Darkest Nights | Love of Royals: Book II

XIV: Endure

Ílren's POV

My head is reeling.  By the time I've breakfasted with Legolas, Fíria and Tauriel, my mind itself has begun to ache so furiously it reminds me of worse times.  Times when I was stuck in limbo, watching human lives pass by me, blink by blink.  But Fíria—the Raven—is being eaten from the inside too.  It won't be long before her secret consumes her.  I told her that she needs to tell someone, and yet I have told no one of my inner demons.  There is no one I can burden with them.

And Fíria's identity is another item on the list of things that Thranduil and Elena surely know, and have opted to keep to themselves.  Valar, perhaps Fíria and the letter are connected more than I had thought.  Perhaps it is not only a warning about her father, but a warning about her.  About the Raven, the last person in Middle Earth any monarch should allow into their domain.  But I can't believe how genuinely friendly she is to me—a trait I doubt she reveals very often.  The assassin who loves, and lies, and has wound herself into a near-inescapable knot of problems—and my friend.  I refuse to believe her friendship is another lie, not after the confession she poured out to me, and the way her black eyes were lined with silver when she spoke of deceiving the innocent Prince.

Prince Legolas, kept in the dark.  Princess Fíria, who is the dark.  Then Tauriel, the Captain burdened with some guarded memories, who ignites my heart more than I have ever felt.  Her hair may be the colour of fire, but the one I feel within me is like the darkness between the stars.  Black as night, as those moonlit hours where I can reach inside myself and find strength.

The strength that kept me alive while I watched everyone else die.

My thoughts consume me.  Politely excusing myself from my friends' conversation, I almost stagger outside onto a balcony before sinking down against the wall, the bitter cold of the late autumn air filling my lungs.  Not again—not again—

Another pair of green eyes.  Another woman, young and innocent, listening to me talk. She was always excellent at making me talk. The way she would look at me, it reminded me of her ancestor—the first and only woman I loved, all those generations ago.  It had been 2000 years, and yet the bottle-green eyes of Meiryn's line still haunted me.  Even in Linneith, a curious soul whom I remember almost as well as I do Meiryn. I never found myself locking lips with her, oh no—but she made me confess things I had sworn to keep to myself.

'I suppose...' I swallowed down whatever I was about to say.

Linneith rose from her perch by the crackling fire and glided over to where I was leant against the wall. 'You suppose what?' she prompted, her wide eyes deeply taking in every part of me. Even after spending too long weaning information out of me, she didn't seem to tire.

'I suppose I just can't bring myself to change anything.  I wake up every morning and think: I don't have to change now.  I don't have to do anything.  I have no family, no aspirations, and my only purpose is to protect this group.  I'm going to live forever... and that's far too long.'

Linneith's breath hitched. 'Ílren...'

'That's how it's been for a long time now.'

'It doesn't have to be like that. You are meant for more than that. Greater purposes...and people who care about you.' Her gaze dropped to the floor. 'People who want you to live your long life to the fullest, not spend it like... spend it like this.'

'The elves would never care about an outcast like me,' I said bitterly, 'I cannot belong with them.'

'That's not what I—'