A liaison in the Great Greenwood

Chapter 70

    As he pushed himself forward onto the ridge, the frigid wind bit at his face as he peered into the flurry. There it stood in the distance, a dark mass of gray hues piercing the heavens. The ragged columns and crumbling walls and arches gave way to the twisted, thorny vines that now encroached it. Any resemblance of the glory it had once been had now withered into figments of memories that now flitted away with the white squall that ensnared them. And yet some memories did remain; Silveth's golden locks fluttering behind her as she ran playfully from him down the grandeur of the marble halls, her eyes of snowy mist shimmering from the ribbons of sunlight that shone through the arched windows. Memories of catching her in an embrace, and their lips locking in passion, their tongues dancing deliciously within their mouths, his hands exploring every curve of her body as they hid behind one of the fortresses' extravagantly carved pillars to make passionate love. Alas, the great fortress was now laid bare and wasted, and a choking darkness poisoned its ancient grandeur and was now seeping into the forest around it. Now the trees had contorted and oozed a vile gunk, and spindly strands of shimmering white thread thickly through the branches and dead foliage of the undergrowth, ensnaring anything that came into their grasp.

"Ungwë..." The ancient Quenya slipped off his lips, his brow furrowing in displeasure.

"So this is the root of it all. You have decided to desecrate the legacy my father built!" The rage that filled him at that moment spurred him to hack at the nearby gnarled branches; anything to rid his beloved forest of the poison that was rotting it away. Such a frenzy he found himself in, he entangled himself in the stickiness of the webs. His struggle to slice his way through them sent vibrations throughout the hollow branches, and soon he could hear the creaking and rustling his ruckus had initiated.

"Come on, you wretched bastards! Come and taste the steel of my sword!" he hissed at the approaching arachnids.

A great looming shadow engulfed him, and as he twisted his body to look upwards, elongated, grotesque fangs bore down on him, the vile ooze that dripped from their pinnacles burning the flesh of his face. With a gurgling hiss, the eight-legged behemoth tumbled sidewards, flinging the Elvenking with it. Rolling himself free, Thranduil twisted his body to avoid the onslaught of spinnets that now tried to skewer him. Flicking his wrist around he sliced off one of the spinnets cleanly and sent the offending arachnid limping back into the sickness of the trees. Another launched at him, but he flipped back to take its fangs clearly off, causing it to screech and writhe in agony and demise. Its screams were joined by the others as they flinched and recoiled from the rays of surreal light that pierced through the canopy. They scampered off as quickly as they had come in the direction of his old home; his defiled old home.

Taking a deep breath he peered up into the light that illuminated his black splattered armor, and a deep warmth engulfed him like a lover's embrace. The light-filled him to his very core, and the thorns that had embedded themselves in his heart for so long seemed to wither and shrink. A great weight lifted from his soul and warm tears began to trickle down his cheeks, leaving a clear trail amid the dirt and gore. He slowly slid down the trunk that happened to be behind him, basking in the rays of sunshine. After spending so much time in the darkened forest, his eyes stung from so much light; but he did not flinch nor averted his gaze, only stared directly into it, for he saw it. He saw a feminine halo woven with silver into the warm yellow light, and soon he could hear it whispering, communicating with his innermost self.

"Come home, Thranduil." spoke the epiphany. And thus, he obeyed.

She was waiting for him at those crossroads; the same crossroads where Adlanniel had farewelled her handmaiden. It brought upon a bittersweet pain for such a memory to arise, and to see her grandmother there only sought to bring upon a greater dread.

"What is it that you fear, Thranduil?" She asked, her expression perpetually serene.

He stared at her for a long moment, afraid of what was in his heart. Yet her smile brought an unparalleled warmth which thawed his emotional state. Still, he was weary as he looked upon her.

"Retribution." The words slipped from her lips like satin. His eyes widened. Of course, she could read his soul.

"We all have already endured enough, Thranduil." She began. "The thorns will dig deep for some time and will continue to manifest. They will bite into our hearts and make us reveal our true selves. But now is a time where we truly need each other."

His gaze turned a sullen shade of silver at her words. "Do you mean...?"

She smiled gently but evaded his question. "Now let us return to the palace, there is something I must speak with you about."

Thranduil's eyes darkened. "With all due respect, Lady Galadriel, I would rather hear what you have to say, now."

Galadriel stopped and turned to him, her graceful features still seeming to hold their serenity. She reached out her lithe hand to him.

He had never endured such pain as he did then as his fingers made contact with hers. Slowly, he slumped to his knees and there, in the chill of the winter afternoon, he wept.

Quenya - English

Ungwë - Spider webs