Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 47 ~ Returns

Betrothed.

The word echoes in my mind as I watch the troops filter in through the front gate, battered and bloody.

The battle ended in a victory; the news brought to us a few days ago by a jubilant messenger but I had barely considered what it meant for me. My thoughts are occupied by other matters.

Thranduil had revealed another truth to me during his explanations. The entirety of my visit to the Woodland Realm had been a carefully planned arrangement. My brothers had been charged to escort me here under the pretenses of a diplomatic visit and then find cause to leave, allowing me time to establish a relationship with the prince. Arwen was to keep me appeased with her letters. Their initial plan had changed when Naneth was found, but not enough to call it off entirely.

And Nëniel... her betrayal stung more than those of my family. The first and only friend I had made in the Woodland Realm. And as it turns out, not a true friend at all. Thranduil had specifically chosen her, a young, tempestuous maiden so similar to myself. She was to befriend me, gain my trust, and then ensure that I wished to remain here long enough to get close to Legolas.

She had manipulated me the most. In some sense, that made her betrayal the worst.

I had considered her a true friend, had confided in her. She had seen what I had endured as I anxiously waited to be summoned home to my mother and still had chosen not to reveal anything. Instead, as soon as her work had been complete, she had withdrawn, become as cold as a stranger to me, under the false guise of a friend scorned. 

At the command of her king she had used me without a second thought, without any consideration of what it would mean for me. Of the joyless situation she had helped create for me.

I cannot bring myself to feel anger towards her, my heart weighing too heavily within my chest, burdened with the memories of another.

The way home is now clear for me to take, and yet I cannot take it. I am stuck in a deadlock. To leave now means to run away from it all, to ignore my situation and everything that had happened since first arriving here. To dismiss any thought of the future I may have had with Legolas.

The thought sinks further in my chest, awakening a dull throb.

I find it hard to even consider. And yet, more so is the thought of entering into a union with him formed against our will, by the attempts of our parents.

A forced marriage.

This is not what I would have wanted. To choose love was meant to be mine alone: no rules, no responsibilities to be fulfilled. And now it was taken from me, my fate chosen long before I was born by my parents, no matter the feelings of my own heart.

Yet there lies the most painful truth. My heart would have wanted this. Perhaps not now, but I know that later, maybe years from now, this would have been my greatest joy. To love someone enough that they became your family, your everything. I would have been overjoyed at the thought of a marriage.

But to marry now would be to surrender to my parents wishes, with no consideration of my own dreams.

And yet not to marry; that would break my heart. Because somewhere down the road, I know I would have wanted this. To marry Legolas, to find my greatest joy in him. 

Something twists painfully in my chest. 

The source of my greatest joy, but also of my greatest pain.

For all the betrayal I had thus far endured wouldn't have stung as much, if Legolas had not been a part of it.

He had known of the betrothal. Thranduil had revealed the arrangement to him the morning his battalion had left the palace to journey to the front.

And still, he had come to me, had kissed me, and pretended that all was well. 

He had had a chance to tell me but had chosen not to.

The throb in my chest continues to ache. 

Of all the people who had thus far been lying to me, I had never thought that he'd be among them. He had sympathized with me, comforted me, befriended me.

I swallow, my fingernails digging into my palms.

Loved me.

How much of it had been truthful?

I can't think, find a clear path through this that ends with everyone happy. Least of all me.

I shake away my thoughts, refocusing on the troops coming in through the gate, and the beckoning forest beyond them.

And then its Legolas who walks through the gate.

Despite the mistrust and anger I feel, my heart still soars at the sight of him, relief flooding my body.

His armor is grimy, streaked with blood both black and red, and there's exhaustion written in every line of his face, but he's alive.

Tauriel limps into view beside him, one arm strung over his broad shoulders for support as she walks, heavily favoring her left leg. When she turns, I see the bloody gash in her right thigh, hastily bandaged.

I rush to them, every thought of anger or confusion pushed to the back of my mind, overcome with concern. Legolas catches sight of me weaving through the crowd toward them and his lips tug into a weary smile.

I reach them and instantly sling Tauriel's other arm over my shoulders.

"What happened?" I ask, directing the question to Legolas as I assess the wound up close.

"Stray arrow," he replies grimly. "A few days ago."

I can feel his gaze on me, but I can't bring myself to lift my head.

"Let's get you to the healer's wing," I tell Tauriel. "Those bandages aren't doing any good anymore."

Our progress is slow and silent, the entrance hall and hub of chatter but no more than a few words passing between us.

I scan the faces we pass as we walk, instantly struck by an odd thought I hadn't considered in my rush.

"Where is Nëniel?"

 Despite my animosity towards her, I find it odd for her not to be at the side of her injured sister.

My question is met with silence. I finally bring my gaze up to Legolas, but he stares straight ahead, making no indication that he'd heard me.

I slow to a stop, bringing our procession to a halt.

"Legolas, where is she?"

His eyes remain downcast, but Tauriel stirs beside me. For the first time since arriving, I take in her expression. Dread pools in my stomach.

Her face is tear-streaked, clean tracks running through the sweat and grime caked on her cheeks, and her gaze is vacant, staring at nothing.

Legolas' voice is hollow when he speaks.

"The knife was poisoned. There was nothing we could do." He finally meets my gaze, misery reflected in his eyes. "By the time we fought to her side, she was gone."