Part Eleven

A Cage of Broken Dreams

Alone in the darkness of my mind,

Hellish visions of unending night

My brain is boiling, but my eyes are blind,

I see only the shadows of departing light.

I plunge into the chasm of insanity

You twist the knife-blade in my bleeding heart

Fires of madness consuming me

I've lost my love, now tear my mind apart

Osellë, 'Insanity.'

The thread snapped as I drove the needle through the resisting cloth. I tried again, punching through with more force than necessary, but I only succeeded in tearing the fabric and pricking my finger, depositing a bright stain of blood on the white shirt I had spent all morning on. I threw the shirt away in disgust, and began pacing the room furiously, trying to calm my anxious mind. I picked up a harp in the corner, running my hands over the strings in an effort to produce a soothing melody, but only succeeding in making a harsh discord that complemented my restless mood.

Dashing to the window, I flung myself out (thankfully it was a ground floor one) and ran blindly across the grass, hoping that movement would still the unruly demons that inhabited my mind. No such luck. The impatient mood that had seized me seemed extremely reluctant to relinquish its hold, whatever freakish antics I practiced to try and banish it. At last, utterly exhausted, but still itching, I threw myself on the grass, not heeding the huge grass-stains that ruined my white dress.

What was wrong with me? I was generally so patient, so calm and long suffering, but today I couldn't even sit still for five minutes without suffering the most intense discomfort. Was I going mad again? Fits of insanity had often seized me before, but those were usually in times of great crisis and were coupled with an overwhelming desire to kill someone, generally me. I was like a sparrow before an earthquake, flying around wildly in mad circles – maybe I was on the eve of some major disaster, maybe my awful foreboding was going to be realised.

At last I gained enough self-control to walk fairly soberly homewards – I needed to talk to someone about my bizarre mood, to find some way of relieving it.

I burst through the gates, knocking over an unwary guard, and walked hurriedly towards my chamber, trying desperately not to break into a run. I reached the door to see Aswen positioned outside it; looking as impatient as I. She stood, one hand grasping the handle, foot tapping irritably, periodically shaking the door so violently hat I thought its hinges would give up the ghost.

"Stop Aswen, you'll break the door down." I enjoined and she turned to face me, the full force of her wrathful gaze blazing at me. I brushed this off casually, incensing her still further.

"Where have you been?" she demanded acidly, "I've been hammering at your blasted door for at least half an hour."

"Nowhere, only dashing naked through the forest, screaming like a banshee." I said sarcastically, leaning idly against the wall and studying my nails intently. "Why do you want to see me anyway?" She gnashed her teeth in such a frenzy of exasperation, that I took pity on her and ceased my infuriating stance.

"What can I do for you?" I asked, affected politeness hardly masking the cool contempt in my voice. She stared at me, rudely, defiantly – then her gaze faltered, to be replaced by one of worry and distress.

"Osellë," she said, fighting to control her distaste, "I need to talk to you," her voice was concerned and cajoling – causing me to soften.

"You'd better come in," I opened the door and motioned her to a chair while I sat down on the bed.

She was silent for a moment, as if unsure how to begin – she looked at me for help but I stared coldly back. I had granted her an audience but I wouldn't help her to begin.

Her face twisted – caught between dislike for me and a desire for help. At last she burst out, "I'm worried about Vénea. She is ill, she is in bed, but she is not sleeping. She has not eaten for two days – I'm worried about her."

"What can I do?" I asked, not unkindly.

"You can see her, talk to her. You two are in the same boat, maybe she'll listen to you."

"What can I do, her rival, her enemy that you, her friend, cannot?" Her face fell, then she looked at me with bitter accusation. "Her death be on your head." She said simply and turned to go.

In a flash, I remembered Vénea as she had been. I remembered the old times, when we had been friends, before he came between us. I called her back.

"I'll speak to her – although I don't know what good it would do."

She turned, breathing a thank you that must have cost her much, and then hurried from the room. I followed her out the door, making my way slowly, deep in thought, along the corridor to Vénea's room.

I knocked shyly and pushed open the door, gazing towards the bed where Vénea lay motionless. I stared in shock at the pale, gaunt figure that occupied the bed. She had lost a lot of weight and her glazed, blue eyes were sunk in hollow sockets. Her black hair was lustreless; face deathly pale and tinged slightly green, her breath coming in gasping sobs. What was wrong with her? She'd been well enough last night, for I had heard her merry laughter amongst my hellish dreams. What great change had come across her in so short a time?

I stood over the bed, looking down on her as she stirred, opening languid eyes. "Osellë," she snapped awake, sitting up quickly, a hint of anger adding much needed colour to her cheeks. My heart melted, all the hatred I had felt for her before, banished by her pitiful state.

"Be calm, I've been sent to talk to you by Aswen. She is worried about you."

She stiffened, pulling herself up and staring accusingly at me. "You have brought me to this state. I come back from the dead, drawn by an overwhelming love for my husband, only to find him married again, and to my best friend. No wonder I am ill."

"I love him too you know. You joined our hands, you blessed our marriage, and then you seem to think we should dissolve our vows just to accommodate you." I retorted acidly – but remembering that I had come to help and not to accuse or excuse, I softened my tone, saying bitterly. "No use crying over things that cannot be changed." She nodded faintly – calling a truce, and I sat on the bed.

We gazed into space for a moment, unwilling to meet each other's eyes, to remove the cover on the pit of suffering that lay sealed in both our hearts.

At last she broke the silence. "I waited so long, so long last night. He left me, ran out after a loud noise without a word."

I noticed the abject misery in her face, touching her lightly on the shoulder, trying to find some words of comfort but in vain. How could I reassure her when he had been with me? "Well," I muttered, unsure how to begin. "The loud noise was I. I was taken with a – a fit of madness. I heard you laugh, it jarred horribly on my intense despair – and pushed me over the edge. I wad looking for a knife – to end myself."

I paused; fighting for breath, and she gazed at me in shock and disbelief, yet was there a veiled disappointment buried in her compassion, almost as if she regretted that I had not succeeded. I ignored it and continued on – eager to pour out at least some of my built up misery.

"He stopped me, just as I was driving the dagger to my heart. He stayed with me 'til I regained my sanity, until there was no danger of doing myself an injury." She nodded and I grasped her hand. "Vénea, I am going mad. I have had these fits of madness three times before this; once I tried to kill you, and twice myself. I have always recovered, but I fear... I am moving closer and closer to a void, an abyss, towards it brink. I have stumbled before, but recovered, but I fear that only on breath of wind, only the slightest push, and I will be falling, falling into the pit of insanity – and there is no way out."

I buried my face in my hands. I felt empty, drained – I had shown my darkest fear to my worst rival – how would she use it.

I felt hands gently stroking my hair, an arm around my shoulders. "There, there," and I was surprised to hear the voice of Vénea. She had forgiven, she was comforting me.

At last I calmed myself, looking into her face. It was pale, yes, but the yellow tinge had gone, she looked less gaunt, less sickly.

I smiled, and sat closer to her, pleased to have my friend back at last. Yet I was careful about what we talked about, I did not mention Legolas or the pain we had both undergone, such subjects might strain our fragile amity.

Suddenly she burst out, "I've seen how you and Aswen react towards each other, why can't you just be friends instead of abusing each other all the time?"

I shrugged my shoulders, unsure what to say, and decided to avoid the question, blurting out, "Where has she been all these years anyway, and why did she appear so suddenly four months ago?"

Vénea shook her head despairingly, "Aswen's time has been a sad one. She left with her husband because she couldn't stay, she couldn't cope with you as princess, or maybe she just wanted to leave the place. Anyway, she spent many years with Arwen, until she died. Then Aswen went to Rivendell, where she stayed with Elrohir and Galadh."

"I've not heard from them for ages, how are they?" I interrupted, memories of my friendship with Galadh of the Teleri, and Elrohir's passion for me coming back full force.

"Oh, you're curious about your old flame then?" I blushed slightly, but pretended to ignore her. She continued, "When she left them they were well, although I've heard that Rivendell is greatly diminished, as are all of your people. They have children, twin girls, one named after you."

I smiled at this kindness, and then sighed. Who'd bring another Osellë into the world?

"Well, why did she come back and where's her husband?"

"Dead" she said simply, "he was crushed by a falling tree. She came back to bid Mirkwood farewell, before quitting Middle Earth for good – and stayed, surprised to find me miraculously alive."

I rose to go, she looked fatigued and I wanted to be alone to digest what I had just heard. No wonder Aswen was bitter to me, when she had lost her husband. I leant over to kiss Vénea goodbye, and stepped back, giving her an inquisitive look. There was something that had been nagging me about her appearance, her hands placed protectively on her belly, her awful sickness, her larger breasts, and the faint glow that suffused her face. And then it came. She was pregnant. She was carrying his child!

I left abruptly, unable to spend another moment with her. My thoughts were in turmoil, I did not know how to react. An oppressive sadness overwhelmed me – misery, jealousy that she was carrying the child and not me, she who had borne him two sons already.

I moved quickly towards an open window, needing air to soothe my fevered mind. I leaned my hand upon the cool stone windowsill, trying to collect my thoughts. I gazed into the courtyard, close to the stables, letting my eyes flick across the familiar scene. Was it my daughter there, standing with two blond youths?

I craned my neck, sticking my head out into the cool air. Winter was coming on; I could sense it in the chill wind, smelling of snow and storms. I looked towards my daughter, who was leading out a bay mare. The youths I recognised as Estel and Keldarion. They must have just returned, for they had been some months in Ithilien, not so far from where Mordor had once been. Yet they seemed to be going out and not returning. Anxiety nibbled on my heart as I gazed at them. As I watched, they mounted their horses, all three talking and laughing, totally at each with each other and the world – but why then did I have this sense of foreboding, why did the golden twins have a red glow, a crimson halo about their heads? Why then could I see that red eye, hovering malevolently above them, fiery beams fixed upon my daughter? I blinked, and it was gone, as if it had never been; yet the terror of their appearance still remained.

"Vénea, don't go," I called, dashing outside, and my daughter turned towards me." Why not, mother?" she enquired gently as I hurried towards her.

"I have had a vision, a premonition that something bad will happen if you go out riding. Please don't go." She hesitated, as if about to follow my advice.

"Why should she not go," I heard Legolas' voice behind me and looked round, "I'm sure no harm will come to her, and if there is any danger, my sons will be there to protect her."

"But there just the danger I was worried about," I was about to say, but was cut off by a playful hand on the mouth from Estel.

"Don't worry Osellë, we'll take care of her," he said reassuringly, and I nodded wearily.

"You can go, but be careful," I surrendered. Perhaps I had just imagined the threat – I knew the twins would not harm their sister in any way.

I left Legolas where he was and turned sadly back inside, making my way towards my chamber, head down and deep in thought. I felt like a veil had been withdrawn from my eyes, I realised what I had been doing wrong all these months. I had been selfish, thinking only of myself, my pain and my intense jealousy, not of the pain or suffering of others. I sighed,

'Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.'

'The clod and the pebble' William Blake

I would leave him because I loved him so. I would let him be happy with her. But from a long way away, the reply came, seeming to say.

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.'

'The clod and the pebble' William Blake

Would I have the strength to give him up? Could I surrender myself to his happiness? Or would my intense jealousy, my selfishness prevent me.

I bumped into something soft, only to feel firm hands on my shoulders, burning kisses on my face. I looked up into the troubled, passionate blue eyes of Legolas as he leaned over to press another kiss on my lips. I raised my hand to intercept it, forcing him instead to gaze at the desperation and heartbreak in my eyes, and the firm core of resolution.

"She is pregnant," I said slowly, relishing the pain that these words caused me, shutting my eyes so I couldn't see his reaction. "She bears your child – and now my eyes are opened."

"How so?" was the reply.

"Legolas, you shouldn't be torn in two. Your heart is cleaved between the two of us, you are unhappy. You should be one and whole, you should be yourself. This child must have a devoted father – it should not be brought into a world where such suffering and jealousy exists." He opened his mouth to speak, but I silenced him gently with a hand on his lips.

"No. You must let me go. It will give you pain for a while, but she and your child will bring you joy. I do not ask you to forget me, but only see me as a fond memory, a might have been." I moved to go, but he restrained me in strong arms, sealing my mouth with his. "If you go, I will die. It is you I love. Our parting would kill me – destroy you. I will not let you suffer so."

I pulled away, using all my strength to yank myself from his grasp. "Please let me go. It has taken so much agony to make this decision, do not make this agony in vain."

I reached over, to kiss once his surprised lips, before darting away. He seized my arm, making as if to draw me to him. I winced at the pain, yet did not budge, only replying beseechingly." Remember Vénea. She carries your child, yet she is ill – one more grief would kill her and the baby." He paused, slackening his grasp as he digested my word. I pulled away – my heart breaking anew as I hurried towards the door, bleeding for the shock, pain and rejection in his shaking form. He was crying. The tall, proud Elf reduced to tears. I cried too, blinded by falling tears. 'I must be cruel to be kind. I must be cruel to be kind.'I repeated over and over, forcing every ounce of my strength into putting one foot in front of the other.

The door was before me. I stepped over the threshold – and collapsed, my sight dimming, mists creeping over my eyes. The mists draw back. I am in the forest, the rippling muscles of a horse under me, black hair streaming behind. Laughing loud at the sheer exhilaration of speed, my laughs mingling with those of my blond brothers either side of me. Suddenly, panic seizes me. The two horses press closer to mine, knee to knee; their clear laughter has a manic edge, their eyes glimmer with identical malevolence. I spin my head from side to side, begging each to back off, to give me room. But both faces are cruel and merciless, each full of devilish mirth, bearing down on me, forcing my frightened steed to leap forward. Their blue eyes glow red, possessed, a fiery, evil Eye blazes above their heads. They call out something in a harsh, guttural language, a black tongue that I cannot understand, and yet sends cruel shivers up my spine. My horse screams, trying to wheel away, and I glance forward, my eyes fix on the huge oak tree that looms before me, feet from my face. I tug at the reins, trying to turn away the horse's head, yet the twins are too close, my horse will not stop. Panic overwhelms me as my horse gallops closer and closer to the tree. I yank harder on the reins, crying to them to move away, to let me escape. But they only laugh mockingly. Estel strikes my horse's head and it screams frenziedly, bounding forward, its flailing hooves pawing air, then wood. I shut my eyes, trying to prepare for the bone shaking crash that must surely follow. There is no escape. I am going to die.

I jerked back to my body, crushed by an awful sense of foreboding. My daughter! Something had happened to my daughter! I tried to move, to lift my head, but I was paralyzed by fear – the overwhelming terror of what I had just witnessed forcing me down. With great difficulty I forced open my mouth. "Vénea, my daughter," I shrieked, trying to rise, to go and help her, but I couldn't move.

I felt arms around me, trying to lift me up, as I screamed again, wailing my daughter's name.

"She's mad, she's gone utterly insane!" said a disdainful voice above me. I wanted to yell at them that I wasn't deranged – but I was too crazed with fear to think of anything but my vision, of my daughter, who had just been badly injured, or worse...

I heard faintly, as if from far away, Legolas' voice, anxiously calling my name, demanding of the others what had happened. He knelt beside me, yet I couldn't feel his touch, I couldn't see his beautiful, distressed, anxious face; I could hardly hear his concerned, melodious voice – only the frenzied pounding of panicked hooves, the twins' manic laughter, and the looming tree...

I do not know how long I lay there, utterly prostrated. I felt my mind slipping away, reason consumed by the surging waters of black terror – by my horrific vision that I knew must come true.

Slowly the sound of horses, real not imagined, pierced my consciousness. Two horses where there should have been three. So it was true. A brisk neigh and a cry for help galvanised me, and I leapt to my feet and dashed towards the cry, startling those that clustered around me. As I had feared, there were only two horses, Estel's and Keldarion's, and a pale shape draped motionless across Keldarion's saddlebow.

Leaping towards them, I pushed Keldarion away, anxious only to have my daughter in my arms, to know whether she was alive or dead. I gazed intently at her inert form. She was ghostly pale, her body limp, her delicate neck bent at a peculiar angle, and a poppy bruise on her temple. My daughter was dead beyond a shadow of a doubt. They had killed her.

I caught her inert body into my arms, straining her to my breast, coughing out angry, tearless sighs. I was unable to weep, unable to believe, to comprehend this tragedy. My daughter was dead. The fruit of my womb, my greatest creation, the strongest bond between Legolas and me – gone.

I stroked her pale, clammy cheek; marvelling at the ashen beauty of her lifeless form, the peacefulness of her repose – yet sheer terror filled her glazed eyes. I shut them gently, and gazed again at her pallid face. Surely she was just sleeping; surely her breast rose and fell. I pressed my ear to her lips, hoping to hear some whisper of breath, to find some sign to tell me that she was alive – but there was none.

I felt hands on my shoulders, hands trying to take my daughter from me. No! I didn't want their help. I didn't want their pity. I spun round to face my tormenter, clutching the fragile body. Legolas, his pallid face grief-stricken, reached over to grab her corpse. Even he, the one I loved, even he would deprive me of my daughter, just as his vile sons had done. Snatching her away, I heard a desolate, savage cry, the cry of a wolf fighting for her cubs – which I was aghast to find came from my own mouth. I was further astonished when some weird impulse caused me to run off into the forest with her body, a dog with a bone, to be alone with my grief. Something that was me, yet not me, bit the hand that tried to restrain me, gouging with bestial claws at a smooth cheek, kicking hard until the grip was loosened, and I was free. Ignoring a cry of pain, I darted away, all Elvish morals and sympathies obliterated by the burden of my grief. I was a beast, an animal. Only a small powerless seed of sanity remained, serving only to highlight my insanity.

Kneeling down, I glanced ferociously about, searching for enemies, before devoting myself again to the inert body. Cradling her head in my hands, tears at last came, wild animal howls – the edge of the abyss.

I heard pounding feet come after me, calls like the baying of hounds after a fox. Legolas in front, his musical voice hardly disguising the note of rising panic, calling my name, begging me to come back – even him who I loved would deprive me of my daughter. Behind him Aswen, concern in her tones, but also a veiled derision, a veiled contempt for the wild beast I had become. I felt not anger, but a great sadness, a great dejection. Would they not leave me in peace? The footsteps were now up close, and I glanced up, expecting to see Legolas or Aswen. But no, it was the twins! Suddenly, my sadness vanished, overcome by a boiling, burning, all-consuming fury. Those fiends, those monsters had murdered my child! I turned on them, snarling wildly – all morality, all reason, vanquished by a savage desire to hurt, to kill, to inflict on them the agony that they had caused me. They fended me off with outstretched hands, backing away from me, yet still I advanced.

"She's mad, mad, she would kill us!" Keldarion shouted, panic stricken.

"Back down! You madwoman," Estel said imperiously, drawing his sword, "your daughter's dead, but there's no need to turn on us."

"No need to turn on you?" I spat, "I have cared for you from your infancy, I was a mother to you when you had none, I treated you as my own; yet you lure my daughter into the forest and murder her, and you say there is no need to attack?" Dodging the sword, I delivered a raking cut to his cheek, ignoring the fiery red light in his eye as I assailed his brother. I would gouge out their eyes, destroy their pretty faces, I would drive out the demon that possessed them. A flash of metal blazed near my cheek, and I dashed it away with miraculous ease, sending the blade spinning into the undergrowth, breaking the wrist that held it. Estel collapsed; white faced, yet his eyes still held the fire of Sauron. I bent over him, batting away his brother like a fly as he tried to prevent me. I gave a triumphant yell as I clawed at Estel (or rather the dark Lord in Estel's body) forcing him down, biting for his throat. He thrashed ineffectively, but I had conquered him, I would revenge myself on one of my daughter's murderers and destroy the last remnants of the Enemy. Just inches from his throat, a lightning-blaze of light split the sky, and I was thrown back. I tried to move, to rise, but I was paralysed by an invisible force.

Black tendrils of fiery darkness crept across the sky, dyeing the autumn sun a bloody red, and as I watched, the Shadow descended over the forest, shrouding the trees in a noxious mist. I tried to shut my eyes, to scream, but I could not. I couldn't drag my eyes from the blazing halo of fire that enclosed the twins, their black forms silhouetted against the evil light.

"The Dark Lord has returned. The Dark lord claims Mirkwood as his own." They cried, the harsh noise reverberating while the grass and sky and trees were stained with blood.

I gazed in horror as the manic glare grew closer, the twins advancing, hands outstretched, towards me while the fire kept pace with their onslaught. Their handsome faces were distorted with hatred, their eyes burning with an evil light. I screamed again as Keldarion kicked aside my daughter's prostrate form, which lay in front of me. The heat of the hellish fire seared my face, the acrid smoke catching in my throat as the blaze spread towards me. Flames licked my dress and I leapt up, taking to my heels while around me the forest blazed, while the inferno caught my dead daughter and consumed her. I dashed towards the castle, longing for the safety of its Elf-hallowed walls. But the fire outpaced me and as I reached it, it burst into flames. I darted back like a frightened rabbit, trying to find a way out – but there was no escape. I was surrounded by the blazing hell. I fell to my knees as I fought for breath, trying desperately to break out. "Estel, Keldarion, hear me. Banish the evil that possesses you. Save me." I called, and I watched them advance towards me. I made another frenzied plea, trying to appeal to the remnant of their old selves, but they only laughed.

"You are Evil. Sauron has poisoned you. He has devoured you."

"It is you who he devours, Osellë. Did you know – Sauron possessed father after the Last Battle, it was only his love for Vénea that banished the Dark Lord. Now, it is through the results of that love that the Lord of Mordor regains control. Isn't that ironical?" Estel taunted, stepping mockingly through the flames, as they licked him harmlessly – slave to his evil master. I backed away from him, but the scorching heat of the fire stopped me in my tracks. "Legolas," I cried as Estel shoved me towards the flames. I staggered and then tumbled backwards into the scorching inferno. I screamed as the fire caught my skirt, my hair, as the intense heat blistered my skin, filling my nostrils with the scent of my own burning flesh. My ears rang with the roar of the fire, the manic laughter echoing through the forest. Then darkness took me and I knew no more.

Legolas shuffled, slowly, dejectedly, towards Oselllë's prostrate form, held still under the combined power of his two sons. He signalled to them with a limp hand and they released their grasp on the she elf. She leapt up with a scream, blindly dashing towards a huge oak at the edge of the glade, yet she collapsed before she could reach it. She clawed at the ground with bleeding hands, screaming again and again in a voice of raw terror, "Sauron is here. The Dark Lord has come."

Legolas dashed to her side, but she thrashed at him with flailing limbs. He reached out to her, but she no recognition in her glance, only the naked, animal fear.

He cast a helpless glance towards his sons, who exchanged equally powerless glances. "She's- she's gone insane" Keldarion stammered, always one to state the obvious.

"Did you see her? She attacked me like a wild beast – and would have killed me had you not intervened She has gone utterly mad."

Legolas sighed bitterly, refusing to believe his sons – yet her intense fear and her utter inability to recognise him confirmed their words.

"The forest is on fire. Evil surrounds us." She screamed, leaping to her feet, glancing around wildly, staring through them to a hell of her own that they could not see. She beat wildly at her clothes, calling, "Estel, Keldarion, Sauron has poisoned you. You are Evil" and the twins exchanged glances of mute horror at this fearful accusation. Legolas gazed accusingly at them, "You have driven her to this. You killed my daughter by your carelessness, and you have driven Osellë mad." Estel was about to protest, but a sound from Osellë stopped his words. Legolas shivered as she shrieked his name, a note of intense longing and sheer terror that cut him to the quick. She collapsed to the ground, screaming again, her body contorted and writhing with agony. Legolas shivered with horror as with a piercing shriek she jerked violently and then lay still.

He dashed over, and lifting her limp, unresisting form over his shoulder, stumbled wearily towards the castle.

Legolas shut the heavy door behind him, and with trembling hands turned the key in the lock. He dropped to the ground in a paroxysm of tears, resting his throbbing head in his hands. What had he done? What had he done to Osellë?

The light sound of advancing footsteps gradually pierced his dulled consciousness and he looked up painfully. "Vénea," he stumbled to his feet, reaching out to touch her hair, but she brushed him away roughly. Her face was pale and streaked with tears, its expression one of grief and anger. Legolas opened his arms, seeking to comfort her, but she rebuffed him coldly, turning her back.

"Why do you spurn me?" he asked sadly, gazing beseechingly after her. She turned towards him, staring angrily back, as he asked her again to come to him.

"No," was her reply. "How can you go on like nothing has happened? How can you seek comfort from me after such a tragedy? She told me she was on the edge of an abyss, that the slightest push would plunge her completely into insanity. She warned you that some disaster would happen if her daughter rode out with our sons, yet you disregarded her. You ignored her premonition – you condemned your own daughter to death and her to madness."

"Don't you think I feel it? Can you comprehend the anguish of my guilt, my remorse? Do you think my daughter's death and her madness have not affected me? I love her; I love them both so much. I killed Vénea, destroyed Osellë's beautiful mind. Don't you know that my sin will destroy me too?" He turned his head, so that she wouldn't see the tears that blinded him.

Vénea turned round and reached out her arms to him, cut by the sheer desolation in his voice – but Legolas stared through her without seeing her, tormented by private thoughts "Yes, how can I embrace her, how can I act like nothing has happened? I have lost the two I love most in this world."

Vénea gave a slight whimper – as if to say, 'what about me?' but Legolas ignored her.

"I did not know how much I loved her until she was taken from me. Mad! Osellë mad, O God."

Vénea moaned again and Legolas at last remembered she was there. His dead, desolate eyes gained life and grew fierce – a new anger crept into his voice, "You…We broke her mind, we destroyed her. Our sons killed my daughter, our actions drove her mad." Vénea stiffened at this rebuke, "It was an accident, and act of fate, our sons were careless, they didn't mean to kill her." she retorted – but he interrupted, his voice full of fierce longing and regret. "O Ilúvatar. How I love her. If she hadn't been so distant - so remote. If I had realised before – hundreds of years before that she loved me, if we had married then. If I hadn't been so blind..."

"Do you regret me? Do you regret our sons?" Vénea murmured, her voice small and hurt. A look of doubt came into his eyes, a glimmer of affection towards her, but this was soon shadowed by the greater pain of his loss. Vénea saw this, and tried again – her voice harder, yet not quite masking the wound he had caused her. "I love you Legolas, I'm carrying your child."

"My child, Ai – my children have destroyed each other. I was told by my father that marriage between an Elf and a human is wrong and ill-starred, that those who marry mortals have strange fates – would that I had listened!"

Vénea blanched, cut to the quick by his cruel words. Tears started to her eyes, pouring down her cheeks as she stretched out trembling arms towards him, begging him to relent. But he ignored her entreaty, brushing her away as if she had been a mere fly. He sank to the ground, clutching his head in his hands. Vénea let out a mournful wail at his rebuff, but Legolas didn't flinch – his ears were still ringing with another desperate scream.

"How could I have been so blind, so foolish to marry you when she was there? Who but a fool falls for a candle-flame when he could have a star – ai, one to equal Elbereth herself?"

"Legolas, Legolas" Vénea whined, tears coursing down the pale cheeks, her body trembling with the strength of her grief.

"No dhínen! Be silent. Go." He said harshly, and she turned and fled, her body shaking with agonised sobs.

Immersed in his private hell, he paid no heed to her flight, lost as he was in the darkness of his mind. "What have I done?" He sighed, "I have destroyed her, the only thing I ever really loved. Osellë meleth-nin, Goheno nin." 'Osellë my love, forgive me.'

The last sunset-shaft of light pierced the gloom, glimmering blood red on the dagger clasped in his trembling hand, as, from the next room, Osellë's insane, agonised screams split the silence.