(Artwork by animaeterna, commissioned for Stars of Varda by MaggieShivers)
My back against the wall, I slide down until I meet the cold floor. My calm façade crumbles like aging stone. I cover my face with my hands, and give in to the maelstrom of emotions and thoughts I have tried ignoring for too long.
I am not afraid of dying. Its sting will be far from pleasant, but for the Eldar, death is but a shortened passage to our home across the Sea. Should I die before dawn, my spirit would be sent to the Halls of Mandos for a time of rest. With my physical body restored, I would then stay with my mother under the mallorn trees of Valinor, and await the arrival of Ada, Faeleth, and my nephew.
Nay, I do not fear death. I would rather it claim me than for the sun to rise on the Woodland Realm without its people, and without its King. I would have to depart the forest and live elsewhere, my homeland to become a legend told to the children of Men. Thranduil Oropherion's spirit would reside in the Undying Lands, soon to be reunited with his wife.
He would think of me no more.
I once believed time irrelevant. I only measured it by the passing of seasons, feasts and celebrations, unlike Men who measure it in weeks and days and hours. It was a promise to me. Vast and unending and unhurried. But now it sifts through my fingers like loose sand. Now I wish for a thousand years more of life as it was before the battle. Only a thousand...
Strolling with Gwendes by the riverbank as we discuss her love interests under a waning sun, copying ancient texts long after midnight, spending an evening at the fireside with Ada and Thranduil. Thranduil giving me a piercing look when proving a point, Thranduil dancing with me at Mereth Nuin Giliath, Thranduil listening while I speak of trivialities...just listening. I have taken it all for granted.
Even a thousand more years does not seem enough.
"It would kill me."
I now understand the significance of his words. He has lost much in his life; to lose again would be the final thread undone. The Eldar can die of a broken heart. It has happened before. I know he loves me, as a friend, as a sister of sorts. That thought disconcerts me, though I cannot explain why.
"It would kill me as well." Those were my words unspoken before he left to face an endless night. I cannot guess if he heard them, but they came from a secret space beneath my ribs, one I did not know existed. And they were true. Even if his death did not kill my body, it would kill my spirit. I would join my father in his journey to the Havens.
I bring my knees to my chest, and rest my cheek upon them, wishing I could block the urgent murmurs from the other room. They are a reminder of time. How much I have wasted it, and how little is left.
When my friend Mattie was still alive, I would oft visit her at her farmhouse by the River Running. On one such visit I spoke of how Thranduil was like a brother to me. Her laughter could surely be heard from the other side of the Lonely Mountain. She gave no reason for it, but patted me on the head like a slow-witted child before strolling outside to gather more Elanor for a bouquet. I felt bewildered.
But now I understand.
He is not like a brother at all. Comparing our relationship to the familial one I share with Faeleth feels strange, even repulsive. It is not the same. Mattie knew this. And though he is certainly a friend, so is Gwendes. Should she die, I would grieve but still carry on, warmed by knowing I would one day see her again.
Carrying on does not seem possible without Thranduil.
"Rîneth, may I come in?"
"Yes."
The door swings open. The light from the living chamber burns my eyes, and then is put out again. Gwendes looks astonished to see me sitting on the floor, not in my usual composed state. I am grateful she has the grace not to comment. She sits down beside me.
Feeling incapable of conversation, I remain silent. I wish for once she would give me peace.
"If only we knew what was happening," she says. "I am afraid, Rîneth. Afraid for my father..."
I hope my hand on her shoulder will bring comfort without words. I do not trust mine could give her what she needs.
"Nana had good reason to be worried. He has not been in battle for a long time, since the Queen's death..." She bites her lip. "He forgets he is a simple potter, and not a warrior from the First Age."
Her slippers scratch against the stone surface as she moves her knees to her chest, imitating my position. I feel her sigh on my ear.
"I am also afraid for the King." Her tone changes, becoming soft and oddly familiar. "He looked so handsome and brave before going into battle. If he dies, I shall be devastated."
"Devastated?"
"Beyond measure."
I realize why her tone is familiar. It is the same she once used when speaking fondly of Lord Elros.
"Why does he mean so much to you now?"
Gwendes' brow furrows. "You are aware of my feelings. I have not kept them hidden from you. You...you told me you knew."
"Feelings?" The whoosh in my stomach puts me off balance. "I do not understand. I thought you spoke of Lord Ferdir..."
Her laughter is devoid of humor. "I hope you are jesting, my lady. He is only a handsomer version of Elros."
Heat rises up my neck and to my cheeks. "He saved you from your death, or have you forgotten?"
"Of course not. Elros saved us tonight. Does that mean we should now be in love with him?"
I do not bother to answer. My fingers curl into my palms
"He was so kind when he danced with me at Mereth Nuin Giliath," she says dreamily, closing her eyes to relive the memory. "I never realized before then how kind he could be. And his eyes--"
"Enough!" I shoot up from the floor. "To have feelings for the King is not only folly, but illogical. His heart is with his wife in the Undying Lands. He cannot break his vows. Not for you, not for anyone. You are being ridiculous."
"Tis what I expected you to tell me from the start. But the rumors gave me hope, little though it was. Please do not be cross with me, mellon. Not now..."
Not now. I am brought back to the ongoing battle, and time and how little there is of it. It is no time for arguing. It is time to leave before I say something I shall regret forever.
"I am going to find some Athelas. The wounded will need it."
My father pleads for me to stay in the safety of Lady Aethel's chambers, but my curt refusal silences him, making even Caewen look up from her lap. Instant guilt covers me. My emotions are in a whirl, and I cannot seem to gain control of them.
When I find a storeroom, I walk in and shut the door behind me. I stand without moving in the shadowy chamber, my palms stinging from my digging fingernails. I unclench my fists, and release a surrendering breath.
It is Gwendes who has opened my eyes to the truth of what I have been feeling for longer than I know.
I am in love with him.