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Part four of a tale of sorrow, adventure and truth

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.

Lowen stepped outside upon the cold paved stones of Rivendell, in the early morning, her bare foot shivering pleasantly. She looked about her. It was if everything was such a dream. The surrounding hills were misty, and covered with haze, and the waning stars glittered fecklessly in the soft blue sky. It was hard to think evil come upon this land…but it had, and that was why Legolas was not with her. O, she would give the world away, even if she did not own it, just if she could she his fair face once more. She shook herself, and walked slowly down into one of the many gardens. She sang to herself, her voice inaudible at first, then growing into a soft melody. She sang of Luthíen and Beren, the elven and mortal lovers, and this is what she sang.

O, flying forth on feet so blest

Upon thy head a curse,

To dance with sorrow on thy chest.

O maiden born of First.

O Mortal man so brave and strong,

Upon thy heart a spell,

To be so charmed by maid so long,

The fair Tinúviel.

Fly forth, O lovers fairest of all.

Renounce thy faith, O maid,

And lovers, never shall thee fall,

From memory, never fade.

It was her own invention, and it was short, and when she had finished, her undid her hair, and cupping the silver water running from a stream, she let it run over her sorrel tresses. It felt good on her white skin, and when she had finished, she walked around the garden, and, for the first time in ten years, utterly alone.

The next night, she couldn’t sleep, and when she did, her dreams awoke her. She dreamt of blood, it spilling over her. It was not her own her own blood, but the blood of Middle Earth, of the land, the trees, the mountains, the water, the sky, the stars, the moon, and the sun. It washed over her, but did not stain. Then, she saw Legolas, upon a stallion white, and the blood lapped about it’s hooves. She looked into his eyes, but they were completely white, the sea had left them. He opened his mouth, seemingly to speak, but all that came forth was a piercing scream of terror, while his face remained emotionless. She felt as though the scream did not belong to Legolas, but to some terrors that he had freed her from, and now were resting inside of him. Then she awoke, her heart pulsing inside her chest, her breath coming in gasps, her hair drenched in a cold sweat. ’Leg…Lego…Legolas?’ her head was throbbing. She fell back onto her pillow. It had been so tangible, she could feel the blood around her, she could touch it, she could smell it. She stroked her head and gave a cry of anguish.

She did not sleep that night, nor the next, and this continued for three weeks. Sometimes, it was not blood, but tears, but Legolas was always there, upon the same stallion, his eyes the same, and his piercing call besides. Then, when a week had passed, she could not bear it anymore, and so went to the stables of Imladris, without bidding anyone farewell, and took her horse, Ithil-pharaz (Golden Moon), and so rode forth from Imladris in the early hours of that winter’s day. She reached the high pass, in the Misty Mountains, controlled by the Beornings, ere nightfall, so rapid fell her steed’s hooves, and did not stop. Lowen travelled swiftly, in fear of Goblins and Wargs, and so arrived in Lothloríen the faithful day that Mithrandir fell into shadow. Having resided there for many a year in the past, when Evendim was under assault, she was welcomed by the elves, and The White Lady herself.

Alas, against her hope, the dreams returned, but they were changed, and Legolas no longer was within them. Two days after she had arrived in Loríen, she heard that a company of eight had arrived in the Golden wood, and at first her heart rejoiced, as she thought of the Fellowship, but fell, when she recalled there were nine members of the Fellowship of the Ring. Nevertheless, she went to greet them. Imagine her joy when her eyes came upon Legolas Greenleaf, grim, rather blackened, but fair as anything! His hair, golden naturally, was stained black, and his clothes were singed and torn. He was alone, the other Fellowship members with Haldir. His sharp eyes were downcast, so he did not she her until her joyous cry of ‘Legolas!’ was heard. He looked up hopefully, and when he saw her looking rather pitifully at him he laughed, and called to her. She came to him, for that moment it seemed all was black, and he was the only visible thing, and he held her in his arms. She looked into his eyes, and despite the dark shadows about them, the light in them was not quenched. ‘The sea is not dry.’ she thought happily, as he gazed into her face. ‘I love you.’ He whispered into her ear. ‘And I you.’ She said softly. ‘Legolas!’ came a call. It was Aragorn. ‘I must go.’ He whispered. ‘We will meet tonight, in the garden, as we have, and always will, for ten years.’

Continue to Part 5

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