Echoes Beyond

The Worlds that Collide

Life's not a fairy tale. Princes don't come along on their white horses and rescue women from their terrible lives.

Legolas stood motionless, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He couldn't comprehend the sight before him: Lytharial, her once ginger hair now as black as night, her skin pale as the moon. The realization struck him like a blow to the chest. She had been using dark magic, the forbidden arts. Anger and betrayal surged through him. How could she have concealed herself for a century? How could she have left him in the dark, making him believe she was dead?

Before he could voice his tumultuous thoughts, Neerin hurled her dagger at a figure lurking in the shadows. The intruder dodged it effortlessly and vanished with a maniacal laugh, leaving an eerie silence in his wake. Aragorn stormed into the room, his expression grim and urgent.

     "Legolas, we need you. There's a slaughter, no sign of the dwarves—" His voice trailed off as his eyes fell on Lytharial. Then on his elven friend. Recognition and shock flashed across Legolas's face. Aragorn had known. He had known Lytharial was alive, that she was the elusive general he had spoken of during their quest to destroy the ring. Legolas' anger flared even hotter.

     "Aragorn," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You knew."

Aragorn's face was a mask of guilt and confusion. 

     "Legolas, I—"

     "You knew she was alive, and you said nothing. You failed me, Aragorn."

Legolas's steps were deliberate and menacing as he approached Lytharial. He needed to see her up close, look into her eyes, and understand how she could have done this to him. But before he could reach her, Aragorn moved to stand in his way, shielding her with his body.

     "Stay back, Legolas," Aragorn warned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "This isn't the time for this."

Legolas stopped, his gaze narrowing on Aragorn. Then, something else hit him—a scent in the air. He sniffed once, twice. It was unmistakable. Lytharial's scent was intertwined with Aragorn's. The realization made his blood run cold. She had been with Aragorn. She had forgotten him.

     "You," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "She was with you. She is your lover."

Aragorn's face hardened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—regret, perhaps.

     "Legolas, it's not what you think—"

     "I trusted you!" Legolas roared, his fists clenched at his sides. "I confided in you about her, and you—" His voice broke, unable to complete the sentence.

Neerin watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. The tension was palpable, and the room was charged with raw emotions. She couldn't bear it any longer. Without a word, she turned and fled, her only thought was to find her father and help him in the chaos that had overtaken Mirkwood.

Lytharial took a step forward, her voice trembling. 

     "Legolas, please, listen to me. It's not what you think. I can explain everything, but we need to stop this fight first. Please."

But Legolas was unmoved, his face a mask of fury and hurt. 

     "Explain? What is there left to explain, Lytharial? You disappeared for a century. A century! I searched for you, grieved for you. I was devastated when I found you missing. Do you have any idea what that did to me? How could you do this? How dare you show no shame? For decades, I sent search parties, I held out hope, and you never appeared. You didn't want to appear."