Part Eleven

A Twisted Destiny

And now I know it's true

My every road leads to you

And in the hour of darkness

Your light gets me through

You run like the river – you shine like the sun

You fly like an eagle

You are the one I've seen every sunset

And with all that I've learned

Oh it's to you – I will always return

Bryan Adams – I Will Always Return

Well, well, well. Mirkwood had not changed very much over the few months, and indeed years, I had been absent. In fact, it looked just as it had all those centuries ago when Legolas and I had arrived here to see King Thranduil in all his glory before he had departed for the Undying Lands shortly after Legolas and I were wed. The trees were tall and green, casting their majestic shadows over the forest floor and those on it. The sky glowed a deep orange-yellow and the songbirds trilled out their songs to anyone who would listen. I was mesmerised by it. Of all the places I had lived, of all the things and wonders I had seen, nothing compared to this. I gave a short gasp of wonder as we drew nearer to the palace itself, I couldn't help it. Yes, I had been here before and yes, I had even lived here for going on nine years, but it felt like a lifetime since I had really seen it. My last visit had been a little too fraught to really enjoy sightseeing. The last dying rays of sunlight played over the roof of the palace and the delicately wrought pillars, interwoven with branches and animals seemed to come alive in the sunset's glow. Legolas, sitting next to me, gave a soft sigh and even in the dim interior of the carriage I could see the contented expression on his face and knew he would have no trouble seeing the twin expression on mine. "I did not realise how much I had missed it here," I whispered, my voice sounding soft and loud in the confined space. Legolas moved slightly and I could hear the rustle of his clothes on the coach's fabric seats as he shifted position to loop his arm about me and draw me in for a hug. I went with absolutely no resistance, after all why should I resist when everything felt so right? I leaned my head back and it came to rest comfortably on his shoulder, my face a mere breath away from his. All of a sudden the space in the carriage didn't seem confined, but cosy and I let myself go into the moment. Even in the blessedly calm state that I was in, a nagging worry came back to disturb me. It was my worst fear, a fear that had not been assuaged since we left Harrowcath and now I felt the time had come to voice it. Fears are a very hard thing to speak about, sometimes it feels that if we can but keep them in our heads they won't be real, but if we mention them out loud and their existence is confirmed by someone else, then there will be no more pretending. I for one was terrified that my fear would not turn out to be groundless, that I would confess it and have it confirmed there and then, but I knew I had to speak it anyway or go mad. My courage thus found I opened my mouth, "Legolas, what of Osellë?" I asked, my throat feeling as dry as sandpaper. "What has happened to her? Well I know that you were wed, but has that passed now, or are we in fact committing adultery just by sitting here?" Legolas grimaced and turned away slightly and I felt a yawning chasm open in the pit of my stomach. My voice faded to a forlorn whisper, "I must know." Legolas gave a small, short nod, conceding my point. "And you shall." He told me, his own voice sounding forlorn. "Forgive me, the pain was still too near to speak of it, but as you are a part of it, you must know." He sighed deeply and shifted position slightly as if working up the courage to speak. "When you left I was at death's door. Verceron had pushed me too near to death and I could feel my life force ebbing, as could those around me, I think, for I heard sobbing." Legolas paused then, a slight frown marring his perfect features. "I do not understand what happened next," he informed me, "at the time I told no one of it, especially Osellë, as I knew how it would upset her and confuse everyone else." He stopped and turned to face me directly, " I heard you, I heard your voice. You were calling out for me, crying and weeping and then calling out again. I heard you and I knew that I could not leave you, not like that, so I forced myself back. All around me was peaceful, almost golden, and I could see the gateway to Mandos ahead of me. All I can say is I began to struggle, there was a force tugging me closer and I fought it, screaming out your name. That was when the really strange thing happened. The force stopped and I was held still. A voice spoke to me, it was beautiful, but it sounded vaguely amused and annoyed, it said to me, 'You are Legolas Greenleaf?' and I nodded. The voice sighed and made the strangest comment. 'I'd never hear the end of her,' it said and then I was whisked backwards and suddenly I was in a body that hurt and I could hear people shouting out my name. Then I passed out. I woke up five weeks later and when I was healed enough to talk I told Osellë that I still loved you. I said that I loved her too, but I had to find you. The following day she left, taking our daughter with her. I fear I will never see either of them again, for I left the day after to come and retrieve you. Now I'm afraid I have no idea what we are returning to." He finished and sighed, a long and slow breath. I could hear the despair and sorrow in it and in that moment I knew. He really had loved Osellë. I sank deeper into the soft seats in the coach. I had screwed everything up big-style. This was all my fault. I had had my time with Legolas, I had brought my two beautiful boys into the world, and I had refused to give it up so Osellë could have her turn. What kind of monster was I? My heart began to pound hard and fast with a mixture of shame and horror. Now that I knew what I had done, I also knew what I must do. I had to die. That was the way it had been destined to be, the way that had been foreseen by everyone. Probably it was even the reason that Elrond had always been so kind to me. He had foreseen my death. My breath began to come in short shallow gasps to match my pounding heart and my vision started to swim. How hard would it be to put a stop to my own life? I had killed orcs, hundreds of them, but suicide would be different. I wondered if I had the courage. Before, when I first found out that it had been two hundred years since my death and Legolas had remarried, I had not even considered it. I had weathered utmost despair and my sword had stayed sheathed by my side. But now… Now I knew that I was not meant to live, not meant to feel the sun on my skin again, not meant to have spent more time with Legolas and my sons than was my share. The heart which had once loved so freely, ceased to beat and then restarted again would have to be ended for good. And I would have to do it. I couldn't ask anyone else to undertake the task. Just like Frodo and the Ring it had fallen to me and me alone. I swallowed almost convulsively, unaware that Legolas was watching me closely, his eyes registering shock and horror as he easily read the thoughts on my face. "No, meleth-nin!" he cried out, his hands flying onto my shoulders and clinging there. "No!" he cried again, shaking me slightly. "Please, you cannot!" he implored me, his tears cascading freely down his cheeks. I raised my eyes to meet his desperate gaze, sniffing wildly as my own tears began to flow. My voice was thick when I addressed him next, "But you love Osellë…" I whispered, my voice sounding broken even to me. "Yes." He whispered, his tone still frantic, "Yes, I do, but as a sister! I love the daughter she and I had and I love our sons, but it's not the same way as I love you!" I sat there, new tears making fresh tracks down both our faces, but I was held in suspense, waiting as a statue for what would come next. For me it was a matter of life and death. "From the first time I met you, I loved you. Even when I thought you were a boy, I saved you from a thundering Oliphaunt, did I not?" At the slight, hiccupy laughter from me he continued, his own voice heavy with emotion. "Every day since I first saw your face, were you alive or dead, I have started every morning thinking about you and you have been the last thing I thought about before going to sleep. Every sunset I have wanted to share my day with you and have you be the one I took into my arms and kissed. You are the stars in my night and the sun in my sky. Without you my world has always fallen into darkness. I pray you, don't leave me now. I beg you, stay with me." He finished, his voice soft and shaking. I sucked in a deep breath. Of all the things I had been expecting, that had been the last. And at last, at last, I knew what I wanted, what was meant to be. Us. Legolas and Vénea. We were eternal, we were forever and I knew now that in life or death I would never stop loving him.

He would have loved me anyway, I thought and that ended everything. No longer did I have to worry about suicide or about how I was going to live out the rest of my days. My place was with him. Wherever he went I would go, wherever he went I belonged, because we were soulmates. And that was our destiny.

When we arrived in Mirkwood my eyes were still red and puffy from crying. Legolas of course, being an elf, never had that problem, so it was with dismayed amusement that he viewed me as I stepped out the darkened interior and into the harsh daylight. We had spent the remainder of our journey in the dark in companionable silence, the kind that only comes when two people share a very close bond. I for one had fervently wanted to stay within that coach and never leave the comfort and safety I had found there in the arms of Legolas, but I knew deep down that it could not last. And after Legolas had disembarked, I was forced to follow, had I not just decided that our destiny was always to be together? What kind of start would it be if Legolas lived in the Palace of Mirkwood and I in a coach for the rest of our life together? After the first step I found that it was not so bad. Legolas still grasped my hand in a death-grip almost as if he feared if he loosed it I would run away again, or worse, attempt to kill myself. I shuddered slightly at the thought. No fear of that, I decided quickly, my ideas on that front had been firmly put to rest. We walked up the white marble steps together, almost in step, I feeling like I was a Shetland pony who had just been put in the show ring with a herd of Thoroughbreds. I ignored my feeling of unease as we climbed higher, finally reaching the great doorway at the top. The whole place was eerily quiet and I stole a chance during Legolas' moment of distraction as he called for a guard to open the gate, to dab carefully at my eyes in a vain attempt to make them seem a little less red. The elves here had always been thoroughly amazed by my tendency to blush beetroot red and I flinched at the thought of what a field day some of them might have with my scarlet ringed eyes. My ministrations did not go unnoticed by Legolas and he raised one eyebrow slightly, sending me a look of pure amusement. I stuck my tongue out at him in retribution and he smiled hugely in return, it was then I knew that he had missed times like these as much as I had. His amused expression however soon faded back into the one he had been wearing before and now I recognised it for what it was. Concern. Legolas looked up the gateway and I got a second shock as I realised why he was looking so concerned. There were no guards on the door and none had come at his call. I felt my own expression mould into a frown. This was most unusual. During my time as Princess here I had come to know many of the Palace guards and all of them were fiercely loyal to their Prince. I could think of nothing that would keep them away from their posts if he called, except… Except if they were dead. I suppressed a shudder at the thought. Legolas couldn't have been gone that long. What could have happened since he left here? What could have gone so terribly wrong? Legolas was still stood there, staring fiercely at the gate as if he thought he could force them to open by the sheer power of his gaze. I broke his stare-out with the doorway by taking his hand and tugging slightly on it. When he turned face me, I spoke, "It would seem we have little choice, meleth-nin," I said quietly, as if hostile forces might overhear, "We will have to climb the wall." Legolas' gaze hardened and he gave a curt nod signalling his approval without a sound. It would appear that he too believed someone unfriendly might overhear. On reflex I glanced behind me but the woods remained ominously dark and frighteningly still. For the first time the sight of them scared me. I had never felt anything but at ease in these woods before. Together we tackled the wall, Legolas often climbing on ahead to find the easiest foot and handholds before coming back down and helping me find them. Eventually, I reached the crest of the wall looming, as it did, like a wave over the forest below. Legolas was already there, waiting perched on top of the wall just at the point where it became precariously thin. I scowled at him, but he easily read the truth in my eyes, my fear for him, that the scowl hid. He gave me an apologetic smile and moved further along the wall until he came up next to me on the widest part of it. "I forgot how you cannot stand me doing things like that, meleth-nin," he said softly, by way of an apology, "It is good to be with you so you can remind me of these pet hates of yours again." He whispered, and I could read the truth and honesty in his gaze, "I forgot how much I had missed it," he whispered again, his voice even softer this time and then our lips brushed and all other words or smart retorts went clean out of both our heads. When we broke apart Legolas was grinning. "Now that," he said, "was something I have really missed!" I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him, thinking, Just like a man! And trying to ignore the thought of how much I had missed it as well.

It took us another half an hour before I was finally stood in the courtyard, my feet back on solid earth once more. I heaved a sigh of relief, trying to keep my face nonchalant and cool even though inside I felt like weeping for joy and kissing the earth I now stood upon. I cast a sideways glance to see if Legolas had yet noticed, but his mind was elsewhere. His keen Elven eyes were already scouring the immediate area for danger and his tense body only relaxed when he had checked every possible nook and cranny that an enemy could be hiding in. I began to feel a little ashamed. Had there been an enemy in the courtyard and had Legolas not been with me I would probably have been picked off quite easily while I rejoiced in simply being back on firm land again without having to cling on for dear life. Legolas quickly came over and rested a hand on my shoulder, "Venea," he said and I sighed slightly, sure that this was about to be a reprimand to be more careful about checking I was safe in future. I knew he only did it because he worried about me, but it still made me feel very young and almost like he was babying me. In short, it was a feeling I did not enjoy. I braced myself for the imminent tirade and so I was shocked when all he said was, "I am very glad that I am the warrior here. I would hate to see you lose your innocence." He did not even say it intensely; it was almost a passing comment except that I could see the deep and resonating truth of his statement in his clear blue eyes. I was struck dumb, at any other time I might have been slightly offended that he thought me innocent, but this time I was just glad that I was. Innocent, I mean. It had just dawned on me what it would be like if I something was to happen that changed the way I saw the world. And I suddenly appreciated everything Legolas had done to stop that from happening. My thoughts on the subject were short-lived however as we saw the sight that we had missed at the gate. Guards came running from everywhere, some scaling down walls as Legolas and I had just moments before, some appearing suddenly from doorways. But there were two vital and startling differences. One, these guards were not running to open the gate, but to arrest us and, two, these were not Mirkwoodian guards. I did not recognise their dress, but it did not bear the insignia of Mirkwood and I felt Legolas stiffen at my side, pushing me slightly behind him as they drew nearer. "Legolas of Mirkwood," one of the soldiers spoke, his voice undeniably Elven, yet not. Almost like a very good replica, but there was just something wrong with it. Something not quite right. "We have orders to bring you and your companion to the Great Hall." He continued, his strange voice rasping over some of the words. I felt rough arms grasping at me from behind, I struggled but they only gripped tighter and I was wrenched backwards, away from Legolas before I even had chance to scream. He was turning in a moment, his muscles bunching, preparing to spring. A hand on his arm stopped him. It was the soldier from before, "I wouldn't do that if I was you," he warned. Legolas shook him off, "And why not?" he questioned sharply. "Because," the soldier elaborated, a sick look on his face as if he was enjoying this torture, "we also have orders to hurt the girl if you try anything." Legolas' face crumpled and his head bowed. The soldier gave a smile of triumph. He knew he would have no trouble now. I felt sick to the stomach with loathing and disgust. I was being used as a weapon against the one person who I loved most. When I found out who was doing this, who could play us off our emotions so well… I scowled. When I found them they were going to pay.

I was blindfolded quickly. Apparently whoever was running this sham of a kidnapping didn't want to be recognised. A wise idea, I had to admit, because if I ever found out who it was they were going to rue the day they ever tried to hurt my husband. I was dragged none-too-gently down a darkened corridor, at least I presumed it was darkened but that could just have been the fact that I was blindfolded. Anyway, I was dragged through a labyrinth of corridors and I could hear shuffles behind me that sounded as if they were dragging Legolas the same way too. Well, more fool them, I thought, if either one of us gets free there will be hell to pay. That was how mad I was right at that moment. And that was before we turned into the next corridor. I felt a sudden rush of breeze and knew that that meant we had turned a corner and were now near a window. To me, that wasn't very much help, the Palace of Mirkwood was riddled with windows and corners, but Legolas had lived here all his life. And he now knew exactly where he was. I heard a sudden noise from behind me, there had always been shuffling but now it sounded urgent and accompanied by the occasional laboured grunt, none of which were Legolas'. But I recognised those noises, they were indicative of a fight, and by the sound of it Legolas was winning. The surge of triumph and adrenaline I felt overpowered my feeling of confusion. Legolas had no reason to suddenly start struggling, the only times he had ever started something like that before was when whoever had me had started hitting me, or otherwise mishandling me, but this time I was fine. And it couldn't be because we were headed for the dungeon, or anywhere else with torture implements because they were underground and I could still feel a breeze. That meant we weren't underground. So if it wasn't because we were near the dungeons and it wasn't because I was getting hurt… The real reason hit me suddenly, though I wished seconds later it had not. He would only struggle if someone he loved was getting hurt and since I was fine and Osellë and his daughter were out of the castle, that left only two other people who could affect him this way. Keldarion and Estel, our children. Within seconds I was struggling too, kicking out with my feet, writhing and snapping my teeth at anything within range, desperately trying to get my captor to lose his grip, even for a instant, so I could wriggle free. There was a great deal of cursing from behind me, some so explicit I do not care to repeat it, even in passing. In polite terms it was something about a lot of faeces, a female dog and sexual reproduction, but I won't go into that. Suffice it to say, had I not been blindfolded, I am certain to this day that I would have seen the air turn a bright and vivid blue. I felt a great rush of air from behind me and a solid thwack as a fist rammed home. The cursing abruptly stopped, the arms restraining me went limp and I broke free. I tugged the blindfold gratefully away from my eyes and looked up to see Legolas standing triumphantly over the unconscious body of a rather burly elf, "Never say that in front of a lady again," he muttered to the elf, even knowing that he was beyond hearing and then looked up and grinned at me. I smiled back, an expression of pure relief flooding my features. But we didn't stay like that for long before the adrenaline kicked back in with force, "The children!" I exclaimed and Legolas gave an explicit curse of his own. Racing past he pulled me swiftly to my feet and fastened his hand around my upper arm, effectively dragging me along after him as he fled through the corridors. We came to a dead stop outside a simple enough wooden door. We both just stood there, panting, afraid of opening the door because of what we might find behind it. I made the first move, stepping forward I placed one hand on the cool smooth wood and slid the other down onto the handle. The metal felt icy cold beneath my fingers and I sucked in a deep, calming breath, not that it did me any good. Closing my eyes for a brief second I twisted the doorknob suddenly and sharply, yanking the door so hard and fast I almost fell into the room. The empty room. The windows were thrown wide open and the curtains billowed into the empty space, a broken pot on the floor gave evidence of a struggle. I heard Legolas step into the room beside me and I heard his sigh. Both of our children were gone.

I stormed into the Great Hall, my entrance unescorted by anyone, and advanced purposefully towards the throne at the opposite end of it. There was a stunned silence in the Hall as if its occupants were amazed by my apparent, and very blatant, death wish. I had to admit that I myself was quaking with fear, a minuscule shaking that had begun with my hands and was now spreading like wildfire throughout my entire body. I tried to force it down, to let my rage rise up and consume me, but it could not be quelled. By the time I stood directly before the throne the only steady thing about me was my gaze. There was a she-elf on there, an elf I did not recognise but there was something about her that seemed familiar, like a deadly herb that you remember from a long ago lesson. "Where are my children?" I questioned, hoping my voice would sound as forceful as I had intended. There was no immediate response but I kept my gaze steady, glad that, even if it had not been as threatening as I hoped, my voice had at least remained unwavering. A muffled thump answered my question where the she-elf had not. I craned my neck slightly, looking to see what had been the cause of the bang, my heart leaping into my throat as I did so. What I saw made me see red. Three figures were lying, bound, behind the throne of that unworthy creature and even in the shadow that the mighty chair cast I could recognise them instantly, for all three were very dear to me. Keldarion and Estel lay unconscious, their fair hair matted with blood and their hands swollen from a struggle. The third figure was awake, her eyes burning with unchecked fury and she was bashing her feet against the foundations of the throne, the black hair concealing the blood that I knew must matt it as it ran down her right temple. Fury rose up in me sharply, white-hot and primal in its intensity. I knew then that I was feeling the rage that every mother whose child had been attacked had felt, every protector whose charges had been hurt, and every woman who had had someone she loved in any way harmed had experienced and this time I let it consume me. The elf on the chair spoke, a low, guttural sound that seemed to grate against my ears, "So, you are the mortal wife of an Elven Prince." She intoned, her words dull and lifeless as if she had no will or spirit behind them. "You don't seem worth my trouble. I am Lindewen, by the way." I saw movement behind me, the guards I had surprised with my entrance had regrouped, I could see them amassing behind me, hear the metallic snarl as swords were slid from their sheaths, "A nice enough name. Shame you have not the character to go with it," I hissed at her, rage funnelling into my tone. The elf on the throne continued as if I had not spoken, her words still colourless and vague, "My mother was so obsessed with you, I had thought you would be at least a worthy opponent. But no matter, I will kill you anyway and so steal the life you have in payment for the one you took from my mother!" With her last sentence she came alive, her eyes burning within her skull, her hair slicing the air around her head like a barbed whip. Her fury was good, it was raw emotion, it was what would make killing her so much easier when my chance came. The guards behind me were creeping closer, I could hear the swish of their clothing as their stances changed from wary to ready for battle. I tensed, every muscle in my body as taut as the string of a bow when the arrow is about to be released. She dived forward and in a blur of motion I was moving, leashed tension streaming out of me, fuelled by the protective rage of a mother. I stepped backward and reached my arm back, striking as quick as a snake to break the neck of one of the waiting guards. He fell lifeless and I wasted no time in snatching the sword from his failing fingers. He would have no more use for it now. "Draw back!" came a barked command; the words sharp and clean cut. It would seem the she-elf did have a bit of mettle after all, I thought with grim amusement, a one on one battle would be interesting. Light danced in her eyes and amusement shone there with no regret or fear to taint it. She would lose this fight, I realised with a small shock, purely because she had no reason to win it. Whoever her mother had been, she was already dead and the dead are not motivation enough when your opponent has living children to fight for. As far as I was concerned the she-elf circling me was already dead and I just had to find the quickest way of proving that to everyone else in the room. But it did not turn out to be as easy as I had first expected. She span suddenly, dropping her sword and pulling two small and deadly daggers from within the folds of her cloak. The broadsword suddenly grew heavy in my hands; my weapon was too heavy and slow to defend against weapons such as those that were made for swiftness. I changed my grip on the sword, bringing the point up to grasp it in my free hand just as the elf made a swing for my leg. The sword became a barrier and the dagger bounced harmlessly off the tough steel, missing my leg by inches. We whirled away from each other, the bloodlust in her eyes tempered slightly now by respect. "Do you even know who my mother was?" she asked me, I had a feeling more to distract me from our duel than to hear my answer. I made my response short, "No. And I do not care." I barked as she dived forward again swinging both daggers in an attempt to slash my eyes. I did a quick series of blocks, my arms aching with every clash of steel to steel. "She always wanted to be a member of the courts here At least, she used to, before you drove her to madness! Mamë was her name, although I don't suppose you'd remember her." A feral glint in her eye as she spoke reminded me, with a new level of reality, that I was fighting a very dangerous elf. But the daughter of Mamë! Far from being an elf I wouldn't remember, she was an elf I couldn't forget, and I had tried! She was the elf that had driven me to premature labour and so my death. She must have seen the horror in my eyes for when she spoke next her voice was laced with sick amusement. "It would seem I was wrong. By the look of you, you remember her very well. Did she torture you? She promised me that she would, that she would make you scream and beg for mercy before the end. Did she break you Vénea? Did she make you cry out for your Naneth as you plotted to kill mine?" She was practically screaming it into my face and I was blocking her frenzied attacks on impulse, my mind locked in the terror of my experience at her hands all those years ago. Memories I had thought long dead were swarming around me and I blinked back tears. Swinging my sword in a desperate arc I parried her blow and knocked her on the side of the head, enough to stun her. She fell to her knees at my feet, presenting the perfect target to strike at. But I stumbled backwards, away from my fallen enemy, too heartsick and repulsed to deal the final blow then. I fell to my knees beside the captives, my comrades and began slicing ineffectually at their bonds, my vision too clouded with tears to really see what I was doing. A soft touch on the side of my head stopped me and I looked up. Keldarion was lying on the floor, his beautiful golden hair in total disarray, but his blue eyes were open and totally clear. "Nana, saes…" he whispered, his words distorted by the gag forced into his mouth but still discernible. I leaned forward, my heart twisting violently, here he was, my injured son, trying to comfort his perfectly healthy mother! I felt a flare of guilt and love so fierce that with seconds my vision was cleared and I made short work of cutting the bonds of all three captives and gathering my two sons into my arms. I held onto them tightly, never wanting to release my grip and I felt than hold me back, "I will never leave you again, never," I whispered frantically, trying to communicate it to the deepest part of them, but I received no verbal response. They only held onto me tighter and I loved them all the more for it. The moment was broken by a persistent tapping on my arm. After the action had gone on long enough to begin to get on my nerves I disengaged my arms from my two sons and turned to face the culprit. It was Aswen, her expression troubled and her eyes focused elsewhere. I repressed a sigh, partly of relief and partly of annoyance: I was back in Mirkwood for barely one hour and already Aswen was proving that absolutely nothing had changed between us. "What is it…" I began but was cut off as I caught sight of what Aswen was staring at. The she-elf of before was racing towards us, or more specifically towards me, holding one dagger high above her head, the other already flying towards us. Every instinct inside me was screaming at me to run, to throw myself out of the path of the dagger. But if I was to move, who would the dagger hit but my children? I couldn't move and so kill my sons in the process of saving my own hide. I resolved to stay put and closed my eyes, waiting for the sharp sting of steel that, no matter how many times I have been prepared to feel, I have never felt ready for. I felt a rush of air as the knife, and elf close behind, bore down upon me and threw up my hands even knowing that I was going to die anyway. I waited for the silence of the Halls of Mandos, feeling a deep and aching regret in the pit of my stomach that I was going to lose everything and every one again. The sound I actually heard was quite different. There was a kind of gurgle and the metallic click of blades hitting the floor. I braced myself and opened one eye. There was Legolas gliding down from a window in the roof, his blue eyes deadly, an empty bow in his hand. The daughter of Mamë lay still near my feet, her eyes wide and sightless, an arrow neatly protruding from her chest. I gave a disbelieving blink and shook my head slightly. Behind me I felt my sons stir and rise and numbly allowed both them and Aswen to tug me to my feet. Feeling decidedly ungraceful I lurched forward, stumbling into a nearby pillar and clinging on for support. Another near death experience had thrown me. It was very unfair of the Powers That Be not even to give me chance to settle in before launching me head first into another life and death situation. I aimed a mock glare at the Havens to the West and tried to steady my breathing. I felt that I had just about got it under control, when something totally unexpected happened, something that had me on my knees as quick as morning sickness. Osellë was with Legolas, she was gliding down the pillar after him with that Elven grace I had envied so much all those years ago. My breath caught and hitched tightly in my throat. What on Middle Earth…? I blinked furiously and looked down at the ground, trying to clear my head. This was all way too much for me, Legolas had just professed true and undying love for me but here he was with my immortal and immeasurably more beautiful rival. Why was nothing in my life ever simple? I put one hand up to shield my face for multiple reasons, rubbing tiredly at my aching eyes. This had already been one very long day, and the way things were going it didn't look like it was going to be over anytime soon. The elves, who had originally been startled by the arrival of so many new adversaries, had recovered from their initial shock and were now advancing once more, evil smiles adorning their guileless faces. These creatures looked as if they felt no remorse for their previous action and a new kind of burning started inside me. Oh, they may not feel remorse for their actions, not now' not ever, but I was sure as heck going to make these Valar-forsaken creatures regret them. I felt a new presence beside me and I recognised it instantly as Legolas. One slender hand rested itself on my shoulder and I grinned inwardly. He was so wonderfully predictable, I may look all right, but this was one elf that was not so easily convinced. He had resorted of late to having to actually be able to physically touch me to fully persuade himself that I was not dead. I would have been mildly put out by the coddling if I had not so thoroughly deserved it. After all, I had disappeared from the poor elf's sight not once, but twice and smothered as I felt I really could assign no blame to his actions. Osellë appeared in my line of sight and I sucked in a sharp breath. Damn and drat it all to the seven hells! This she-elf was going to drive me insane! I did not hate Osellë I never could or would, she was too much of a sister to me but, and may the Valar have mercy on me, I was about ready to kill her at that very moment.

"Call yourselves elves?" I called out bitterly, forcing myself to ignore Osellë for the moment and focus on more pressing matters. The elves Lindewen had brought with her looked up, startled, at my words. "You're no elves. You're not even a match for me, one puny little human you couldn't control." I sneered, putting more venom into my words than I really felt. I was too tired, too heartsick and too sore to really hate these elves, if they even were elves, but I did try to aggravate them if it would help to speed up the upcoming fight. Legolas coined on to what I was doing first and joined in, "I don't even know if I should bother using my best blades on them." He muttered, loud enough for them to hear, but quiet enough that it could seem as if he was talking to himself. I could see their eyes burn in anger. Aswen had been tying her bootlaces quietly in the corner, seeming to take no notice, and not even bothering to look up as Legolas and I rained insults on the advancing elves. I was just beginning to become deeply afraid that Aswen had taken more hurt than I could see when she straightened suddenly. With brisk, purposeful steps she strode out towards the elves, coming to a stop a pace before where Legolas and I stood. She still did not say a word only reached her arms forwards, stretching the muscles, like a cat before it pounces. "Right," she said softly, her tone itself more deadly than a thousand threats. "Who's next?" The elves seemed to come to some simultaneous agreement and without even looking around all took one step backwards. I grinned. Ah, yes, that was the Aswen I knew and loved. I watched as the grin on my face slowly transferred to Aswen's. Turning around she looked me in the eye and took a slight step to one side, beckoning me forwards. "Shall we?" As if I needed any further prompting! Without another word the two of us launched forward, blades outstretched, or rather in Aswen's case it was hands outstretched as she still had been given no weapon. Legolas and Osellë sprang into action directly behind us, followed closely by Keldarion, Estel, and various Mirkwood guards that I vaguely recognised as having seen before, though where they had come from was a complete puzzle to me. I did not waste unnecessary time pondering on it though as the first elf came within reach of my blade. There would be time to drag the truth from people later. The foreign elves were just as skilled with a blade as their native counterparts, much to my chagrin and increasing exhaustion. It is a well-known fact that even the weakest of Elves can outlast any human, except maybe Aragorn in his younger days, in terms of endurance, and I was rapidly finding that this was something I would rather not have been testing at that very moment in time. Each thrust and parry sent a fresh wave of fatigue and pain shimmering down my arms and each bruise hurt afresh in the aftermath of it. The elf facing me could sense the growing weakness behind my blows and he was becoming more and more confident, changing tactics from trying to injure me to going for head and neck strikes aimed to kill. Drat and blast! I looked around in what I hoped was a furtive manner searching for Legolas. I uttered a further curse when I saw him, not three metres away, but absolutely surrounded by a veritable forest of elves, spears and lances, some trying to reach him and injure him some trying to push those other spears away. Even if he was to try and reach me there was no way he would be able to get there in time. I gave a soft sigh as I realised I was alone in this fight. If there was to be any aid for me, I was going to have to take action and get it. The elf made a particularly vicious head strike and I only just blocked it, wincing as I felt the jarring contact travel all the way along my arm. A sudden idea struck me, and I went with it, after all it was my only idea at present. I began to hold my left arm awkwardly, dangling it down by my side, leaving it to hang ineffectually, still clutching weakly at the broadsword. I saw the flicker of triumph in the elf's eyes, I saw him change his strike from one intended to break the bones in my legs to another brutal head strike, a knockout to end the battle. I shifted the broadsword in my hand slightly, making out I was afraid to use it against him, afraid of the painful contact. This was it. If he realised now what I was doing I wouldn't have a chance. He didn't realise, he went for the block and I stepped back at the last possible second, the tip of his weapon just skimming my nose. I flung my arm out, giving up all pretence of it being injured and hurled my sword at the far wall. The elf I was facing looked taken aback as I effectively disarmed myself and dropped into a fighting crouch. I saw a whole host of emotions flicker over his face, ranging from confusion to suspicion to triumph. He settled on the latter. Transferring his hold on the sword to an almost casual grip he glared down at me, looking sickeningly self-confident. "Quite the crazy little mortal, aren't you?" he asked me, his tone condescending. Bringing up his sword in a motion too fast for my eyes to follow his blade was pressed against my throat, constricting my airways. Determined that I would not die having let this elf have the final word, I sucked in what I hoped was not to be my last breath and replied darkly, "You're the crazy one, for thinking you'll get away with this." Looking up I couldn't resist adding, for the sheer devilment of it, "Makes no difference to you anyway. From the moment you put that blade to my throat you've been a dead-man." The elf grinned down at me, only a slight worry tempering his gaze, "I am no 'man'." He sneered, but whatever the rest of his sentence would have been will never be known because seconds later he was staring down at my blade through his chest and the glaring, jet-black haired she-elf who wielded it. I amended my previous statement to the corpse as it slumped to the floor when Aswen pulled out my blade, "Dead elf, then. Aswen doesn't like people who discriminate."

Vénea's blade lodged, quivering, in the wall a mere two inches above Aswen's head. She gazed up at it in mild shock, had she not heard the whistle of steel through air and had the presence of mind to duck, that would have been her neck impaled there. Dispatching the enemy elf nearest her with a quick blow to the back she pulled the sword out of the masonry with relative ease. By the trajectory it had been travelling at when it hit the wall Aswen estimated the angle it must have been thrown from and sighted along it using the blade while quickly putting an end to a foolish elf's attempt to attack her from behind. When she realised who must have thrown the sword her already dark expression turned murderous. Vénea. Turning quickly Aswen made short work of the elves that attempted to stand in her way and within no time at all she was standing over the dead body of the elf who had threatened her friend. After hearing Vénea's comment, Aswen couldn't resist adding one of her own, "Nor do I approve of friends who throw blades at me while I'm not looking. Unless there is something you haven't been telling me Vénea…" The inflection of her words coupled with the glare on her face was enough to restrain Vénea from further comment, at least for the moment, so Aswen was left in relative peace to try and save both of their necks form the ever increasing press of unfriendly elves around them. Aswen was no defeatist, but even she had to admit that the odds were not looking good for any of them to get out alive.

The next half-hour frustrated me almost to death. Aswen would not leave me in peace, constantly buzzing around me like a mother hen protecting her young. It was not the coddling that bothered me so much as the fact that I could not get a clear shot at the elves surrounding Legolas. There was always someone in the way, either Aswen with her blade deflecting the arrows and blade thrust intended for herself or me or one of the few elves who managed to slip past her defences and try to kill me close-up. I had little to worry about. Aswen's fussing might annoy me, but she was damn handy with a sword. What bothered me more was the fact that I was not the only one with a handy helper in orbit. Osellë was smothering Legolas, even at this distance I could see how close she was pressed against him and the waves of jealousy I felt were almost enough to drown me. I, however, was far too compressed and surrounded by a ring of angry, bloodthirsty elves to even attempt a rescue mission so I settled for glowering at her turned back miserably. If Aswen noticed my forlorn expression she did not comment on it and in retrospect it was quite possible that she was entirely too distracted by elves and the prospect of imminent death to be able to really pay it much mind. I took being overlooked like this in my stride and went on with aiming my miserable glares at Osellë whenever I could spare them from the attacking elves. Another half an hour passed in this fashion, the strikes and parries becoming almost an ingrained dance, push, clash, whirl. Parry, dodge, strike. My brain was almost switched off from the conflict, running on a kind of built-up autopilot from too many years of battle. This loss in concentration was almost the end of me. I was focused, if you could call my weary battle haze that, on the elf in front of me keeping up with his blows and launching very little counter-offensive of my own when I felt a strange rush of air from behind me. In near-death circumstances, which I have had more than my share of to date, even the swiftest of movement can seem to take an age. Swords move like snails and your own heartbeat down to a methodical thud even when it is racing. I turned in this strange slow-fast state to see an elf grinning, his smile widening in slow motion as he brought his blade down towards my unprotected back. Aswen was not looking my way, I doubted that she could even see me much anymore with all the elves that pressed around us, and there was little chance her head would turn my way with time enough to take action to prevent the blow. My head snapped back and the sword was coming down, the wind I had felt before this elf's cruel breath down my neck as he prepared to deal the final blow. I closed my eyes, finding the blackness of my closed lids a preferable sight to what I was sure would be my own blood and felt… nothing. I waited a little while longer before I dared to peep out. The elf before me was doubled over, his eyes glazed with pain, but seeing nothing. As I watched in stunned silence he silently keeled over to thud onto the floor, throwing up a crater of gore. Belatedly I stared at the body and realised the cause of death. One arrow protruded from the creature's… nether regions… explaining why it had been doubled over, while another was stuck out of the creature's chest, finished off by an arrow directly between the eyes. I blinked, still staring down stupidly. A slight noise to my left startled me and I looked up to see Aswen approaching me. Reaching down carefully she offered her arm and I took it, using it as a much-needed support to lever myself back onto my feet. She grinned at me and that one expression told me that she had been responsible for the most…southerly arrow. She shrugged in response to my disbelieving glare and nodded her head in a different direction. I followed her nod to see both Legolas and Osellë staring my way. I cocked my head at them in my best imitation of a silent question, and Legolas responded crossing his fingers over his heart in a shape that resembled a target. I raised an eyebrow. This was shaping up to be quite interesting; I took his sign language to mean that he had shot the arrow piercing the creature in the heart. I looked next to Osellë but she would not meet my eyes and turned her head away, deliberately turning to face the oncoming adversaries and blocking me out. Ah ha. So she had shot the third arrow then and was refusing to admit it. I shook my head slightly, half amused, half irritated. Stubborn elf. I took a step forwards intending to place myself nearer to my husband before the fighting restarted in earnest but the second I moved ten new elves seemed to pour down on me, diverting my attention somewhat. I growled my annoyance, these things seemed sent deliberately to try me. First they put Legolas and me in a life or death situation, but then they had to drag my sons and my two best friends along for the ride? If this was the Valar's idea of destiny or, heaven forbid, humour, then it was fundamentally flawed. I saw Osellë dive towards Legolas, suddenly bringing her sword up in a desperate clash of metal against metal, her split second timing saving Legolas from having a sword complete with angry elf in his back. I scowled, all my previous animosity, despite the brief revelation of moments before, coming back. Damn it, I thought, knowing full well Osellë could not hear me, that's my job!

Legolas' arms hurt. A constant blur of swirling motion was all that could be seen of him on the battlefield, but keeping up that level of physical exertion was putting a lot of strain on his muscles. And just at the moment, those muscles were in his arms. Osellë flitted around him constantly, flickering in and out of his peripheral vision. He kept a quarter of an eye on her, it was all he could spare, with another quarter on Vénea and half on the elves he fought. Vénea seemed to be holding her own well; or rather Aswen seemed to be doing a good job of letting Vénea think she was holding her own well. Legolas sighed, it should have been him over there. He was her husband, it was his place to keep Vénea safe, not Aswen's. He would have run a tired hand through his tangled hair if he could have spared it from his blades. He was wearying, barely perceptible as it was and though he was still a better fighter than half the elves in this hall, even critically exhausted, he felt unpleasantly drained. He wanted this fight over and if it couldn't be over soon then he at least wanted Vénea within range so he could protect her. His sons, as Legolas had taken pains to ensure, had already been escorted off the battlefield, despite their arguments to the contrary, to be healed. He had ordered them to take Aswen as well, but as the healers they had returned with more bruises than was healthy and seeing as how Aswen was doing such a good job of protecting Vénea, it was almost a good thing that they had failed. As he watched Aswen stepped closer to her mortal friend and sent an elf that had been sneaking up on her from behind sprawling with a slit jugular, he couldn't repress the childish sense of jealousy that spiked through him. Damn it, that was his job!

Osellë kept her mind ruthlessly focused on the battle before her. The blows of her sword were not so much a dance as a well-learned lesson. There needed to be order in the world, order instead of all this chaos! Osellë's own feelings were spiralling dangerously out of control. She was normally so composed, so still that she looked sometimes not born but sculpted. A figure carved out of stone. And perhaps that would have been easier. Flesh could bleed, flesh could be torn. A heart that had been born could break. But a heart of stone? If her heart were a rock then Osellë would not be feeling the huge throbbing rift inside her that she did now. She imagined the tear that slipped down her cheek was crystal, falling and shattering on the floor into a thousand glittering shards. A heart of stone might not break, but it could be smashed. It was left to Osellë to hope that that would not happen to her.

We turn the wheel and break the chain
Put steel to steel and laugh at pain
We're dreamers in castles made of sand
The road to Eden's overgrown
Don't you sometimes wish
Your heart was a heart of stone?

Anastacia – Heart of Stone

My head was ringing. A thousand thoughts poured into my head, a thousand different endings to this saga. Unfortunately, I could not come up with a happy one. Legolas was a mere pace away from me now and some distant part of me was relieved. The more immediate part was more concerned that all the surviving elves on our side were now cornered. Trapped. I forced the word 'dead' out of my mind. Nothing was certain. I had cheated death too many times to give in now. Besides if I was to die I wanted to die looking at him. A peculiar irony hit me with that thought. To die looking at the person who had saved me from death so many times. The person who had actually brought me back from death. Though not, I must admit, directly. Oh Valar, I love him. I love him now, I will love him always. I swore, some two hundred years ago, that I would and I have never stopped. My fingers found his and I held on tight. Death would not separate us. I gave a mental shrug. After all, it never had before. His fingers tightened their grip on mine until it was an almost painful embrace as one of the elves surrounding us approached. His gait was slow, his manner triumphant. He was far too cocky. "Yield," he said and I recognised his voice from before. This was the elf that had threatened Legolas and I in the courtyard. I felt it was safe to assume that he had been a ringleader in this plot. He glared slightly as his previous one-word threat garnered no immediate response. "Yield or die!" He tried again. I suppressed a yawn, raising the back of my hand to cover my mouth. Hey, I may not like the guy, I may even want to kill him but it had occurred to me that it was not the best idea to annoy a very angry elf with a large pointy blade while I was still unarmed. Contrary to the apparent beliefs of Legolas, Osellë and Aswen I was not completely without a sense of self-preservation. Legolas seemed to have decided the time had come to put this elf out of his misery. Turning to face him he looked up, shielding his hand slightly from the shaft of light that cut through the dust that shone in the air of the main hall. His kept his reply simple and very calm, "I think not." The elf looked at him, expressions of frustration, anger and fear vying for dominance on his face. Frustration won. "And why," he continued, with a valiant attempt to keep his tone level, "would you think that?" Legolas looked up at him incredulously. "Do you take me for a fool? I have not ruled this Kingdom unquestioned for more than two hundred years without ever having a back-up plan. As we speak Aragorn is riding out of Gondor, armed to the teeth if I know him as well as I think I do, and he is heading straight for… have you guessed it? Mirkwood. Aragorn will not suffer my realm to be held by the scourge of Middle-Earth and, whether I live or die, he will see my Kingdom delivered from your hands." The elf facing him looked down, letting lose a vivid curse. Legolas decided the time was right to add another finishing sentence. "But let it be known, if there are anymore casualties here Aragorn will not settle for merely driving you out of Mirkwood. He will hunt you down, every last one of you. There is nowhere that will be safe for you to hide. But if you leave now… I may be able to convince him to be lenient even if only for the fact that you spared my life. Maybe he will settle for only killing half of you." He gave a careless shrug. "Who can say? His temper is widely known to be unpredictable." The elf facing him gave a glare, almost a worthy comparison for Aswen's, and I resisted the urge to flinch back, away from his fierce gaze. "You win, Silvan elf." He snarled, malice dripping from every syllable. "We will leave this place, you have killed our Queen and too many of our brothers. But," he added as a final warning, "you had better watch your back, because when my chance comes I'll be holding a knife to it." With that he turned, screeching something in a hideous tongue that made my ears burn just to hear it. The rest of the elves in the room turned, screeching their own words in reply and, painfully slowly, they began to file out of the room with many a scathing backwards glance. As the last one exited the hall his parting curse still rang around the walls, echoing eerily in the sudden silence. For a couple of seconds nobody moved. Then I turned to Legolas, "You never have a back-up plan." I said, stating a simple fact that I worked out some time ago. Legolas grinned, "No meleth-nin, I don't. But there's no reason to go telling them that now is there? Besides," he added with a shrug, "Aragorn probably is on his way over. The difference is that he is coming for a social visit and is more likely to be armed with Arwen's attempt at cream buns than with weaponry. Though, to be truthful, I don't know which is worse…"

It took us up to a week to put Mirkwood back to rights again. That, however, was more than enough time for me to extract the truth, by whatever methods necessary, about what really happened during that battle. Osellë as it turned out had returned to Mirkwood with her daughter to bid Legolas and myself a final farewell. She had decided the grief was too much and had planned to depart these shores, and our lives, forever. Upon her arrival she had realised something was dreadfully wrong and had gone on a little exploring trip into the dungeons of Mirkwood, where she had found our guards imprisoned. She had released them and together they had found and teamed up with Legolas to mount a rescue mission after my foolhardy foray into the 'lion's den' as it were. But watching her, even as she swept up dried blood from the floor, her eyes never left Legolas meticulously cleaning another corner. She was not ready to leave, that was what my heart told me and though my head screamed at me to let the subject drop and to let the dratted elf sail if that was what she wanted, something inside me could not comply. I shook my head, allowing my thoughts to wander to more trivial matters. Aragorn had arrived earlier in the week, bearing Arwen's cream buns as Legolas had foretold. One brave member of Legolas' guard had sacrificed himself to save us all and volunteered to eat the first bun. Following his subsequent admission to the healing wing it had been unanimously decided that the buns must have soured on the journey and were, unfortunately, unfit for consumption. I made a mental note to send that elf some flowers. Aragorn himself was propped in a corner, being well over two hundred years old he did not look in the prime of his life anymore. The sight of me on his arrival had sent him dangerously close to cardiac arrest so I had tried to carefully avoid coming too close to him after that. Legolas had addressed the problem, promising his best friend that he was not seeing a ghost and the full extent of the matter would be explained in due course, Aragorn had allowed himself to be leant against a wall and was currently alternating between sending me looks of disbelief and jealousy. After all, the way I looked not a day over twenty-six, Aragorn was obviously feeling that time had been unfairly kind. I rolled my eyes and set back to my task. As I picked up stray arrows, checking the tip of each for fractures and storing the perfect in a container for reuse my mind strayed back to the elves that had attacked. After the explanations had been given it had been apparent that my initial instinct that these elves were abnormal had been frighteningly correct. They were the last of the creations of Sauron, a new race that he was breeding to control Middle-Earth after his armies had taken it over. After his death and the fall of Mordor these creatures had looked enough like elves to escape detection and had wandered, looking for a new purpose, ever since. It was pure chance that Lindewen had found them and decided that they were a gift from the Valar to avenge her mother. I shivered. Despite sending me back to Middle-Earth the Valar seemed to show a disturbing tendency to try and finish me off again at times. I sighed heavily, dropping wearily to the floor and pulling the container with the arrows in it towards me, hugging it carefully to my knees. Life is so much more complicated than death I thought, not for the first time, I might add. When you're dead there's only really one route you can go along, the road to wherever moving on takes you. I had never really wondered about the afterlife, not even being dead had really made me consider it much more than I had when I was alive, but now… I was beginning to find that I was obsessed with it. Not in a morbid way, there was no way that I wanted to die, but I was starting to realise that I felt I shouldn't be alive. The guilt I had felt when I had come back and ruined Osellë's newfound happiness returned out of the blue. Truly though, what right had I to live when so many others, more deserving of life than I, had died? My time was done, perhaps I had been given a loan, a few borrowed weeks to set my affairs in order, to see my sons fully grown, tell Legolas that I loved him one last time, apologise to Aswen and Osellë. To really say goodbye. But, as I began to realise now, I had had too long. I had been given a gift and I had messed it up, thinking that I had cheated the jaws of death. I could not cheat death anymore than I could stop loving Legolas. I had come back and I had ruined everything all over again! Damn it, why was I always so near-sighted? Doubtless my time had been intended for me to get to know my sons, to give my blessing to Legolas and Osellë. Well, at least I had achieved the former, though it was a small consolation for the emotions of two hearts I had played with. Legolas and Osellë. Would 'sorry' ever be enough to heal the rift that ran between them now? How could I break the news to Legolas that the woman he was in love with all over again was actually not supposed to be alive, and was never supposed to have come back? And Osellë, poor, wretched Osellë, how could she accept that she had been wrested from her happy life by someone who was never supposed to have even been there? I coughed out an angry, tearless sigh. I was too upset, too heartsick and too confused to deal with my own emotions right now. I was destined to be dead and that was that. The huge chasm that opened within me at the thought of giving up everything I had only so recently found would have to be ignored. What did the feelings of a dead woman matter? Now all that remained was to find Legolas and tell him that I was dead. Again.

No matter how many times I have to tell Legolas that I am dead, or he should just leave me to die, as it is the only way, he never takes it well. This was no exception. "No, Venea, no! What put such a thought into your head? Of course you're not supposed to be dead! The Valar sent you back for good, didn't they?" Though his last sentence was a question the inflection in his voice turning it into a statement in the final second. I shook my head sadly, somehow hearing him deny the inevitable makes it that much more heartbreaking to have to crush his hopes. "Legolas, I'm sorry!" I tried again, "But there is no way to deny this! I. Am. Supposed. To be. Dead. If there was any way I could turn this fate around I would, but I cannot! No one can." I softened my tone of voice, my heart shattering within me as I watched a solitary tear track it's way down his face. I reached up a trembling hand to brush it away, ignoring my own tears that blurred my vision and made it harder to keep my voice in check. "If there was any way I could do this without hurting you, I would." He just let out a sob, pressing his face into my hand and bringing up his own hand to cup my cheek. "There is no way you could do this without hurting me! I love you, Vénea. You have to stay." I shook my head and dragged my hands to my own face, pushing his hand away and holding my head. "I cannot!" I moaned in-between sobs. "Not again," he whispered, "The Valar are not cruel, they would not do this to us again. It is torture to send you back on loan only, they could not!" My face twisted with sorrow and I turned away. "But they did." I managed to reply. He gave a shattered moan, the end bitten off as if he was in too much pain to even make a sound. "But I love you," he whispered, as if it was a mantra to keep death at bay, something that not even the Valar could fight. "And I you," I whispered, "But I am dead and have been for two hundred years. Your love should not belong to me anymore." I think it would have been less painful for me to rip my heart out with my bare hands than it was for me to utter that sentence, judging by the pain that lanced through me with every word. If it was death I was looking for that sentence in itself should have killed me.

I had my final goodbyes to say now. I had left Legolas sleeping on what used to be our bed when I was alive, thoroughly wearied by the emotion and tears he had shed. I had not the heart to wake him, even to say my final goodbye, so I left him with a kiss and a note. I was almost relieved. Saying goodbye to the love of my life would have been impossible. I stole out silently, heading down to the healing wing to see my sons. My goodbye with them would be just as heartbreaking for me, but less for them. I had no intention of telling them what was going on. All they would need to know was that I was leaving, and that I loved them. I found them sleeping side by side. It seemed such a shame to wake them, but for my final goodbye I knew that I must. I reached out, one hand on each gently stroking their arms to stir them. Estel was first to move. Sleepily he opened his eyes, smiling blearily up at me as he recognised who I was. On my other side Keldarion also began to awake and I shared my gaze between them, breathing unevenly as I barely held my tears in check. Both sat up simultaneously as they became aware enough to realise that something was seriously wrong. "Naneth, what is it? What is wrong?" questioned Keldarion urgently, followed quickly by Estel, "Is it Adar? What has befallen you?" I shook my head slightly, looking away and giving them a tearful smile. "No, no my dears, your father is fine. The problem lies with me. I…" I stuttered uncertainly, how could I break the news to them, how could I ever leave them again? More importantly, how could they ever forgive me for what I was about to say? "I have to leave," I finished lamely, my control snapping and the tears flowing freely. "I do not want to, but I have no choice." I knew I was giving them too much information, and I could only hope they did not misread my words and mount a search party. "Please believe me when I say that I love you, and that if I had any choice in this I would choose you in a heartbeat. Look after your father for me now; he will need you, and I doubt he will understand." I rose to leave them then before my wavering will could fail me entirely, but a small voice stopped me before I could take a step. "But I don't understand either, Nana," It was Estel. I could feel a pull on my heartstrings so strong that I almost howled out in pain. I turned back slowly to face them and my heart almost broke at the sight. Both their faces were shining with tears, "You can't leave," Keldarion spoke up, "You only just got back." I could look at them no longer; it was too painful, so I turned away, closing my eyes. The lashes squeezed out tears too stubborn to fall and they trailed slowly down my face, leaking into my closed mouth. "I don't understand it either," I whispered, so softly that had they not been elves I don't think that they would have hears me. Turning back with speed fuelled by overwhelming sadness I raced back, pressed a kiss to each of their temples and fled from the room before my heartache could overwhelm me. Once outside I collapsed sobbing against the nearest wall, pounding my fists against it in fury. "Why?" I screamed at it, at the sky, at anything within reach, "Why me?" But the wall had no answers. I sagged against it fearing nothing more than the final moment when I had to leave this place, my home. My goodbyes were said, all except for two. I could not face Aswen, she was as likely to sob over my imminent death as she was to decide to never let the Valar have their way and lock me in a room and never even let me so much as see another dangerous object again. I wrote her a note, as I had with Legolas. That left only one goodbye. Osellë. I dried my eyes roughly with the cuff of my sleeve. It was an old shirt, one of Aragorn's I believe, and it had already been through a lot in its day. Today though, it was stained through with my tears. I found Osellë in the old stables, the last place I would have expected. The building was old, unstable and it was rare anyone came in here unless it was absolutely necessary. I poked my head through the doorway and saw the instant flurry of movement that was Osellë flying to her feet in an attempt to cover up the fact that she had been crying. "I was unaware that anyone came here," she said stiffly. "I apologise, I will leave." I held out a hand to stop her, stepping further inside the stables. "No, please stay. I came here only looking for you." Osellë nodded slightly, looking at me warily clearly wondering what business I had with her now. I decided to begin directly. "I just wanted to say goodbye. I am leaving Mirkwood." Osellë stared at me, "Goodbye?" she repeated in disbelief. "How can you be leaving?" I shrugged my shoulders uncomfortably, I had really not thought through what I was going to tell Osellë. She was less likely to blindly accept my story than anyone else. "It has come to my attention that I am destined to be…" I trailed off, unsure of whether to reveal my true motives to her. Osellë raised an eyebrow in a silent question, "…elsewhere." I finished finally and Osellë looked stunned. "You cheat death to be with Legolas, ruining my life in the process, and then when you finally have him you realise that you have to be 'elsewhere'?" Osellë's voice was rising in pitch and I really couldn't blame her. After all, my reaction was likely to have been incredibly similar. I nodded in reply, my throat too constricted to speak. "Nodding?" she shrieked, "Is that all you can do?" her voice went up an octave higher, pitched at something that was dangerous inside an unstable building like this. "Osellë," I tried to warn her, "this building is unsafe. Maybe we should continue this discussion outside…" Osellë cut me off fiercely, bodily blocking my way. "No, Vénea, I think we should have this little discussion right here." She intoned, her voice deadly. "I've waited too long to say this to be put off now." I sighed and braced myself for the upcoming tirade. "You act like you're Miss High and Mighty, don't you?" cried Osellë. "Well, you're NOT!" The building wobbled dangerously, but Osellë was totally focused on me and though I tried to speak she wouldn't let me get a word in edgeways. "You listen to me now! You stabbed me in the back TWICE, Vénea! TWICE! How can you just stand there and accept that?" The building had had enough. With a groan of timber under incredible pressure it collapsed, burying me instantly under the rubble.

The Valar really don't waste time, I thought belatedly. I've just realised that I ought to be dead, and here I am, dying under a ton of rubble. They're certainly quick off the mark anyway, I thought distantly, you've got to give them that. There it was again, the roaring and that tug of the raging darkness in my mind, that I had become to accustomed to associate with dying. I resisted the urge to fight it, I was due to have been dead for the past few months anyway, I'd had more than enough time already. A voice changed my mind, it wasn't the calm, bell-like voice of the keeper of the Halls of Mandos that I had been expecting, but the panicked voice of someone I knew. Osellë… I was weary and I knew that I was dying, but what harm could a few more minutes do? There were some things I had been hoping to say to her anyway, maybe this would be my chance. I struggled slightly and felt the roaring in my ears fade slightly. I could hear Osellë better now and I strained to answer her cries. "I told you I would be leaving, didn't I?" My words slurred and ran together slightly and I found I was frowning with the effort it took to speak. "Are you hurt?" I managed to force myself to mutter. Osellë bowed her head and I was very surprised to see that she was crying. Maybe she didn't hate me as much as I had thought… "It is nothing more than a sprain." She replied dismissively, but thee was a choked quality to her voice I had never heard before that confused me. Hr next sentence provided something of an explanation. "I am so sorry," she muttered over and over again, sounding close to tears. "I didn't realise, I didn't know! I would never…" I spoke again with extreme effort, "I'm sorry too." I murmured. She looked up at me in surprise, "What for?" she whispered, "You tried to warn me, to get me out of this stupid stable, but I wouldn't listen. I thought it was another of your human tricks. This is all my fault." I winced at the 'tricks' comment, but I deserved it so I let it slide. I was too far-gone to attempt a coherent sentence now and the buzzing was growing stronger. I used one word to convey everything I felt and everything I wanted to apologise for, "Legolas," I slurred unsteadily. Osellë's expression softened and she leant forwards, perhaps she could sense as I could that I was dying and wanted to make up for her harsh words of before. I couldn't have cared less, what she said next was enough to let me die happy, literally. "He is yours now, Vénea. I don't think anything will prise him from you, not after this. Not that I wouldn't like to try, but…" she finished and let the sentence hang in mid-air. I managed to gasp out a final string of words, "Do you-do you really think so?" She nodded slowly, tears flowing freely from her now. "I can guarantee it," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. I closed my eyes in bliss. So she thought even in death Legolas would still love me. I smiled my final smile, "Thanks," I whispered with effort. The darkness swallowed me and I knew nothing more.

Osellë reached forward to place a kiss on the dead woman's forehead. "Only you, Vénea," She whispered through her tears, "Only you."

In his room Legolas jerked awake suddenly. Something terrible had just happened, he could feel it… Memory came back to him suddenly and he looked around frantically for Venea. She was gone. Even as he thought it, he knew that it was true in more ways then one. A sob built up in his throat, but it seemed blocked there. He sucked in raggedy, hiccupping breaths around this constriction and belatedly noticed the note next to his hand. Reaching down slowly he picked it up and read it. A smile graced his face and he put the note down, laid his head oh his hands and wept.

The note read 'Until we meet again…'

Twenty years later on and everything was finally ready. Legolas looked around him. Mirkwood was in blossom once more, trees rustled their farewells to their Prince and birds sang from every branch. The glory of his home had been restored and now it was time to leave the fate of the woods to men. Aragorn's reign was coming to an end, the King was old and Legolas had formed a pact with the rulers of the Undying Lands. Aragorn, Gimli, his two sons and Aswen and her family were to journey with him to the other side. Legolas could not wait to arrive. He knew who would be waiting there to see him, his mother, his father and her. The one he had been without for twenty years, but no longer. Today was the day, everyone was on board. With stars in his eyes shining brighter than any in the heavens Legolas cut the rope and the ship drifted off, away from the shore. "I'm coming, meleth-nin!" he called into the wind.

Patience has never been one of my virtues. I sat there on the shoreline of the Undying Lands to the West, surrounded by so many others waiting to welcome the new arrivals along with me. I grinned in anticipation, and squinted at the horizon, searching for any sign of sails. Seeing none, I sighed and was about to go and sit at the back of the group when that voice spoke to me again. "Not long now," it chimed, sounding amused, "not long now." I smiled slightly remembering what seemed to me to have happened only moments ago, but knowing how twisted time was here would probably have been about two hundred years ago knowing my luck. Contrary to what I had often thought before dying was absolutely no easier the second time round. When I had opened my eyes and seen the calm and tranquil walls of the Halls of Mandos I very nearly screamed. Gone were the ideas of death as my destiny and accepting my fate for the sake of everyone else. I had done the whole selfless thing, I said had said goodbye to everyone I had ever loved and now I was feeling a little badly done to and determined to take revenge on the only person I was sure would be here. That darned disembodied voice. "Hey, you!" I yelled, not caring about the astonished stares I received as my, admittedly piercing, voice broke the calm of these Halls. "I know you can hear me!" I continued, "So get yourself down here were I can…" I cut myself off just in time from saying 'see' you, because of course I couldn't and finished after only a slight delay, "hear you!" There was no response but then the logical side of me hadn't really been expecting one. At least not until I was a little more courteous. I gave a deep sigh and added reluctantly, almost in a mutter, "Please." There was a slight rush of air around me and a voice sounded next to my ear. "There, it didn't kill you to be a bit more polite, now did it?" said the voice. I raised an eyebrow, my murderous mood of before still lingering. "How would you know? Maybe it did." The voice gave what I perceived to be an un-amused harrumph. "I can see your sense of humour at the very least has not improved with time," it said sharply. Both eyebrows flew into my hairline at that comment. I hadn't realised spiritual beings were capable of sarcasm, but I continued undeterred. "No, well, my sense of humour wasn't really improved by discovering that I was actually supposed to have been dead. That's the kind of thing that can really upset a person. Now, I don't suppose it's possible that you forgot to fill me in on that SMALL FACT before you sent me back to somewhere I was NEVER SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN!" There was silence for a time as I collected myself and looked up slightly, the voice didn't have to say anything, I had already realised that my words of before had been unduly harsh. "Sorry," I apologised shortly, "It was not my place. I am grateful for what you did." There was still no reply and I was starting to fear that the Keeper of the Halls had abandoned me when I heard what sounded like a sob. I started in surprise. Was the voice actually crying? I paused a moment to consider it. Could a voice cry? I supposed that it could make the right noises, but to feel emotion? Was a voice capable of that? I thought emotion was all to do with the glands…I shook my head slightly, dragging myself out of those kind of thoughts. Thoughts like that could drive a girl mad. Regardless of the biology of the voice it seemed to be crying and that should be my foremost concern. I felt a sudden and horrible sense of guilt. "Look," I began hopelessly, "there's no real reason to fret. It was wrong of me to shout, I was just a little frustrated, that's all." There was another half-choked sob and the voice began again. "It's not that!" it snapped, "I'm used to people yelling, I hear it all the time, 'What do you mean, I'm dead?' and 'Are you kidding? I never thought the afterlife was some bleached hall! Where's all the beer?' though that is mainly from Dwarves. It's just that once I've moved people on they don't tend to come back. " I gave a kind of strangled half laugh. " Yeah, I tend to be annoying like that. But," I went on, a strange sense of regret forcing me to continue, "I never meant to really upset you. It was just that my last moments on Middle-Earth were rather emotional and that stress transferred straight from life to death and you're the only person here I know, so…" I trailed off and the voice gave a slightly more hopeful sniff. "So, I suppose it wasn't really my fault after all?" the voice asked, sounding even more hopeful. "No… not really…" I admitted slowly. The sniffing stopped altogether. "Excellent," came the voice. "So now we can finally get down to the business of moving you on?" I gave a horrified gasp. "Whoa, now," I protested in terror, "That's assuming a little too much isn't it?" The voice gave a slight sigh. "Don't worry," it amended, "I'm not asking you to anywhere you'll be without Legolas and your sons. If my timing is correct, they should be along shortly." My eyes became huge and I held up a hand immediately, "Stop, hold it right there! Let's go over this slowly… They can't die! I won't let them, okay? If this is all some stupid plot of theirs to see me again, you put a stop to it right now! Or better yet, send me back again. They will not get away with that!" The voice sounded as amused as a disembodied voice can sound, as it said, "I think not. Let's just send you on to the Undying Lands and see what happens when they get there shall we?" The tirade that had been about to burst from my lips fell short. "The Undying Lands?" I questioned incredulously. "Truly?" There was no reply from the voice but as I was whipped away, I caught a glimpse of trees and a voice drifted back to me with a sigh, "Always so impatient Vénea! They've been waiting to see you for twenty years."

I smiled slightly as I remembered. Ah, yes, twenty years had passed on Middle-Earth and now with the closing of the twentieth came my love on the boat to the Undying Lands. I grinned widely, I could only hope he was bringing Aswen, my sons, Aragorn and Gimli with him. It would be interesting to see what trouble we could stir up on these Western shores! And for the first time I caught a glimpse of white, a speck on the ocean, far, far away and a distant call reached my ears, "I'm coming, meleth-nin!" And so he was.

In Meth

(The End)

I love you, like the sand loves the sea

I need you, like a bird needs the sky

I'll hold you close, I'll let you go free

A love like ours should never die

But when we reach the end of time

And the night is closing in

I won't let you go again, my love

And death will never win

I Won't Let You Go Again – Vénea