Shadow of Mirkwood

A failure

To be, or not to be, that is the question

                                                                                              - William Shakespeare 

      "Finally," Thranduil's voice cut through the fog in Lytharial's mind, his tone a mixture of annoyance and relief.

      "Where is Legolas?" she managed to croak, the urgency was apparent in her feeble words.

She tried to speak, to inquire about Legolas, but her voice barely registered above a whisper. Thirst clawed at her throat, a persistent reminder of her weakened state. Thranduil's familiar and unwelcome presence added to the confusion that clouded her thoughts.

His response, delivered with a sneer, added an unexpected layer of shock. 

         "You were out for two days, and the first thing you inquire about is him?"

The revelation hit her like a physical blow. Two days. Two crucial days she had lost. The realization stung, a bitter reminder of the consequences of her incapacitation.

         "Where is he?" she pressed, determination masking the pain in her voice.

         "Lake-town," Thranduil replied curtly, providing an answer that both confirmed her fears and fueled her frustration.

She attempted to move, to rise from the unfamiliar surroundings, but her body rebelled against the command. Thranduil, unfazed, seated himself near her, his gaze a watchful sentinel.

         "You are not going anywhere," he declared, his authoritative tone brooking no argument.

Lytharial's sneer twisted into a bitter grimace as the haunting visions of the recent past clawed at the edges of her consciousness. The tableau of blood on snow, the lifeless form of Thalassa, and the sinister silhouette of Valthor replayed in her mind like a relentless nightmare. The overwhelming weight of grief and loss threatened to break through the steely composure she had maintained for two decades.

         "Damn it," she cursed, her voice hoarse and strained. 

A surge of frustration welled up within her, and tears, unbidden, stung the corners of her eyes. It was a vulnerability she hadn't allowed herself in years – the desire to grieve openly, to acknowledge the pain that had settled deep within her.

The last fragments of her memory lingered on Legolas carrying her in his arms, a lifeline amid chaos. Yet, the bitter truth of Thalassa's demise and the treachery of Valthor gnawed at her soul. The relentless pain from the wound across her stomach served as a cruel reminder of the battles fought and the sacrifices made.

       "He killed her," Lytharial whispered, her words laced with a potent mixture of grief and rage.

 She attempted to shift, to escape the physical discomfort, but the slice across her stomach protested vehemently, sending waves of searing pain through her weakened body.

      "Legolas told me," Thranduil spoke, his voice a measured calm that belied the underlying gravity of the situation. He offered her water, a gesture of assistance that momentarily softened the edges of his regal demeanor. 

      "You should've ended his life."

                       *****     2 days ago     ****

       "Out of my way!" Legolas's voice thundered through the Elvenking's palace, a fierce growl cutting through the air. 

In his arms, he cradled a bloodied figure, none other than Lytharial, though the oblivious onlookers remained ignorant of the turmoil that roiled within their prince.