Fan Fiction ❯ Manarda ❯ Manarda Continued ( Chapter 2 )

***

The fist collided with his jaw. His teeth made a sickening noise as they grinded against each other. "Where is she, Legolas?"

"I do not know!"

"What are the possibilities?"

"Lóthlorien or Valinor."

A blow to the stomach.

"There is something you are hiding from us. TELL!"

Legolas attempted to wipe the blood from his face. "If I did know, why would I tell you?"

Three raps came on the door. Manarda entered and looked at his brother's swollen face. He stared, expressionless, until a smile fell onto his lips. "Wonderful job, lads. Let me talk to him."

"I do not know where my family is," Legolas pleaded. "How can I think while I am being tossed around by your minions?"

He took a seat and stared sternly at him. "She escaped our borders."

"How?"

"I do not know." A guard brought him a towel and warm water. Manarda dipped the towel in and raised it to the cut above Legolas' eye. His touch was gentle as he washed it.

"Why are you doing this?"

"A common courtesy." He laughed slightly. "Brotherly love." The cloth moved to his lip.

"If I am going to die, what does it matter? I will go down without much struggle."

He did not respond.

"Manarda?"

"Hm?"

"If I am to die, do not leave me in the dark. Why do you hate me?"

The rag dangled in his hand as the king closed his eyes. "You are a threat."

"You have seven brothers. How are the other six not threats?"

He shook his head. "They are. But not to your extent. You were always the favorite. The youngest… loved by all… But you only had to please those watching. You are an actor, Legolas. I was the crown prince. I had to live up to my reputation. And in my study, reading about the kings of old and others cultures, looking out the window at your laughing face was like a slap.

"And I lived in my jealousy, letting it consume me… Until…" He looked down. "When you returned and announced your marriage just over six years ago, I was upset. The youngest should not marry before the oldest. No one should marry before the oldest. Jealousy and rage do not mix, Legolas. But it was not until I saw your bride that jealousy came to its peak."

He sighed deeply and cleaned Legolas' lip. "But what is done is done."

"I am to die for jealousy?"

"You are not to die, my brother." He smiled at his face. "I thought about it most of the night."

"What a sick prank-"

"There is no prank, Legolas. I owe you a favor." His voice and eyes were stern.

"You are not lying…"

"Happy birthday."

He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Two thousand nine hundred thirty-eight years. Congratulations."

"June thirteenth… I am surprised you remembered."

"Only one of the fourteen siblings I ever could," he grinned. Legolas rubbed his nose, checking for breakage. Manarda rose and turned to leave. "Oh. There is a part two to your gift."

"What?"

"You are free from all crimes within these woods. But under one condition…" He smiled. "You have three hours to get out of Mirkwood. Fully out. And never return."

"And Nilrauko?"

"Nilrauko shall be freed as well. He must go with you." He opened the door. "What freaks I have in my family…"

***

Estel had long dozed off, her tranced body held on the horse by her mother's arm. Orophin started whining and had not stopped for nearly an hour. Tinechor rode on as the sun spread its fingers across the sky. They were on a dirt path, traveled by many.

A quaint town sleepily opened its eyes and saw Nevlothiel.

She knocked on one of the doors. Inside the house there was a slight muffle of noise, then the footsteps of an elderly chap. The door creaked open a tad and a long, twisted nose and a pair of beady eyes stared out. "Yes? Whaddaya want?"

"I am a traveler from-"

"An elf?" he cried, noticing her ears.

"Yes. I am an elf… I was wondering if there is an inn in your village. My children and I are very tired-"

"Prancing Pony Inn, three blocks, center of town, you can't miss it." He slammed the door shut in her face. She leapt back, shocked slightly by the man's rudeness.

"Don't mind old Bill," a kind voice said. She turned and saw a lady on the next porch. "He doesn't like nobody, especially strangers." She stepped off and extended a hand to her. "I'm Nan Loel. Pleasure to meet you."

"Nevlothiel. These are my children, Estel and Orophin."

"Where is their-" She stopped herself. "I'll show you the inn, now. You look awful tired."

"We have been riding two nights with no rest." Nevlothiel touched the horse's neck and led her forward.

"So why did you come to Bree? We have never had elven-folk such as yourselves."

She sighed. "We are exiles."

"Oh."

"I have friends in the Shire."

"Friends?"

"Three hobbit families. They knew my husband."

A plain wooden building stood before them. Nevlothiel immediately liked it. A jolly tune floated from the windows, making her want to tap her feet. She thanked Nan and rapped on the door. It opened.

"An elf?" a hobbit declared. "Butterbur! An elf!"

"Ai, Nob, quit gawking!" A red-face man came up behind Nob. He smiled and wiped his hand on his apron, stretched over his large belly. "Barliman Butterbur at yer service. What can I get you, m'lady?"

"I need a stable for my horse and a room, sir."

He looked at Estel, who was wearily clinging to her mother's dress. "Right away. Come on in. Nob, you buffoon, take the horse and her bags."

Everything seemed to stop as she entered the room.

Whispers darted about. Butterbur stared darkly around. "I'm sorry, ma'am. They shouldn't stare, but most of `em haven't ever seen an elf before." He blushed a little. "Neither `ave I."

"My room?"

"Ah yes, ma'am. Name?"

"Nevlothiel. Nevlothiel Greenleaf of Lórien."

"And the children?"

"Estel and Orophin."

He nodded again and again as he wrote it down in his book. At last, he looked up and smiled. "Right this way."

He led them down a long hallway to the second to last room on the right. He took out a ring of keys and struggled with them, searching for the right one. He shoved it into the handle and twisted the brass knob. A shabby, warm room lay before them. "I'm sorry. I know it's not the best accommodations-"

"It will do fine. Thank you, Master Butterbur."

"Anything ya need, jus' call for Nob or me. We'll be right there."

"I will, sir."

He bowed quickly and bustled off down the hall. Estel yawned and crawled over to the over-stuffed mattress. "Mother… why are we here?"

"You will see."

"Mother…"

"Hush now. You need to rest." She pulled the sheets and tucked them around her daughter. She set Orophin next to her. He was already fast asleep. Within a few minutes, the light sound of Estel's gentle breath signaled her trance. Nevlothiel looked down at them and smiled. She rose and went out into the hallway.

The music drew her to the main entrance. Once again, the room fell silent as she drew near. She grinned and leaned against a support beam. "What?" she asked. They stared. "I am not so different from you."

They continued to stare.

She went over to the bar. "Give me… whatever the rest are having."

The bartender nodded nervously, his hand shaking as he drew the draught. He extended it to her, as though frightened. She laughed and leaned over the bar to grab it. She raised the glass to the room, and then pressed it to her lips.

This is disgusting! She thought as the amber liquid poured down her throat. People began to whisper around her. Finally, one man cried, "Chug it!" She nearly choked trying to hold back her mirth. Other people joined in.

She swallowed and held up the empty mug. Everyone cheered and the music started again. Her head spun from the speed of consumption. What would the people at home think now? Her arm was grabbed as some drunk pulled her into a seat.

He was cloaked and he stared at her as though he could see into her soul. "Are you a ranger?" she asked a little loudly. He nodded. "Do you have a name?"

"I shall explain all later."

She nodded. "Do you know-"

"Later."

"How much later?"

"Soon enough, Lady Greenleaf. Within the hour, go back to your room."

Someone called for a song. A tipsy woman grabbed Nevlothiel and swung her up. "Have the elf sing!"
"No, no. I do not know many drinking songs…"

"Then sing the ones ya know!"

Everyone cheered again. The ranger laughed and cleared his mug off the table as she stepped onto it.

"This song was taught to me by a mister Peregrin Took." She cleared her throat.

***

"Take one last look."

"I will miss it dreadfully."

"As I will."

"Come on. We must reach the edge of the wood within the hour!"
"Farewell, everything."

"Yes, farewell."

Legolas tapped Arod with his foot.

***

She opened the door and looked around. Her children still lay curled up in the bed. In a chair by the fire, she saw the cloaked head of her guest. She took a seat next to him.

"Estragon."

"What?"

He looked at her. "My name is Estragon." He nodded toward the bed. "Cute kids."

"Thank you."

He took out a pipe. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"I'm one of Strider's men. He was a close friend of mine before he became king. I know your husband. I went on a journey with him once."

"You knew him," she said solemnly. "He is dead."

He stopped. "Is he?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Legolas was a great man."

"Why do you want to talk to me?"

"Lord Imrahil wanted to find you, so Strider sent me."

She sighed, inhaling the pipe tobacco. She coughed roughly.

"He says he merely wishes to know you are all right."

"Am I all right? Physically so, indeed. Mentally and emotionally- I think not." On the table there was a small bottle of port wine. She grabbed it and weakly poured a glass, then set the bottle promptly onto the table again. "I am a widow. I am used to being surrounded by love, having arms to run into. I am a dependant creature.

"I need an independent man to keep me going. Legolas could. Legolas is gone. Who do I have? No one. I live for my children." Estragon lifted his head and glanced at them. "They look like their father, do they not?"

"They do."

She tipped the burgundy liquid down her throat.

"Nevlothiel, drinking can't make him come back."

A tear dipped down from her eye. "I know. Nothing can."

The ranger reached and pried the glass from her hand. Placing it on the table, he looked at her inquiringly. "Where are you going?"

"The Shire."

"And why would an elf be going to the Shire?"

Nevlothiel almost smiled. "I thought a stalker such as yourself might know. Do a little research on your quarry before you go for it."

"Well, I will keep that in mind."

She rose, her head almost reaching the ceiling. "Why do elves travel?"

"For further knowledge… to escape… family matters… You tell me. I am a human."

"You just said why I am going to the Shire." She looked out the window.

"I don't understand."

"I need to gather further knowledge, I need to escape from Mirkwood, and I have family."

"Hobbits?"

She stared plainly at him. "Exile, master Estragon. There are elves in exile. Their leader, Gildor, is of my house. And, yes, there are my hobbits."

He nodded. "Yes… why did I forget?" He rose and moved to the door. "I shall leave you to rest now. I have gathered my information. Rest well, Nevlothiel."

"Goodnight," she replied dully.

He left.

***

"My god…"

Legolas smiled at his brother's face.

"Lórien… it is more beautiful than I ever imagined… No wonder the women here are so beautiful. It is impossible for anything ugly to leave-"

"Do not forget that orcs once walked in here."

"Except orcs. Yes… anything except orcs."

They rode silently. At last, they reached their talan. Legolas went up the ropes. Imrahil was sitting in a chair, talking to Haldir. They looked up in surprise.

"Legolas! You have returned!"

"I am sorry. We were delayed." Nilrauko came up behind him.

"Where is Nevlothiel?" Haldir said darkly.

Neither answered.

Her friend rose furiously. "Where is she?"

"Down, my good elf," Imrahil said, grabbing his sleeve and jerking him down.

"She is gone," Nilrauko replied at last.

"What do you mean `gone'?"

"We do not know," her husband whispered. "She was just… She escaped with the children. I prayed she returned to Lórien… alas…"

They watched him, trying to see what was going through his head. His face looked gaunt and he turned away. He walked down the hallway and into his bedroom. "Legolas?" Imrahil asked.

"Let him be," Nilrauko sighed.

***

Arwen sat on her husband's throne. His advisor stood quietly at her side. "When will he return?" she thought out-loud.

"I don't know, majesty."

"Silence."

"Yes."

She drummed her fingers on the gold. An uncomfortable silence yet again filled the room. Someone coughed. Footsteps rang in the hallway. She leaned forward eagerly.

The doors flung open. "DAMN IT ALL!" Aragorn screamed.

She leaned back and sigh. "What is it?"

"I declare war against him! I demand that elf off the throne!" he spat. "Off of my seat, woman."

Arwen frowned and moved to her place next to him. He sat down and called the advisor over.

"Sire?"

"Manarda. Send twenty more spies into Mirkwood. I want an assassination."

"An… assassination?"

"Aragorn…" his wife said in a warning tone.

"If he can kill whomever he wishes, then I can too." He shouted, sending everyone except the two out. "He did it."

"Who did what?"

"Manarda. Killed. Legolas. We saved him and he demanded us to release him or we would die."

"And you released Legolas!?" she cried.

"He fled and was recaptured on the borders."

"How do you know?"

"There were over fifty elven archers within one kilometer of the forest where we rode. I have lost nearly all of my men trying to get past their arrows. One elf could not do that alone." He sighed heavily and took several breaths.

"And if he surrendered?" his advisor asked.

"Then he would be sent back to the palace… and he would be executed."

Arwen looked down and pressed a hand to her lips. Aragorn wrapped his arm around her.

"Are you all right?" he whispered.

"No." Her voice cracked on the one word.

He pulled his queen against his shoulder. "We will not let Legolas die in vain." His strong chin began to tremble and he began to cry like a child.

***

"I never meant for it to be like this."

"I know you did not."

"Nevlothiel… Where did we go wrong?"

"We never went wrong, my love. We always were fine. It was Manarda."

"I love you."

"I love you."

"Where are you going? Why did you leave me?"

"I did not leave you. You… Legolas, I was afraid! I was so afraid! I know someone who can help me. Someone who can protect me. Is this not what you want?"

"No. I am alive."

"Mother!"

Her eyes cleared. Estel was standing over her. "What?"

"Orophin is crying. I think he wet the bed."

She sighed deeply. Her head pounded. She pressed the back of her hand to her skull as she rose.

"Mother, can I have a glass of water?"
"Just a moment."

She changed Orophin and picked him up. "I am thirsty!" her daughter whined.

"Stay there!" She leaned out the doorway. "Mister Butterbur! Butterbur! Nob!"

"The bed is still wet!" Estel whined, crawling back onto the sheets.

"Hold your brother." She ripped the sheets off the bed and tossed them onto the floor.

"How do I hold him?"

"Mister Butterbur! Nob! Someone!" Orophin screamed louder.

"Is his face supposed to be red?"

"You are tipping him over too far! Estel! Set him in a chair or something."

A large thump was heard.

"ESTEL!"

"I cannot seem to get him to stay up."

Nevlothiel scooped the child off of the floor and set him on the couch.

"When do I get my water?"

"Someone! Please help!"

Nob came running down the hallway. "Yes, ma'am?"

She collapsed to the floor, pleading. "Nob… please, please… Get clean sheets and a glass of water."

"Right away." He scurried off. He returned a moment later and fixed the bed. Estel drank her water. "M'lady?"

She looked at him, her green eyes red with tears. "I am tired."

He picked Orophin up and moved him to the bed. "Are you sure you can handle the children tonight?"

"No…"

"She can take my room. I'll watch them." Estragon grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up. "She has been through a trauma."

Nob looked at him, unsure. "M'lady?"

"Yes, Estragon, I accept. I thank you."

"Who are these people?" Estel asked.

"Friends."

"Do not leave us…" she whined, looking at Estragon.

"Estragon knows Uncle Aragorn and Father."

Estel looked over him, confused. Nevlothiel exchanged keys and kissed her daughter's forehead. "When will you be back?" she asked, never looking away from him.

"Tomorrow morning."

The ranger stooped down and whispered something to Estel. She grinned. Nevlothiel smiled and went out, walking a little bit crooked. Nob came out behind her, shutting the door.

"Do you know him?"

"I do."

"And you are letting him watch your children?" the hobbit inquired.

"I am. He knew my husband."

"What happened to your husband?"
She turned and looked at him angrily. "My husband was executed by his own brother. The reasons are our own. I trust his friends with my life. Besides… what is my trouble to a hobbit?"

Nob swallowed guiltily.

She brushed past him and went into Estragon's suite, closing the door behind her.

It was littered with clothes and weapons. She sighed and began to clean it all up. When it satisfied her, she flopped onto the bed and fell immediately into a trance.

She woke up and sprang to her feet. Her head spun but she ignored it. Something was wrong. She sensed it in her heart. Her room was just ahead.

The door was open.

And no one was inside.

***

"What is it? You need to calm down."

"The children! The children are gone!"

"What!"

"Estragon, a ranger. He stayed with them last night while I slept… He has taken them…"

"Estragon! You know Estragon?"

"He approached me and told me he had known you. What was I to do?"

"Nevlothiel, you cannot trust everyone. Estragon did know me. He went on one journey with Aragorn and me… He nearly killed us in our sleep. If I had not woken up at the last second, we would both be dead."

"What am I to do!"

"You have to find them. They are in grave danger."

"I cannot do this alone… I am dead without you."

"Then come back to life for your children."

Estragon… The name sent a small shiver up his spine. The memory of the madness in his eyes, the glint of the steel blade about to strike, was still so vivid in his mind. He had to help his children… But where was Nevlothiel? Where was she going?

Yet… these were only dreams. He was only dreaming about Estragon…. Only dreaming about Nevlothiel's tears… His children were safe with her…

He hoped.

He rolled out of the bed and opened his bedroom door. His friends turned their attention on him. He walked down the hall and took a seat. With a deep breath, he began.

"I think my children have been kidnapped."

***

"Here they are, your majesty."

"Excellent!"

Estel clutched Orophin, tears of confusion and frustration running down her cheeks. Manarda smiled and held out his hands to them. She stepped back. "I want Mother, not you."

He frowned. "We will get your mother soon."

"I hate you. You are a bad, bad man and I understand why Mother and Father did not want to come back."

Estragon grabbed her shoulder and flung her over to her uncle.

"That is enough, Estragon. Let them be," he said in a soft, warning tone.

"That brat should learn to hold her tongue."

"Quiet." He whispered to his guard, who ran off. "Your aunt Tinuviel is going to watch you again." He smiled and pulled a doll out from behind his back.

"No. I do not want to play with bad men like you and him." She pointed at the ranger. "He tricked Mother."

"Oh did he now?"

"Yes. He said she should relax and that he knew Father."

"I wasn't lying. I know you stupid father," Estragon sneered.

"No you do not."

"Yes I do."

"How?"

"I tried to kill him once." A smile spread across his face.

"Well, he is going to kill you when he comes and gets me."

"Your father is dead."

Manarda leapt to his feet. "Silence!"

"She deserves to know, majesty!"

He pointed an accusing finger at him. "I have had all I can take of you. One more word and your head will be acquainted with this." He unsheathed his sword and held it high. It caught the light coming through the stained glass window. Red danced upon the floor as though promising the future for those who messed with the king of Mirkwood.

Manarda reached into his cloak and retrieved something. He tossed it to the ground. A small brown bag with a golden thread as a tie skidded to Estragon's feet. "Take your money and leave, mercenary. You are no longer of use to me."

Estragon stood for a moment, then stooped to pick it up. Manarda snapped. A guard raised his sword and brought it down roughly on his victim's neck. Estel turned away, trying to cover her brother's eyes. She was not quick enough.

His head fell to the floor and rolled to Manarda's feet. The king's face turned dark, smiling wickedly. "Welcome to the real world, Estel."

***

It was dark.

Nevlothiel stared down the hill, wondering what happened.

In less than two days time, she was a widow. Her children had been kidnapped.

And it was all her fault.

No.

It was Manarda's fault.

And he had to die.

She did not care what the consequences were.

He had to die.

He had to die.

He had to die.

Or there would be no life.

Without her Legolas, whom could she live for?

With her children gone, whom did she have to live for?

There was no I in team.

There was no team any longer.

She could care less if the world ended.

Manarda had to die.

***

Manarda stared into the mirror.

His light brown hair, the color of a hazelnut, cascaded over his shoulder.

His high cheekbones glided along his face.

It was the same as always, he thought. But his eyes, silver, knew this was not the case.

What is wrong with me?

He tried to picture Nevlothiel, tall and graceful, her skin like cream, her hair baby fine and golden, her eyes as green as a Mirkwood summer, standing by the river. Suddenly, the image carried a knife. It twirled it in one hand, taunting him. The scar on his forearm burned.

And he realized it.

He was afraid.

Manarda, Son of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, was afraid.

Of a woman.

"No…" he gasped. "I promised long ago… Women are to be controlled, not the other way."

He tried to picture her again. Her white gown, her mithril headdress, a tiny smile on her face, her eyes wide and nervous. The image was joined by Legolas. They kissed, enraging him. His heart burst.

"One last time."

Slowly, she came again. This time, she stood on a balcony, staring out onto the misty grass in the warm night, her hair blowing behind her in the wind's dance. She turned and gave him the look of a prisoner being fed a meal, grateful, yet longing for freedom. The moment froze in his mind.

"I thought she loved me that night. I thought she had forgotten Legolas in that moment." He looked at his body in the mirror. Lean muscle covered every inch. He smiled and pulled on a tunic, fixing his hair quickly. He strapped on his cloak and quiver.

Vinyaanto knocked on the door. "Hurry up in there! Do not start acting like Legolas did, spending hours getting primped."

"Just a second."

"He would say the same thing!"

He laughed and came out. His brother rolled his eyes and they walked out into the courtyard.

"So… Vinyaanto… Have you ever fallen in love?"

He looked at him strangely. "Why do you ask?"

"We just… never seem to talk anymore."

He rubbed his chin. "Yes. I have."

"What was it like?"

"It was… spectacular. As though I never wanted to let her go. But…" he looked down. "I did not make my move quick enough. She married another before I could confess my feelings."

"Who was it?" Manarda asked.

He smiled. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not."

"It was just a commoner, after all. One of the village folk." He laughed to himself. "I actually never got her name. I just saw her at festivals and walking about. It was strange to love someone. Everything seemed wrong, yet so right."

***

"Where can they be?"

"I do not know."

"Ah, my love… I cannot imagine your pain…"

"What I feel no longer matters. I must find our children, dead or alive."

"Nevlothiel, understand me. I love you. Look in the mirror. You have lost your glow. Rest. I doubt the children-"

"I must find them as soon as possible."

"Be rational."

"Who do I have to be rational for?"

"Yourself."

Lóthlorien gleamed just beyond a hill, the leaves golden. She gave a content sigh and dismounted the horse. She was returning home. She burst into the trees and tossed out her arms as though embracing the whole wood.

"Nevlothiel!" a voice exclaimed. An elf swung down from one of the trees, clad in elven mail. He jerked off his helmet, the black hair falling onto his shoulders.

"Morinzilion!" she cried, tossing her arms around him. "What a tale I have to tell!"

He kissed his sister's cheek. "I was worried… Where are the children?"

"I will explain later," she said, suddenly dark. She smiled again and embraced him one more time. "Oh, my Morinzilion… It is good to be home."

***

"Nilrauko, fetch some water."

"Why?"

"I would like some tea."

Nilrauko climbed down the ladder, the bucket in his hand. He knelt and filled it in the creek by the house. A voice called his name behind him. He jerked up and turned around to see Morinzilion. He smiled and ran over.

"What can I do for you?"

"Nevlothiel is coming."

He laughed and embraced him. "Oh, this should be good!" He crawled up the ladder just as his sister-in-law burst into the clearing.

She looked up at her house. "Oh Lórien… Too long have I dwelt on this hither shore…" she softly sang. She moved to the ladder and climbed up. She nearly fell off in surprise when she saw the feet of four men.

A pair of hands leapt down and pulled her up. Her feet rested upon the wooden floor of the talan. She smiled at the ground and closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and roses. Legolas looked at her with tears streaming down his cheeks. His heart pounded brutally against his chest, for he had nearly forgotten her beauty after so many years. He placed a hand under her chin and lifted her face gently towards his.

"You are supposed to be dead," she whispered.

"Would you rather I be dead?"

"No."

He pulled her against him and started to weep. She rubbed his back, comforting him like a child. Haldir looked away. Imrahil slapped his arm for his rudeness. Morinzilion had come up and was watching next to Nilrauko, smiles upon both of the faces.

"Nevlothiel…" Legolas choked.

"Yes?"

"I am sorry. I am so sorry for everything. Never listen to a word I tell you again."

She laughed softly and moved to the couch. Haldir stared at her as though she were the plague. Legolas sat. She settled into his lap.

"Just move straight into the bedroom. Why bother waiting out here to be host-like?" Haldir spat.

Imrahil hit him again.

"Stop it," Nevlothiel said sternly.

The elf rose and grabbed his cloak. He grabbed the doorway and looked back. "I am pleased to see you are both alive and well." He swung the dark material over his shoulders, fumbled with the clasp, and disappeared down the ladder.

"What is his problem?" Morinzilion stated.

The lovers glanced at each other. "I have no idea," Legolas lied.

***

"Why are you so bent on Nevlothiel?" Vinyaanto laughed.

"Well… Just look at her! She is more beautiful than the dawn- thin as a sapling, pale as a snow. Her eyes are emeralds. Her hair is like the autumn."

Disgusted, he replied, "You base your love only on looks?"

Manarda continued. "She is graceful and gentle. Nevlothiel… She is a rose among thorns. Her voice is melodious. Her words are often kind." He fiddled his thumbs and looked up. "Have you have ever seen her with her children?"

"No."

"She loves those children and would protect them with her life." His gaze fell again. "And she would do the same to Legolas. What they have is love in it's purest form. They were… Dear god, I cannot say it." The king turned away, embarrassed at his jealousy.

"They were meant for each other." Vinyaanto looked at his brother questioningly. "If you are aware of how much they are perfect for each other, why do you insist on having her?"

"Because Legolas is not worthy," he spat.

"Are you?"

"I am better than he."

He laughed. "I agree."

"Also, I think I could love her the same."

"Are you sure you love her?"

Manarda rolled his eyes. "I wonder."

Vinyaanto paused. "How was the… you know."

He chuckled. "It was amazing. Why would I bother to pursue her if it was otherwise?"

The latter smiled. The horse swatted its tail at a fly. Silence filled the forest, save the nearby river. "It is quiet," Vinyaanto stated.

"Too quiet." Manarda looked around nervously. He wiped his brow of the summer heat and looked behind them. In a sudden movement, he dismounted.

"What?"

"Get off of your horse."

"Why?"

"Get off. Now." Manarda's face was filled with terror. He leapt into a clump of heavy bushes. The instant he was hidden, he looked out. His brother was still on the horse, looking around curiously. "You fool. Move," he prayed.

An arrow flew, hitting its target. Vinyaanto jerked forward from the sudden force. His eyes grew wide as he looked down and saw the tiny gleam of the arrowhead in his chest. He gave a cry and fell from the stallion, which fled. He landed on his back, driving the arrow further through. The ground around him stained crimson.

"Manarda!" he exclaimed, closing his eyes in pain. The king put a hand to his brow and began to weep. Noises of Vinyaanto's suffering filled his ears, strange cries from his soul pouring forth. A man, a ranger he appeared, stepped forth from the woods and knelt to examine his quarry.

"Damn…" the man muttered.

"Help me…" Vinyaanto cried.

The man spat upon the prince's body and kicked him sharply in the side. The elf screamed for mercy. "You want mercy?" the man laughed. "Would you like me to put you out of your pain?"

"Mercy," his lips formed, his face drained of blood. His eyes rolled towards the heavens.

"What do you see?" the man asked.

"It is beautiful…" His left arm rose upward.

The man laughed again.

"Mercy…"

"I will give you no mercy." The stranger turned and left. Manarda crawled out of the brush and stared at his brother.

"Vinyaanto…" he muttered.

"Manarda?" A smile formed on his lips. "The lights… They are dancing. They are singing. Oh… it is beautiful. But I am hurting. Stop the hurt. You must stop the hurt."

"No… I cannot…"

"Mercy. Please, Manarda. Give me mercy."

"No…" His tears fell upon the dying elf's face.

He gave a shuddering sigh. "Help me, brother."

Manarda's dagger seemed to pull him to the ground. He looked at Vinyaanto, pity surging through him. He could not do it. Not to his friend, his flesh and blood.

"You would have killed Legolas by now," he gasped, his breath growing short. "Please… Mercy…"

Blinded by tears and guilt, Manarda took hold of the hilt of his dagger. He pulled it out and stared at it.

"End my pain. Let me go to the lights."

His hand shook as he pressed the blade to Vinyaanto's throat. "Forgive me and my weak damned soul," Manarda wept.

"Farewell."

A thin red line spread across Vinyaanto's neck. His eyes rolled back.

He was dead.

Manarda dropped the dagger and rolled onto his side, his grief overtaking him.

11

"I was lost without you. I was a lamb without a shepherd."

Legolas rolled onto his side and kissed her.

"It is nice to be back in my pen," she laughed.

"There are still a few lost lambs out there." He ran his hand through her hair.

"Oh, you always have to ruin everything."

He laughed. "What else am I good for?"

She laid her head upon his bare chest. "My mind is blank."

"As usual."

She hit him playfully.

"Ow…"

"Maybe Manarda was right. Maybe you are just a big wimp," she joked.

"You hit harder than you think."

"Please, Legolas. Eight years ago you were my big, strong knight in shining armor."

He sighed. "My armor rusted and I bruise easily."

There was a moment of silence. "I want another child," Nevlothiel stated suddenly.

"Oh dear god," he laughed. "You cannot be serious. Let us find these two first."

"And then?"

"And then we talk about it."

"Three is my lucky number," she smiled.

"And next year you will be say fourteen is."

She choked on her mirth. "I am not that crazy."

"You know you love me… You know you want me… You cannot resist me…" he chanted into her ear, so close it tickled them both.

She giggled.

"I love you."

"So does your brother."

"It is because you are irresistible. You are my little creampuff."

"Oh please."

"You are my little cupcake… You are my little sugar dumpling…"

"And you are my little bumblebee that follows me around and stings me."

Legolas laughed and kissed her cheek. "Sting."

"Ow…" she said, imitating him.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

He thrust his lips to hers and kissed her roughly.

She sighed, content, and leaned back onto her pillow.

"Are you nice and quiet now?"

"I have been struck mute."

"Really."

"Yes."

Legolas tutted. "Well, we might have to do something about that."

"Like what?"

"Well, if kissing makes you mute, I wonder what I can do to un-mute you…"

She giggled again.

***

"I killed someone. It was not King Manarda."

"Who then?" Aragorn asked.

"One of the princes, I believe."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Truly?"

The doors suddenly swung open and an elf ran in. He was out of breath. He fell to his knee. "My lord Elessar, the prince of Mirkwood… Prince Vinyaanto… He was assassinated. He was hunting in the woods when it happened."

"What truly horrible news," he said dully. "I wonder who the assassin could be."

The elf swallowed. "He has not been found."

"And you are telling me- why?"

"Well… I had thought that perhaps… You know Legolas well…"

"I knew Legolas well." The king's brow darkened. "And that is exactly why I no longer care for Mirkwood. They are ill-advised by that Manarda character."

"Then I suppose… you no longer wish for the rest of my news."

Aragorn drummed his fingers on his throne. "It depends on what the news is."

He smiled and waited a moment to catch his breath. "It is very good."

"All right, then. Tell me."

"Send everyone out."

As the court filed through the doors, the elf got closer and leaned towards him.

"I have been listening through doors. This is all very private information… If I was caught, it would be my head."

"Then it is our secret."

And the elf told all, the smile growing on Aragorn's face.

***

"Arwen! Arwen!" he screamed, bursting into the bedroom.

Her maids stopped and looked at him. Arwen turned from the looking glass. "What is it?"

"Send the girls out. I have terrific news."

When they were alone and Aragorn had calmed down some, she asked him what he meant.

"A messenger from Mirkwood came. Manarda lives, but they killed Vinyaanto by accident."

"Who?"

"My spies."

"I told you not to send them!"

He looked down guiltily. "I did anyway."

She sighed. "Go on…"

He smiled again. "The good news is… Legolas lives. Manarda released Nilrauko and him."

She screamed with joy and tossed her arms around him. "Oh THANK THE HEAVENS!"

He waited for her to calm down. "Nevlothiel fled Mirkwood. They have no location of her. But Estragon, that devil who tried to kill me in our hunt for Gollum, kidnapped Estel and Orophin."

"He would not…"

"He did. He was murdered as well."

"Is there any more news?"

"No."

Arwen pursed her lips. "We have to help Estel and Orophin."

"No."

She looked at him. "What?"

"I am certain Legolas or Nevlothiel are hand and foot searching as we speak."

***

"And they were gone…" Nevlothiel looked down.

Legolas sighed and massaged his temples. "Where could they be?"

She thought for a moment. "Would Manarda dare…"

"I already thought of that."

"So did I."

"And it is the most likely thing." He looked down. "I hate to admit my brother might have schemed to kill me. It is even worse to think he kidnapped my children."

She put a hand behind his head and pulled him against her, stroking his blonde hair.

"You have to go to Mirkwood," he whispered.

"I know."

"I will go with you as far as the forest rim."

"We leave at dawn." She released him and rolled out of the bed. She went to the balcony and looked out. He watched her, sorrow rising in his throat and chest. He joined her.

Placing his hands on her stomach, like he had when she was pregnant, he kissed her cheek. "My Nevlothiel… I do not know what you have gone through. I have pain as being their father, but you were the one who labored… You carried them… You love them…"

"You love them too."

"I do." He pressed his cheek to hers. "I love them, but I was always away, it seemed, protecting our home."

"You did what you had to."

"I put the bread on the table, you gave someone to eat the bread. We will find our children."

She smiled and turned, looking him in the eye. "I know we will."

"And I would like more."

"Not fourteen."

He laughed. "Perhaps three or four should be the limit."

"Agreed."

***

Manarda stared blankly at the casket. Tinuviel watched him, concerned. He had not talked in almost a week. The ice was melting under the corpse in the heat.

"Manarda… you should say a few words," she suggested.

He looked at her. "I have no more words."

"He was your brother."

"Vinyaanto was a good man. His end was tragic," he stated tiredly.

She gave him a look.

He shrugged it off. Someone handed him a shovel. He scooped the dirt and sprinkled it onto the casket. The motion followed throughout the party.

He did not stay.

Taking shelter in his room, he flopped onto his bed, the crown leaping off and falling to the floor. He lifted his head just enough to see it. "You are a bloody great burden," he grumbled to it. "I hate you."

"It was your destiny to hate it," a voice said.

He turned around. "Nevlothiel?"

She smiled. "I heard about Vinyaanto. You were close. I am-"

"You know you are not sorry."

Her cloak, which was draped over her body, flung back. Her hands rested upon the hilt of a sword. "My children. I know what you have done. I demand them."

Without changing his expression, he rose. "They are with Tinuviel." His eyes watched as the weapon was removed from the sheath. "Kill me if you wish, but hear what I say first. Indeed, I need a confessional."
He stepped towards her. She moved back, but he raised his hand. "I would not harm you again." His voice was changed, monotone and full of truth. She believed him. He placed a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes.

Manarda softly touched his lips to hers with a gentleness she had received only from Legolas. She could hardly feel them, yet she savored it, locking the moment in her soul. He turned away after a moment. "I was born the crown prince of Mirkwood, the first child of King Thranduil and Queen Eveloyviel," he began.

"It was as though I was born into hate… Born to be hated, born to hate others. My father's brothers despised me and cursed me behind closed doors. I had stolen the throne from their dirty hands. By eight months old, I had received almost twenty assassination attempts. But slowly, the shadow of the dark lord crept over our lands, smiting our old enemies, creating new ones. My early childhood was full of fear."

He moved to his bedside table and opened a drawer. He took out a small green bottle. Glancing quickly at his audience, he uncorked it. "What is that?" Nevlothiel asked.

"Something to calm my nerves and make the confessional easier." The smell of liquor reached her nose. She coughed, remembering Bree. He tipped the bottle towards her. "Cheers." Pressing it to his lips, he tipped the contents down his throat. He winced and corked it again, setting it down. "Strong stuff…"

"You were saying?"

"Have a seat."

She did so, the sword still at hand. He turned to her and smiled.

"One by one, children began to flood the house. I was watching children more than I was in my study. I kept thinking of Father's siblings and their yearning to rule. I feared for my future children's lives as the numbers increased. At five hundred, my manhood, I was suddenly depended on more than ever. I was in training and study nearly my entire day.

"I had no one to talk to. Father was always busy. Mother was always preparing for festivals or balls or another child. As they too approached manhood, Doleniâth and Vinyaanto had a small taste of my frustration. We could bond easily and for the first time in my life, I had friends. By this time, I had thirteen brothers and sisters. The fourteenth, Legolas, was the last straw for me.

"Fourteen children…" He chuckled softly to himself. "I realized this number was absurd even then. And, of course, he seemed to be the favorite child. He looked the most like my father, he was the sweetest child, and he was the one who would overcome… I vowed from that moment I would forever hate that child."

He sat upon the bed and leaned back upon the pillows. "It all seems so stupid now, nearly three thousand years later…"

Nevlothiel smiled slightly. "Please go on, Manarda."

He retrieved the crown and placed it on his head. "Over the next three hundred years, nothing of much importance occurred. Then one morning as I prepared for a hunting trip, a knock came upon my door. It was Aromir, the one who had befriended your daughter if you remember. My mother had been attacked… her throat slit. My father had carried her to the high tower, which is considered our sacred place.

"I ran to the tower and up the stairs, hoping to say my farewells to Mother. The other children had been gathered there by then, though not sure of what was happening. Tinuviel, Doleniâth, Vinyaanto, and I were the only ones informed." He looked down. "She was faltering, the guards told us. The younger children talked amongst themselves. Legolas was sent to spy on our parents. To this day, he has told no one what he saw."

Nevlothiel opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it.

Manarda continued. "Every night, my father would go up to the tower room in which my mother had died. He would light a candle and pray or think for an hour. At midnight, exactly, he would blow it out, a symbol of respect for his lost lover." He rose and went to the balcony, watching the slowly darkening summer sky. "I never have truly been able to grasp his love for her. It had to have been the strongest ever known. Such devotion to one person is alien to me… To have fifteen children to raise, a land to rule, and yet set aside a full hour of much needed rest to remember someone.

"We all grew more bitter. Years turned into centuries, centuries transformed into millennia. Little Legolas indeed became all that was expected of him- he became handsome, chivalrous, and strong. No one could beat him at an archery contest or at fencing. He began to come along on hunting trips. At last, he decided to try his own adventures. He disappeared one day and returned leading a strange creature called Sméagol into our dungeons. For nine years we monitored it until one day, it escaped.

"Orcs began to roam the borders of the forest. Rumors of the dark lord's revival reached us. Lord Elrond demanded Mirkwood to a council. Father refused to leave his people and instead told me to go. `No, Father, let me go instead,' Legolas had insisted. `I must tell them about Sméagol's escape as it is.'" He turned from the sunset to Nevlothiel. "If he had not gone, perhaps such things would never have happened between us, my lady. Often have I thought of what it would have been if I had been your lover in those golden woods…" He shook off the feeling and sighed.

"He was gone for a full year. `I am to be married!' he told us all. He was the first to be doing this, though most of my sisters had been seeing men for years. Within a matter of months, you came." He closed his eyes, remembering. "It was a beautiful autumn day. Father called us to him. As we entered the great hall, I caught my first glimpse of you… You were wearing a deep forest green gown, tiny gold threads made up leaves on your cuffs. The pale sun streamed through the stained glass windows, dancing upon your hair. My breath disappeared and my heart seemed to burst. A wave of stronger jealousy than ever before entered me as Legolas took you in his arms."
Nevlothiel blushed at his flattery and moved her gaze to the sword in her hand.

"Each moment in the last seven years has been torture for me. I love you, Nevlothiel. I always have. But my feelings are one-sided. Legolas and you were meant to love each other." Manarda moved to her and took her hand. He kissed it and fell to one knee. "I beg your forgiveness, Nevlothiel. I have made your marriage and life hell for the last few years. It was all my jealousy, my lust…you have every right to despise me."

"I do not despise you, Manarda," she whispered. "I forgive you."

He paused, letting it sink in. At last, he smiled and went over to his dresser again. He opened it and took out something Nevlothiel could not see yet. He held it in his hands, his back to her, and seemed to be thinking. He faced her again. He opened his palms.

"This dagger. Do you recognize it?"

Nevlothiel studied it from afar. "Yes."

"It was the one you stabbed me with on the river."

"Yes."

"Come with me," he said, moving to the door. He opened the door for her. Together, they made their way to the high tower. Entering a dark room with one glass window, she could see darkness had fallen. There was one bed, a table with a candle upon it, and a chair. Manarda sat on the bed.

"This is the room," he stated.

"So I thought."

He glanced out the window as he crawled under the sheets. "I want to thank you, Lady Greenleaf."

"Thank me for what?" she asked.

"For listening. For forgiving me." He paused. "For letting me love you."

She looked at him strangely.

"Farewell, Nevlothiel," he said solemnly.

"What?"

The dagger rose and fell upon his wrists. He winced as the blade cut through his veins, then placed the knife into his lap and leaned back upon the pillows. The blood flowed freely onto the sheets about him.

"Manarda!" Nevlothiel cried.

"Farewell," he repeated, his lips and face turning pale as the blood drained from him.

"No!" she cried, falling to her knees by his side.

He looked at her, his eyes brimming with his last tears. They shone with pain. They shone with memories. They shone with love.

"Amin mela lle," he whispered.

He took his last breath.

Nevlothiel stared at him, awestruck. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Shaking, she rose and moved to the table. Taking the flint, she lit the red candle.

12

The leaves rustled as a warm breeze blew through the treetops. Legolas took Nevlothiel's hand. Estel stood quietly next to them, holding Orophin. Not a word was spoken as they stared down at the casket.

Legolas knelt at last, scooping up a handful of rich soil. He held it out over the hole and dropped it in, his lips moving in silent prayer. His wife copied the motion. One by one, the funeral procession said their last farewells to their brother, friend, and ruler.

Nilrauko ran his hand over the rough jewels of the crown, then placed it on his head. He cleared his throat, though he did not need to get anyone's attention. "Manarda was a good man. He never wanted to do anything but please others-"

"You are lying, your majesty," Nevlothiel said suddenly.

He looked at her. "Am I?"

She took a deep breath and began to tell the audience a story- a story full of romance, a story full of evil, a story of betrayal and confusion. They listened, some believing every word, others not trusting any. But in the end, it all came down to one thing.

It was Manarda's story.