Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

42. The In-Between

Legolas. The day I told him everything. The Valar are cruel to return his words to me now, after I have lost everything. After I have lost my life.

"It is easy for you to give commands, for you to put me in my place. You are King. You are Thranduil Oropherion. You are not to be questioned, never to be rebuked."

Rîneth. I look around me, but she is not here. I am in a hell.

The orange flame is not a mouth, but a portal to an eternal world of fire. Valinor is a lie. Everything the Elves have been promised is a ruse.

"Thranduil."

Her again. I do not bother to see if she is there; I know the answer. Instead I close my eyes and brace myself, for the flames are nigh and I must endure them. But I have endured them before. The dragon taunts me still.

"Thranduil."

A warm touch on my face, a hand. My feet have stopped moving.

I open my eyes and she is standing before me, bright eyes and soft skin and gold hair. She is a walking star as she has ever been. But there is something different about her, something which elevates her above the stars. I must know what it is...

"Itaril."

She embraces me. Any question I had of her existence vanishes; she is tangible and alive. And warm. A kinder warmth than the bright flame ahead.

"Why are you still here? Your death was long ago. Your spirit should now be residing under the trees of Valinor, not in these dark Halls..."

"The Halls are for resting," she says. "And rest I have not found yet. Until I do, I shall not be able to leave."

"Why have you not found it?"

"Ada! Where are you keeping Nana? I do not like this game anymore. I cannot find her anywhere, not in the cave and not in the forest..."

Legolas again. I look around me, half expecting to see him appear as well, having died in the War. But there is nothing but shadows as far I can see.

"Did you hear him?" I ask. "He spoke those words when he was a child. It was only a few days after your..."

"Death. Nay, I did not hear him. The voices are different for everyone who passes through the Halls. They are memories. Until one can make peace with them, they will continue to speak."

"Do you still hear them?"

"No."

"Then why are you still here? You have not answered me."

She twists her mouth as though she is amused. "Indeed, I have not. I see patience is still not one of your strong suits. But pray tell me: How is our son? I have heard many things from those who have passed through the Halls and knew him. Is he as well as they say?"

Is he? I do not even know his whereabouts. Even now he may be fighting in a battle which will determine the fate of the world. But I must not give her such grave news. I must withhold it.

"He is happier than he has ever been. He is ever the adventurer. He speaks of you every day."

Itaril's laughter is musical. "That is pleasing to hear. I miss him so much, Thranduil. I have no doubt you have been a good father to him."

I look away. Perhaps I should walk into the flame willingly.

"Do not even think it," she says. "I witnessed it with my own eyes. You must be more forgiving on yourself. It was not your fault. The day will come when Legolas will no longer question it."