically, "I have heard that 'hell is other people' so if I was removed, maybe your hell would be a bit less torturous." Seizing him around the neck I kissed him passionately to convince him otherwise. "No, you are not my hell, my hell is myself. My hell is my burning, jealous mind that will not let me rest content with what I have, a half share in your love, without coveting more." (That blasted melodrama again, but what else could I say?) I grimaced, burying my head in his shoulder, and he folded his arms around me, kissing me on my dark head. "Osellë, meleth-nin, my hell would be life without you. We will not think of dying yet, let things continue as they are, they are not quite bad enough for suicide. Suffice it to say that I love you, and that fact will always remain."

"But..." I interrupted, about to contradict him, but he silenced me by placing a slender finger over my mouth. "No buts, love. We promised to live for the moment. We will live for this moment. Past and future do not exist, only now." His lips silenced my further protests, and I surrendered myself to the taste of paradise, which, for all too short a time, would be mine.

I opened my eyes slowly, my mind leisurely returning from the distant lands of my wandering. I tried to stretch, to sit up, but my movements were restricted; at first I thought by the blankets that must have become tangled in the night. I twisted slightly, thinking to extricate myself, when I caught a glimpse of gold above me, hair cascading over my shoulders, glimmering in the early morning. I smiled as I felt the soft strength of encircling arms, the rise and fall of his chest, where my head lay. I looked up, angling my head to gaze at his face. He was asleep still, the fire of his eyes veiled by long-lashed lids, a beatific smile playing across his lips. I reached up and kissed them gently, running my hands tenderly over his high cheekbones, his proud chin, the delicate points of his ears. Sighing contentedly, I settled my head again on his chest, shutting my eyes. I felt happy, happier than I had been since she returned, this was my place, here in his arms, just sleeping – almost as if I had never left it, as if we were still newly wed and nothing had come between us.

He stirred beneath me and his arms gripped me tightly, squeezing so that I could hardly breathe. "Legolas, Legolas," I managed to gasp, and he relaxed his grip, groaning fully awake. He gazed blankly at me through faraway eyes, then his gaze focused, full of mingled joy and sorrow. He smiled again and kissed me gently. "What a lovely sight to wake up to," he said laughingly, and rolled over so that he could look intently into my eyes.

I laughed too, returning his loving gaze, for the moment there was nothing separating us – for the moment we were without reserve, minds and hearts laid open to each other, connecting in a way only Elves could.

My gaze faltered as my eyes blurred with moisture, and I blinked them irritably, hoping that he hadn't noticed my weakness.

"What's wrong?" he solicited, stroking my hair as the silent tears trickled down my face.

"Nothing, nothing," I said sharply, dashing the wet from my eyes. He looked at me enquiringly, and I gave him what I thought was an encouraging smile – but that only deepened his concern. He knew I had lied, he knew I had lied when I had told him there was nothing the matter. He guessed that I had made a painful decision, but he did not know the sacrifice I was about to make. I kissed him passionately, lingeringly, snuggling down beside him and embracing him fervently. I tried to forget, to lose myself in him, but I could not. A black cloud obscured my joy; a fearful foreboding seized my mind. I gazed intently into his blue-grey eyes, and knew that we would never again share such a night...