Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Unanswered prayers	By : Nuredhel Category: -Multi-Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, it belongs to Tolkien, and i do not earn any money from this work of fiction, it is solely written for entertainment and not for profit at all.I do not own Lord of the Rings, it belongs to Tolkien,

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Now, this chapter is where things really start going downhill, this is where Vanima starts to understand that she has a task ahead of her, that it perhaps wasn’t just a coincidence that Thranduil saved her from that mad elf. The question is if she is strong enough to cope with what’s to come? Ah, and enter Galadriel by the way. When Thranduil returns home he will no longer be who he was, yes, post-traumatic stress disorder is a bitch! This chapter is perhaps a bit darker than those before, maybe not yet a Mature/Adult but you are warned. I thought that the lyrics for the song 10^th man down by nightwish fitted this chapter, it is about war and so is this chapter. War can change a person, transform you and make you do things you otherwise never would even have thought off. As usuall, don’t own the characters except my own nor the lyrics here at the start of the chapter.
Chapter five: Swords, death and redemption
Cut me free, Bleed with me, Oh no

One by one, We will fall, down down

Pull the plug, End the pain, Run'n fight for life

Hold on tight, this ain't my fight

Deliver me from this war

It's not for me it's because of you

Devil's instant my eternity

Obey to kill to save yourself

Cut me free ...
Nightwish: Tenth man down

The air was chill and snow covered the ground everywhere, it was dark and cold every night and everybody tried to stay indoors. The winter had come early that year and Vanima had felt it in her very bones rather early. The storages had been filled to the rim and so she wasn’t that worried about their supplies but she had this creeping feeling of doubt all the time. There were so much to do even with most of the ellyn being away to fight and she had fewer to order around. Yet she did whatever she could to keep everybody’s spirit up, she arranged feasts and made sure that everybody had food and shelter and were as safe as they could be. She worked in the healing ward whenever she could and she almost never sat down to rest. When she did she had time to think and then it all came back to her, the fear and the sorrow and her confusion. Her heart was in turmoil and she had no idea of what she was to do.
The war had already lasted for several years and she knew that they had suffered losses, Thranduil had sent her letters and they didn’t really tell her that much, she knew that he was trying to shield her from the truth. She missed him, it was peculiar but she did. He had been such a solid rock to lean upon and without him her grief became so much stronger than before. She had been unable to sleep for weeks after he left and she had made a habit of sleeping with his pillow in her arms. It had smelled of him, now the scent was long gone but it still gave her some comfort and she managed to keep up appearances and stay strong for the people. She was everywhere, leading them, giving hope and comfort and many regarded her as something akin to a goddess. They never saw her tears and her fear, at night she often wake up barely being able to breathe, feeling trapped in the darkness once more.
Three years had gone, and she had managed to keep it all together, it was a miracle but her fiery temper served her well now. Her strength was being honed and adjusted and she was a person of power and had started to wield that power no less viciously than she would a sword. When the merchants tried to trick her or ask for too much she would quickly put them in their place and she managed to keep their borders safe too. It took its toll on her, she was getting skinny and her skin pale. But her energy remained high and she could be both friendly and sweet and rather nasty if she needed to be. Being a leader is often synonymous with being alone and she did indeed feel alone. She was surrounded by others, servants and staff and some who claimed to be her friends but inside of her mind she was standing on a wide plain with nothing but cold emptiness surrounding her. Every day she was standing by the gates, waiting for messengers, fearing what they might bring her that day. It made her feel almost numb inside, she worked like a maniac to prevent herself from thinking too much.
There came visitors from the other realms every now and then, one day in late spring her eldest sister came to stay there for a while. Nobody knew why because they had never been close and Vanima soon understood that Serielle was there just to see how she was doing, to spy. Vanima felt a strong sensation of defiance, of anger. They had no business doubting her abilities and she didn’t feel any better knowing that her sister was gloating like mad. She had four children and she often gave Vanima small seemingly innocent remarks which cut like a blade. To bring the fact that Vanima hadn’t had any elflings yet forth almost every day was just to spite her, to make her doubt herself. Serielle had always had a wicked streak to her and Vanima would have loved to have her thrown out of the realm but she couldn’t. After all, this darn elleth was her own sister and it would have looked far from good.
On the other hand she had faithful supporters in the silvan and her two chamber maidens were jewels who did everything within their power to help her. She had grown very fond of them and knew that they gave her strength to hang in there and continue working. When the people saw her walking around with her chin held high and fire in her eyes they knew that their realm would remain safe, that nothing bad would happen to those left behind there. Vanima was more than relieved when she saw her sister leaving again in the autumn that year, she had felt like wringing her neck more than once and she knew she wasn’t the only one who had felt that way. The letters from Thranduil were polite and friendly and she tried to answer them as best as she could. She told him of everything that happened there, of the elflings that had been born, of the harvest and the things they did just to pass time. She tried to keep the tone of her letters light and joyous, to give him hope. She did on the other hand read something very different between the lines of his letters, there was a darkness there, a lack of the liveliness that usually was so typical for him. He told very little of the battles fought or the everyday life in a war camp. Instead he would write poems or stories of things he had seen or heard as a child, or stories that he heard from others. Her heart did bleed for him, some of his letters were so helpless, so devoid of emotion.
She had been taking care of Greenwood for five years when they suddenly received visitors from Lothlorien, some troops were to be replaced and they passed by Greenwood, the wife of Celeborn, Galadriel as she was called came with them and Vanima knew that she was renowned for her visions and strength. She had heard very little of this elleth but knew that many saw her as very powerful and possibly a bit dangerous. There was still a lot of suspicion between the Noldor and the Sindar and Oropher had preferred having as little to do with them as possible. Vanima did not really know what to think of this unexpected visit, she saw that Galadriel was very beautiful and she appeared to be very ethereal and mild, like a soft summer breeze. She made sure that the lady was well tended to by their best servants and she did not for even a minute believe that Galadriel had come there just to see the Greenwood with her own eyes. There was something behind this and the thought of Galadriel’s famous visions made her skin crawl. Had the lady seen something? Something so important she had to speak of it eye to eye instead of in a letter?
Vanima didn’t get the answer before she one evening met Galadriel in the garden, the tall blond elleth was standing there looking at the stars and her eyes held an ageless sorrow Vanima just found strangely fascinating. What did this lady know?
Galadriel tilted her head as she saw Vanima, bowed graciously. “Princess, I hope I haven’t disturbed you?”
Vanima shook her head, stared at the stars too. They were so very clear that night and Galadriel sighed. “It is so beautiful, so unspoiled. Such a contrast to the things going on down here.”
Vanima could just nod. “That is true, I just hope for the safe return of as many as possible.”
Galadriel looked down, her face strangely stiff. “Vanima, I have come here because I have seen things, things which I am unable to understand but they worry me a great deal. They say that the future isn’t set, that we can change it but I am not so sure. “
Vanima felt a cold claw clenching around her heart but she stood proud, stood tall. “What did you see my lady?”
Galadriel smiled, there was a bit of admiration in her eyes, and a timeless grief of which Vanima had never seen the likes, for someone who had seen the light of Valinor the world had to be very dark now indeed. “You are so very brave Vanima, I have never met an elleth quite like you. You have something rather special, a will stronger than mithril and more flaming than dragon flames. It will serve you well.”
Vanima just waited, her heart beating in a wild rhythm. Galadriel sighed. “I have seen the banner of this house fallen onto the ground, trampled and bloody, torn by blades and ripped by boots. I have seen the green forest whither Vanima, corrupted by a terrible unnatural contamination, slowly dying in disgusting sickness. I have seen a second darkness descend upon us but I know not why or when this is to happen. All I am sure of is that the victory won’t be a complete one, even if they do win. I cannot see why because something is standing in the way of my visions but of one thing I am sure Vanima.”
Galadriel turned around and there was some sort of fear in her face, a naked emotion nobody could have faked. Her eyes were shining and even though she tried to smile the smile never reached her gaze. Vanima felt a weird calm, why she had no idea. Whatever her fate was, she would face it with courage.
“Vanima, I see much pain in your future, much grief. But I beg this of you, don’t hesitate! When the time comes you will know what I speak of, use that strong spirit of yours, heal those in need of it and know this, no sacrifice is too large. The future may take two paths from now on, chose the wrong one and in the end we will all fail.”
Vanima swallowed hard. “I do not know of what it is that you speak?”
Galadriel closed her eyes, her hands were trembling. “It caused me great grief when I saw this but I can tell you this much. In your greatest joy the ending will maybe come, and yet you cannot avoid this because if you do much will be lost and in the end maybe all of us.”
Vanima swallowed hard. “I think I know what it is that you mean. My father once told me a tale of a king who lost his kingdom because his horse lost a shoe. Small things may affect the greater ones.”
Galadriel smiled, a genuine smile. “Yes, one’s choices or rather their consequences are spreading through the universe like waves in water. Throw a small pebble into a pond and see how the rings spread, toss another one in and see it destroy that perfect pattern, become a new one that is changing it all. You are like one of those rocks Vanima. To you there is no real choice, the weaver has already treaded the weave and the road you must tread will appear to you when the time is right.”
Vanima sighed. “What I do will be important for the future right?”
Galadriel nodded slowly. “Yes, somehow your choices will be the thing which may tip the scales to our favor sometime in the future.”
Vanima sighed deeply. “And yet I wish I knew more.”
Galadriel grinned, touched her shoulder gently. “I know where it will start, if your husband returns to you he will no longer be who he was, remember this. If you find it in your heart to forget this and look beyond it all you are on the right track.”
Vanima felt frightened again. “Not the same? How?”
Galadriel closed her eyes, the sorrow returned to her elegant features. “I have seen what war and death do to the fêa of us Eldar Vanima, I have seen bloodshed, meaningless death brought by sheer madness, I have witnessed destruction and despair and pure insanity and I know this to the very core of my being, you cannot escape it without serious wounds to your soul.”
Galadriel turned towards Vanima, touched her chin gently and stared into her eyes. “If your husband survives this war then you must make sure that he becomes whole again, that he remains strong, that the house remains strong. I know you can do this.”
Vanima swallowed hard and nodded and Galadriel gave her a warm smile. “That is all I can ask for princess, some day in the future the house of Oropher will have an important role to play.”
Vanima shuddered, she had a feeling of doom but she shrugged it off and Galadriel smiled again. “And now, the servants have been bragging endlessly of the herbal gardens here, I would love to see it for myself, if you have the time to be my guide?”
Vanima bowed her head gracefully. “Of course my lady, just follow me.”
The darkness was split by thousand torches, the camp looked like a reflection of the starry skies above but the skies didn’t stink of mud and blood and general dirt and decay. The mud underneath their feet was thick and sticky, several days of heavy rain had transformed the barren dusty lands into a mud flat and it was not exactly adding anything positive to the general atmosphere of depression and doubt. They had fought, and fought, and the fighting never seemed to stop and yet they got nowhere. It was as if the enemy had endless resources at his hands, the number of orcs and monsters never seemed to decrease and it drained the very will out of the men. The provisions were running low and only the rock hard determination of their leaders held the armies together now. The generals were arguing rather hard every day, the choice of strategy was all important and nobody seemed to be able to agree on what would be the best method to break the forces of Mordor. Thranduil sat in his tent and he felt weary, tired to the very bone. There was no real rest there, no sun it seemed and no colors. It was just grey and black with some beige tones in between like splotches on a well-used napkin. It was depressing and even worse, it drained the very life out of you after a while.
He looked at the chalice of wine that stood on a small table next to his chair, the good stuff was gone years ago, the thing the servants served now tasted a lot like horsepiss and he wasn’t too sure that it wasn’t just that. At least he got wine, the soldiers weren’t so lucky. He had a place to sleep that weren’t to dank and dark and when he got wounded he would be among the first to be treated by the healers. He caught a whiff of the scent of smoke and cringed, closed his eyes with a moan. He had hoped and prayed that he soon would grow insensitive to the death and agony but he never did. The smell of the funeral pyres were overwhelming when you knew what it was that was burning. They had buried their dead at the beginning of the campaign, then there were no more good places to dig and too many died, they resorted to burning the corpses and Thranduil had almost puked the first time he saw a funeral pyre with elven bodies on it. Orcs were one thing, burning their own warriors something altogether different, and he could no longer believe what they had become in their desperation and hatred and fear.
He wasn’t the same ellon he was when he left Greenwood behind, that was the one thing of which he was absolutely certain. He had not been fighting at first, his father forbade it and he had to stay behind, to watch from a safe distance. It made him feel like a trapped animal, like he was betraying them all. He saw the healers work on bodies so torn and ruined the very sight almost choked his fêa and there he was, doing nothing while the brave soldiers shed their blood and lost their very lives every day.
He had rebelled, there was no other way. If he were to die then die he would, and he would prefer to be remembered as someone who did his duty. He had put on his armor and a young squire who had followed a now dead knight from Gil-galad’s army had agreed to become his servant. Thranduil had been trained, he had seen the war and thought he knew what he was getting himself into but how wrong he was. The first battle he was in had scared the living daylights out of him, suddenly he was right in the middle of it, he heard roaring from orcs, screams and orders being shouted. Arrows shot by him and the stench of blood and death hang in the air like a thick sticky disgusting mist. The fear made him shiver like a leaf in the wind and he barely managed to protect himself from the first attacks. Then the adrenaline and terror pushed him to a threshold and beyond it and a strange sort of calm grasped him. He felt cold, as if all his emotions were gone. He remembered what he had learned and with the young ellon by his side he did manage to kill quite a lot of orcs that day. It became a frenzy, a fever. He was parrying and stabbing, swinging his sword screaming war cries and it felt as if he was flying, as if his fear gave him wings. He was hit by arrows and blades struck his armor but nothing slowed him down, it only made him fight with even greater fury than before.
When the day was over and that battle won he was among those who had killed most enemies and the warriors were impressed by him. He didn’t notice his wounds or his utterly exhausted body until he reached his tent and sat down to be strapped out of the heavy leather armor. He had been praised by the officers and veterans and he had felt proud, almost light-headed and giddy. He was alive, it was the most insane feeling ever, he had never felt more alive. When he sat down it all hit him at once, the things he had seen and yet not, the blood, the dying bodies, the awful growling of orcs and the knowledge that he might be dead in the next second. He started to shiver, then he felt cold and trembling and the squire brought him some wine, he emptied the chalice in a desperate gulp and asked for more, he needed to be drunk, could not live with what he had seen if he wasn’t able to numb his senses and his mind. When he was free from the armor he barely managed to eat some lembas and then he fell onto his hard narrow cot and shivered like a child.
There was no sleep for him that night, or in the nights to follow. He was deathly afraid every morning, not knowing whether or not he would see another sunset or if he would have to confess his sins to Mandos before the end of the day. The mood in the camp was one of desperation, the warriors were drinking and singing and just feeling so much more alive than usually. It was as if they were trying to show their defiance and spit into the eye of the grim reaper. Thranduil was fighting every day now, he was getting good at it, too good at it. When he fought he was in a trance where nothing mattered and all that there was was the need to stay alive just a little longer, to defend his life with all his might. He became well known for being fearless, for having so much luck. Many would follow him through the melê and Oropher often scolded him for taking too many risks but he wouldn’t listen. He only heard the dying screams of his brethren, saw the bloody lifeless faces and the staring eyes where the light and life was gone forever. Every night he cried for them, every night he would scream in his restless sleep, see it all over and over again. Antarar died in the second year of the campaign, skewered by an orc’s spear in a minor battle. Thranduil had tried to get him to the healers but it had been too late and his friend had died in his arms, spitting blood, moaning and begging for Thranduil to end his agony, calling out for his mother. It almost brought the young prince to madness and for several days he was very dangerous to go near, even for his own friends. He prayed that he would grow accustomed to it all, that he would be used to the death and pain but he didn’t. He got wounded and had to rest for days or even weeks and when he did he felt worse than ever. The letters from home was the only glimpse of hope he saw, he could sit there with Vanima’s letters, hold them and just imagine her hands holding them for a long time before he even opened them. To him they were a treasure, a reminder of a world which seemed more far and distant for every day that crept by. He would read them again and again and he kept them in a locked little box he guarded like it was gold and jewels.
He would think of her when he was alone, of her golden hair and sky blue eyes, of the warmth in her eyes and the softness in her smile. He would remember the first time they met and grin and the memory of her was what kept him sane for most of the time. She was light and hope and everything pure and beautiful in this world. It was for her he was fighting, it was for her he endured this living hell. He would join his father in the meetings and he would let his opinion be heard but he did notice that they didn’t pay that much attention to neither his father nor him. To the great leaders they were somehow of a lower rank, just forest elves and it made Thranduil feel rather angry and sad too. They were fighting just as hard as the others and suffered great losses and yet those edain and golodhrim dared to treat them as if they were inferior. The thought of Vanima often was what kept him in check, he couldn’t do anything rash that maybe would lead to him not returning to her. He had to see her again, be with her once more.
After five years he was the only one left of the old group of friends, he was hardened by war and it was visible. The lean willowy young prince had been transformed to a warrior, scarred and muscular, he had become cold and calculating, cynical and hard. There was very little joy left in him by now and only the terrible nightmares managed to crack his façade. There was no hiding from them, not any more. They were imprinted within his mind and in some of them he knew that he was on the way to becoming a monster just as bad as the orcs. They had come across some orcs on one occasion, they had captured a small troop of elves and men and they had tortured them in the most horrible ways imaginable. Thranduil had felt a terrible cold anger at the sight of the dead bodies, he had been a frightening sight in his rage and he had become so famous even the orcs knew who he was by now.
The orcs had mutilated the dead, some were half eaten and the orcs had raped all of them, some while they were alive but many also when they had been dead for a while and the rage and disgust he felt was just too much for him to contain. They had captured some of the orcs alive and he had ordered that they were to be impaled on spears and lit on fire. They had poured oil over the orcs and he had stood there with cold eyes, listened to their desperate screams of pain. Oropher had become worried when he heard of this, the enemy could hit you in more ways than just physically and he feared for his son’s sanity. When Thranduil was fighting he became like a machine, nothing could stand in his way. He was just a perfect fighter but Oropher feared that the price he would have to pay for this perfection would be his soul. But the war raged on, it was a standstill, they didn’t get any further nor were they driven back.
The longing for home became too great and Thranduil did something which he never thought that he ever would, something he regretted terribly and which made him feel ashamed of himself and disgusted by his own lack of strength. The war did things with people, and the ecstasy of being alive after a battle did also affect the libido, it was a well-known fact among the soldiers. Many sought comfort in the arms of their comrades, even if they never usually would consider being with another male. But in a storm any port would do and there were also quite a lot of women following the army of the humans and one night he came across one of them outside of the healers tent. She probably helped out there and she was rather young and pretty and he felt a desperate need for comfort, for physical contact. He would never feel tempted by the body of another male, he had always favored females and she was very shapely and cute. And not at all unwilling, she saw an opportunity when she found one and she followed him to his tent that evening. It had been wild, insane. He had forgot everything for the moment, for the sensation of skin against his own, the sweet scent of a female and the ecstasy roaring through his veins. He did fuck that girl several times that night and when the morning came she was barely able to walk but very pleased with the five gold coins he gave her and he felt physically well but otherwise like crap. He did take a bath, which was almost unheard of since water was something they couldn’t afford to waste in this dry barren land, and no matter how much he was scrubbing himself he couldn’t help but feeling as though her scent and juices still clung to his skin. He had betrayed Vanima and every excuse he tried to come up with in his mind just fell dead to the ground. He had cheated on her, he was such a weak and idiotic fool.
He wanted to write to her, confess his sin and beg for forgiveness but he never found the words, he didn’t want to cause her distress and so he waited and the longer he waited the harder it got. The fighting still went on, every day could be his last and this he knew too darn well but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it, that he had betrayed her trust like this. The guilt stuck to him like glue and he slowly got used to it, it just drowned among the other feelings boiling within his tormented mind. Grief, fear, anger, hatred, depression, it became a porridge of darkness festering within his own soul and his temper which had been bad before became so much worse. Even Oropher was reluctant to talk to him when he had his darkest moments. In battle he would go berserk and kill everything that got within reach of his blade and only Oropher saw the fear in him, mind numbing and paralyzing.
But the king never managed to reach his son, the trauma of war had sunk its deadly claws deep into Thranduil’s mind and from that there was no escape.
He betrayed himself again, the temptation got too strong and he brought another woman with him to his tent and cot, and it felt so wonderful , like he was more alive than before, and for a few fleeting moments less lonely, less lost. He felt like a wraith at times, like the very fêa in him had withered into something dark and dead but when he took a female he was able to feel again, if only for that moment. But he needed more, and more and soon everybody knew that the prince had developed quite an appetite for females and he took adeneth and ellith alike, were they willing then he would fuck them and sometimes he would have more than one during the night. Oropher complained, he was ruining his reputation and the king knew that this sort of behavior would have consequences later on, it would become imprinted within his mind and influence how he was to behave later in life but Thranduil didn’t listen. And soon the females started to avoid him, he was becoming increasingly rough with them and he was becoming one they almost feared. He forgot his strength when he was caught by his own burning passion and fear and he knew deep within that it all was an attempt to flee from his real feelings, to hide them and bury them underneath a layer of lust and pleasure.
The war raged on for several years still and they were making slow progress, then it was decided that they were to march upon the very gates to Mordor at the Dagorlad and the plans were laid and the attack prepared. Thranduil felt a terrible doubt that night, he had never been that afraid before and he could have sworn that he heard the voices of his fallen comrades calling out to him, bidding him join them. He was so frightened he was shivering when they marched to battle that morning, he was convinced that this day was to be his last. He had dreamed of their banner being thrown to the ground that night, had seen the silver beech covered in blood and mud and he had woken up with a start, covered with sweat. He had so much he would have wanted to say and do before he stood before the throne of the doomsman but now it was probably too late. He hadn’t even written to her during the last months and he was thankful that the drizzling rain hid his tears as he marched towards a certain death. They were to attack in an orderly fashion, by Gil-galad and Elendil’s orders but Oropher was tired of waiting, tired of being seen as just a pawn, being hounded around as if he was somebody of no importance, tired of seeing his men being regarded as inferior to the noldorin warriors. Oropher lead the Silvan into a full out attack too early, and Thranduil knew then that the dream had been true. The house of Oropher would fall that day, he saw his father being struck by a black arrow, saw him go down and saw the light disappear from his eyes. He heard his own scream in pain, in denial. He smelled the warm blood pouring out of his father’s body and within that moment his own mind got lost. He wanted to die, he wanted to join his father in death, to escape this nightmare, this madness. He had sinned and he would have to pay for that but he didn’t care, he wanted to be gone from this world. He attacked the orcs like a madman, not caring if he got wounded, not caring if this was the end of all things. He fought until an orc managed to hit him across the head with a hammer and he stumbled and fell onto his knees, silently awaiting that last pain.
Then there was a flash of light and someone stood in front of him, shielding him from the orc, but he saw the orc through the ellon. Thranduil knew he had gone utterly insane, that he had lost it completely. There was no doubt about it. The orc backed off and the ellon turned his head, stared at Thranduil with sad eyes. “You must live Thran, live for her. Live for our future, the beech may be brought down but from its roots new sprouts will grow, go now, live!”
Thranduil stared with eyes wide with fear and a mouth wide open, it was Teren and he heard himself making a strange almost mewling sound before he got on his feet again and staggered back between the other warriors. He didn’t know how he managed to get back to the safety of the camp, how he survived when so many others didn’t. The attack was a catastrophe and he was brought to the healers where he collapsed totally and lay shivering and screaming in sorrow as they tended to his wounds. And after that everything changed and he knew that nothing ever would be the same again.
Vanima had gone to bed very late, she was so tired and she had forced herself to get some food and take a bath before she called it a day. They had been out in the woods that day gathering herbs and it had been very hard work indeed. Then she had helped the healers sorting everything out and washing the roots and leaves thoroughly, her hands felt like prunes afterwards. There was so much to do and she was grateful for it in some ways, she didn’t have time to think about the visions and Galadriels words. The lady had returned home after a few weeks and Vanima found that she somehow in fact had missed her during the two years that had passed since her visit, Galadriel had a sort of silent strength to her, a dignity and elegance Vanima feared that she herself lacked completely.
She had climbed into the bed, pulled the covers over her slowly and pulled his pillow into her embrace as she always did. She had almost fallen asleep when she felt a sudden chill, the room had become very cold and she sat up and rubbed her eyes, her own breath was visible as white fog and she felt a strange fear. Suddenly she saw a weak light in front of the bed and it shaped itself into the form of an elf. And then she recognized him and her mind stalled, she was unable to think, unable to feel, she just stared. Teren moved closer to her, she saw the room through him and the cold was intense but not as intense as the love and sadness in his eyes. He bowed his head. “My love, I am leaving now, I cannot ignore the calling of Mandos anymore. But I have done what I was supposed to, I have saved him my dear, he will return to you and the beech will grow strong once more.”
Vanima just squeaked, she didn’t manage to move a limb. He continued. “We were just a dream Vanima, a fantasy. I release you from the bond now, open your heart once more. One day we will meet again, until then remember me fondly but do not let the thing that was starting to grow between us kill your future.”
Vanima reached out towards him but there was nothing there, just cold air. He smiled, a sad smile. “See, within this lays the future.”
She suddenly saw a meadow in the woods, it was sunlight and warm and an elfling was running across the grass, a boy maybe four years old. He was grinning like mad and had beautiful blue eyes and light blond hair and he had a toy bow in his hand. Vanima saw someone move behind him and it was Thranduil, he stared at the child with fatherly love and pride and bent down to help the lad string the tiny bow. Then she saw a green leaf, just unfolded from the branch of a beech. The vision faded but Vanima knew what it meant, she knew what Galadriel had said to her too, it made sense now. Teren reappeared but just for a few seconds. “Until we meet once more Vanima, live well, be happy.”
She whimpered and he was gone, she fell back into the bed and knew what her ultimate fate was. But she was not the one to back away from anything and she could only thank Teren for having made things clear to her. She sighed and closed her eyes. He would return to her, but not as the same ellon he had been before. She would be ready, she was strong, she would persevere and bring him back.
Two months later a messenger rode into the courtyard on a foaming horse, the message had used weeks to reach Greenwood, the fighting had reached a whole new level and everybody knew that this was it. Within the next months the war would be over, one way or the other. Vanima stood by the gates as the messenger stopped his horse, she already knew what he was about to say, her eyes were wide and black and he kneeled before her, bowed his head. “My queen”
Vanima felt her legs give in, felt how her head felt so strange and empty and light, A court lady grasped her by the elbow, stopped her from toppling over. She could only croak. ”How, when?”
The messenger took a deep breath. “Two months ago, the king took an arrow and fell, it was at least quick, it happened two months ago, at the Dagorlad.”
Vanima closed her eyes, the night Teren had appeared for her. She nodded and let the messenger get up. She took the papers and recognized Thranduil’s handwriting on them, as in a dream she turned around and walked into the palace once more. She was so pale she looked ghostlike and she walked towards the main hall, calling out to the servants to gather the counsellors. Before long they were all gathered and she saw realization dawning within their eyes, they all just stared. She hawked, her throat felt constricted somehow but she held her chin up high, and her eyes were blazing with both sorrow and a sort of pride. She did indeed look like a true queen there and then. “My lords, I have received a message now this morning. I am sorry to inform you that our King, our beloved Oropher has fallen, it was two months ago. Thranduil is now our liege and lord.”
There was a weird eerie silence, then they all got up as one and fell to their knees in an age old gesture of respect. “The king is dead, long live the king.”
The words floated through the air and Vanima looked down, shocked to find tears rolling down her cheeks. The counsellors looked up and saw her grief and her strength and the eldest of them who had been the closest to Oropher raised his voice. “Today we have a queen of Greenwood, long live the queen, blessed be our queen.”
They repeated the words and she fell into a chair, sobbing and gasping as the true meaning of this sank in. She sat there until one of the counsellors brought her a glass of wine, he was old and very wise and although he rarely agreed with her he did respect her and she respected him back for his arguments were always sound and wise even when she found them to be too conservative and old fashioned. “Things will change for you from now on my lady. You are now a queen and there are new rules by which you must live.”
She stared at him, incredulously. “What? What do you mean?”
Gherion smiled, a sad but gentle smile, like the one you would use to calm down a frightened child. “You were a princess, and as such you could do pretty much as you pleased. But now you are a queen and as such there are things you no longer can do.”
She drank greedily of the wine. “Such as?”
Gherion poured her some more wine. “Being alone with an ellon, even if it is one of the guards. There must be no stains on your reputation from now on, nothing which can make anyone doubt your honorability and right to rule. I know that you and Harathan have grown rather close during the last year but from now on you can only speak with him whenever the rest of us counsellors are present or you have your ladies with you.”
Vanima just stared at him. “Are you serious?! He is a counsellor and yes he is a good friend but thinking that way is just…absurd. “
Gherion nodded with a sad glimpse within his eyes. “Yes, it is and we all know that but like I said, there can be no doubt. Others may use any mistake you do to their benefit and to your ruin, remember this. So from this day forth you can never be alone unless you are in your own chambers and then there will be two guards outside of the doors. Those are the rules my lady. You cannot run around wearing workers clothes and you can’t leave the palace again until the king has safely returned. If something were to happen to you this realm would be leaderless.”
She let her head fall forward into her hands. “Oh gods!”
Gherion sighed and took her hand, very gently. “My lady, you have already been our queen for several years now, and you have done an amazing job. You have given us hope and light and joy and we cannot thank you enough for this. Fear not, nobody would ever hurt you but the political landscape of our realms will be changed, many have fallen and many of those were in power. We have to protect you.”
She sobbed and bit her lower lip. “I know, but it is so terribly hard to fathom.”
He patted her on her hand and his smile was filled with a sort of tender sadness. “You are still so young my lady, alas that such burdens has to be carried by such tender shoulders. But know that we all will help you carry this burden and we will never fail you.”
She squeezed his hand back. “I know, thank you, thank you so much”
That day the news spread through the realm and soon laments were being sung and many gathered to mourn their beloved king. Vanima had a terrible lump in her throat, Thranduil hadn’t written to her in months, and the last letters had been so cold, so business like. There had been no hints of emotion within them and she feared that he had forgotten her, that the love he had proclaimed when he left was just a dying ember extinguished as soon as it was brought to life. She suddenly feared his return, feared to see that the soft light in his eyes had vanished and been replaced by indifference and cold.
The court was transformed as well, the ladies suddenly treated her in a different way, where she had been a close friend, one of them, she now had become something else, something they had to address in certain ways and if Vanima had felt lonely before it was nothing compared with what she now felt. Everybody kept their distance as if she was carrying some deadly disease and she wept herself to sleep every night. She would pound her fist against her pillow and curse Oropher for being killed and then she would praise the Valar for having spared her husband and then curse them too for making her a queen. She would pray every night, pray for his safe return, pray for an ending to the war but she remembered Galadriels words, even when it would seem to be over it wouldn’t be. Evil would prevail somehow.
The war came to its end, Sauron was felled when Isildur cut his fingers off and claimed the one ring and the dark lord’s forces crumbled and fled and were massacred without leaders to follow. But the victory came at a terrible price. Greenwood had lost two thirds of their warriors and even though they had been allowed to fight only as archers from the back lines for the rest of the war Thranduil seriously doubted that they ever would manage to get over the loss of so many brave ellyn. His grief was burning like the bowels of mount Orodruin and his anger was just as red hot. Oropher had maybe been soft enough to bow for the will of the others but Thranduil was not. Never again would his people bow to anyone and he took command of his troops and didn’t let any other give them orders. Gil-Galad and Elendil had fallen and when Elrond the herald and Erestor came to offer their condolences they didn’t see the somewhat immature willowy young prince who had followed his father into battle. They came face to face with a formidable king, with a creature forged by war and blood, a force of nature as adamant as the bones of the very earth itself. Everything soft or meek within Thranduil had been replaced until he resembled the blades he carried, sharp lethal and elegant and just as cold. They knew his reputation and suddenly they realized that this was one elf who would have a great impact upon the future, someone with whom they could not afford to become enemies. His words to them were harsh, spoke of anger and they knew why. The noldor had treated the forest elves as if they were expendable and he knew this. If there were to be peace and good relationships between the realms they would have to be very careful not to step to close to this new king. Getting him as an enemy would be very unwise indeed, his strength was great and he had proved to be as sly and cunning as a snake if he had to be. They had underestimated Oropher and now they did see that his son probably was twice as mad and ten times stronger.
Isildur refused to destroy the one ring and it got lost at the battle of Gladden fields when the fallen kings son tried to escape by swimming across the river and was betrayed by the evil piece of jewelry. There were lots of orcs left to kill and much to do so it wasn’t before long after the end of the war that the terribly decimated Greenwood troops could return to their home. Thranduil was grim now, he never smiled, never laughed and there was such a chill in his eyes as if the whole of helcaraxe had settled within his gaze. He was intimidating, even his own soldiers feared him, they had seen what happened to him when the battle fever overtook him and they knew too darn well that this state of mind burned you out. To one who had been caught by that terrible joy too many times everyday life would seem empty, dull, like a slow death. How many had not gone insane after having returned from battle? How many had not faded away, just laid there allowing their faêr to release its hold of the hroa and go to Mandos? Thranduil was too strong for that to happen, the anger and sorrow was burning too fiercely in him, instead he could become something so much worse than a fading wreck. He could very well become an elf with a soul more akin to that of an orc, a soul addicted to fighting and killing and darkness. They all feared this and their hope lay in the queen. Her light could perhaps save him, they could only pray that it would be enough.
The journey back home was no march in triumph, no glorious event filled with cheer and excitement. It was a slow walk in sorrow and loss and nobody laughed or sang. They had left like an army of ghosts and as an army of ghost they were to return. Two out of three ellyn had fallen, it would take centuries before they had regained their former population if they ever did.
Thranduil rode in front of the slow procession, his head bowed as if in shame and he felt a terrible burden of guilt and sorrow. How was he to tell them all that their fathers, their sons and brothers had fallen? How was he to stand there, alive and well when so many had died? How was he ever to face his Vanima again knowing he had done what he had?
She was the very light itself, the one true good thing in the world and what was he if not some soiled corrupted wicked thing infested with darkness and evil? He was not worthy of her, the forest elves they met on the way told him how brave she was, how she had taken care of everything, how she had been leading them through seven long years and the realm had thrived under her hand and rule.
He had no idea of how to greet her, of what to expect. He remembered her so well, even her scent but he didn’t dare to hope that she would feel happy when she saw him once more. He felt responsible for the deaths, for the agony of those who had lost their beloved ones and he felt as though he ought to be punished somehow, that his own pain was insufficient in redeeming his soul. He grieved for his father, still he saw that grave, dug into the boggy marshland, saw the water soaked earth being tossed over his father’s body. He could still smell the marsh, freshly turned earth, the sickening sweet stench of decaying flesh. Elven bodies did rot very fast compared with those of humans and it hadn’t taken long before his father’s body started to stink. They could not bring him with them home, there were no way to embalm a corpse there and he could not stand the thought of his father being burned like carrion. So a grave had been made even if it was in a goddamn bog. He had sat there for hours, crying his eyes out, remembering all those happy moments and over and over again he cursed the Valar for having taken his father and not him. How could he ever hope to become anywhere near what his father had been to their people? He didn’t have Orophers wisdom and skills, not his patience and ability to see through the façade many put up to hide their true self. He would have to trust his counsellors and his wife. She knew the way to rule better than he did now, and the thought was almost humbling, it made him bow his head again in even more shame.
He would have to swallow all his pride and accept that she probably knew more about this than he did and he spent the last night before they reached the palace in a state of controlled panic. What would she say?? What would she do? Did she look the same way as she had? A thought crossed his mind and it was terrifying, seven years was a very long time, what if…? No, she would not, she had promised to wait for him or had she? But what if she had met someone, someone more worthy of her than he? Their marriage hadn’t been consummated, it wasn’t legally binding. She could leave him if she wanted to and all of a sudden he feared this more than anything else. She had been his hope, his light during those awful terrible years. When he lay there on his cot, seeing the faces of all the friends he had lost he thought of her and it chased the darkness away, left him with hope. He could not afford to lose her but how was he to prevent that? He knew what he had become, he wasn’t the same ellon as he had been when he left. He carried such a horrible burden with him and how was he to avoid it from staining her pure soul. He lay there tossing around in mental agony long before he fell asleep. He dreamt of a forest then, an old and dark forest, gloomy and filled with shadows and whispering voices, reeking of decay. It was a place of death instead of growth. He wandered about, lost within this dark maze of dying trees where no sunlight hit the slimy moss. Then he came across a fallen beech, broken by a storm. It was rotting away but a piece of its root was still planted firmly in the ground and a small branch stretched out from it, reaching for sunlight and life. On the branch a single leaf grew and he felt a sudden peace while looking at it. It will be ok, everything will be fine. His inner voice was soft, young. Perhaps a last reminder of the lad he once had been, innocent and free of sorrow. Now sorrow was all that he was and he sighed as he drifted into deeper sleep.
The next day they broke camp and he was looking forward to seeing the palace once more, the Emyn Duir was beautiful and the scent of the forest was so welcoming and well known. It chased away the memory of the terrible stench of Mordor, of the dry air, the baking heat and the ever present dust that had been everywhere, in the food, the clothes the water. It felt as though he was returning to more than his home but to who he really was and the trees were welcoming them with joy but also with sadness. He hesitated as they got closer to the gates and his horse sensed its rider’s nervousness and tossed its head, tried to step sideways. He calmed it down with a firm hand and stared ahead. The scouts had long known that the army was approaching and everybody had showed up to greet them. Many already knew that their beloved ones never would return and laments and cries of sorrow filled the air together with shouts of joy and relief. It was a racket like none other and he blocked it out, his eyes desperately searching for that one person, that one soul that could truly redeem him, save him from the darkness that still was snapping at his heels. Then he saw her, she stood by the gate, dressed in a dark purple dress that made her pale skin and golden locks even more striking than before and he whimpered like a puppy that’s been kicked and felt his heart jump in his chest. She saw him too, her face lit up with a mixture of hope and shock and he knew why. He didn’t even look the same as before. He had left as a youth, but he returned as a war hardened warrior and he was afraid that she would find him repulsive now. That he would frighten her. He stopped his horse, slid out of the saddle and took those last steps towards her, gods she was so thin, so pale. Her eyes were dark and he saw tears running down her cheeks. He slowly raised his hand, pulled his gauntlet off and let his finger glide across her skin, dried away a tear. “Vanima?”
His voice trembled, his own eyes filled with tears and suddenly he couldn’t stand it any longer, he just couldn’t. He fell to his knees, grabbed her and pressed his face towards her chest, let his tears run free. “Oh meleth, you are here, you are real”
She bit her lower lip, stared down at him and embraced him gently. “Of course I am Thran, I promised didn’t I?”
He just sobbed and his shoulders shook as he cried in wild sobs against her dress. Nobody saw it as strange, nor as a sign of weakness. All they saw was someone finally reunited with his mate and there were smiles among the ladies of the court. To them this was romantic and showed how deeply bonded the two were. Vanima kissed the top of his head, stroked his matted tangled hair and raised his chin towards her. “My king, your queen has a request”
He took a deep breath. “Yes, whatever you wish for my dear.”
She smiled and kissed his brow. “My first wish is that you follow me to the baths and get rid of that armor of yours, you stink of orc and I do not want that smell tainting my home”
He suddenly had to laugh, why he did not know but there was something almost hysterical about it, the idea of his stench polluting the palace. It was so normal, what to expect from a good housewife, he got on his feet, kissed her fiercely and she didn’t even flinch. “Of course my dear, lead the way. And my first order as the king of this realm is that today everybody shall rest and tomorrow we will have a coronation, and a ceremony to remember those we have lost and to celebrate our victory.”
There was a silent buzz of agreement coming from the elves around them and then she took his hand and led him away like you would lead a horse to its stable and he let her do it, never letting his eyes stray from her even once.
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Unanswered prayers