WATTYS SHORTLIST 2018
The heart desires the unreachable.
A rare creature born of Middle Earth must undo the damage of her predecessor, who helped forge the Dark Lord's Ring of Power. Amidst her mental and physical weaknesses, she is challenged to be...
Thranduil ripped off a long piece of his cloak and tied it around Estelwen's arrow wound, even though her heart was no longer beating. He raised his eyes above the white stag's antlers in front of him. They were almost there.
Thranduil was neither foolish nor ignorant. The pain on Legolas' face – he will never heal from losing her. Thranduil was no longer afraid for himself. He was afraid for his son.
But Amariel told me...it is not too late.
Thoughts and doubts stormed through his mind. What did Amariel mean? What had she foreseen? The act had been done. He had arrived to late to prevent the devastation of their son. I am not one of the Valar. There is nothing more I can do!
But even as he thought it, Thranduil knew he was lying.
Thranduil broke into the Mirkwood forest with nothing but the stag, his sword, and the earthborn's body in his arms. Once he reached the thicker woods, he dismounted. He lifted his head, feeling the wind and a swirl of leaves brush against his face. Then, it was gone. "Nai! Are you going to abandon our son when he needs it the most?" Thranduil clenched his jaw. How could she do this? Surely she could feel Legolas' distress! Thranduil stopped. Guilt and shame filled him. He had been the one to leave Legolas, not Amariel. If it were not for her call, he never would have gone to the Black Gates to begin with. And she? She was bound to Mirkwood as a restless spirit because of him. How could he blame her for not being able to escape the prison he held her in?
Thranduil sunk to his knees. This was what he had feared. How could he bear what he had done to Amariel? How he had kept her spirit like an unwilling captive all these years. He had buried his guilt, but that did not stop it from haunting him like a demon. "Díheno nin (I am sorry)." A tear streaked down his face. He should have said those words so long ago. "Len iallon, lasto nin (I beg of you, listen to me)."
The leaves crunched softly. Thranduil looked up. She stood before him, her head unadorned except for her long, red hair falling over her shoulders. Her arms hung at her sides, neither threatening nor welcoming. She looked airy and distant, but her eyes, filled with weariness and longing, gave her true feelings away.
Thranduil was speechless. He lay Estelwen's body to rest on the leaves. He rose to his feet, careful not to disturb the fragile reality in front of him. "I know your face," he whispered.
Amariel raised her head. "Yet you have changed. You are no longer the same elf you were before."
"I had remained the same for too long, ignoring you as you lingered on, never able to rest." His eyes fell to Estelwen. "Not even one so brave was able to bring me out." He waited to hear her frustration, for her to voice what he deserved. He knew the fire in her: she was never afraid to express the truth, no matter what anyone thought, not even he.
"I forgive you."
Thranduil's lips parted wordlessly.
Amariel repeated it in elvish. "You have my forgiveness regardless of what you do from now on. For there was a time long ago that I too wrested with darkness, though of a different kind."
"I recall it. Your offense had not been against me." Thranduil could feel her arm on his, and realized the extent of her energy that must have been put into this meeting. He closed his eyes, relishing in the touch that he missed so deeply. He did not want it to end. He did not want her to end. She lifted her arm as if to leave, but Thranduil quickly held her hand in both of his. "Do all that you can for her." He inclined his head toward Estelwen. "You are the only one gifted enough to do so."
Amariel looked at Estelwen for a while. "She should have been named 'faithful one' for all that she has gone through."
"Please, Amariel."
Amariel turned sharply to him. "Do you understand what such an action would require? This is not like healing a wounded man."
Thranduil nodded.
"And are you willing, Thranduil? Are you truly willing to let me go?"
Thranduil lifted his hand to her cheek. She is really here. Amariel's stare did not waver. Thranduil knew he needed to answer now, even though Amariel showed no sign of impatience. She was asking for an answer that would demand every ounce of truth from him. If he held back, nothing would work.
And nothing would change.
Thranduil lifted her chin, bent down, brought his lips to hers.
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Just for clarification, the phrase, "Len iallon, lasto nin," says "I beg of you, listen to me," as if you were talking to someone greater than you.
"Quanta Qualia" by Hayley Westenra is the beautiful song attached to this chapter that expresses the reverence of this meeting between Thranduil and Amariel, especially during the last few phrases and actions.
