The Great Sacrifice

Regret

Ari and her companions were escorted to a room, formerly used to accommodate soldiers from other elven realms in times of war, who had come to Mirkwood to assist them in battle. The room was modestly furnished with simple narrow beds and a few tables and chairs. It was quite spacious and bright, despite the absence of windows. Ari noticed a number of markings on the walls, suspecting they had to be dates and places. Perhaps they had been written long ago by elves who had come here to ride into battle. Some of them might have never returned home to their families and loved ones.

She shivered at the thought. In Gondor she had heard many tales about the great battles, much fiercer and darker than the ones she had witnessed in the south. She marveled at the courage of the soldiers, no matter whether humans, dwarves or elves. They had fought for their freedom and eventually had gained it. Ari took a last look at the room and walked towards the door. She would not stay in this room for the night. The thoughts of war had spread a sense of uneasiness within her soul, and besides, she would not share a room with any male. That was against her principles. She would sleep near them under the starry sky, but would not spend the night in the same room with them.

The fields and forests were open areas, whereas this room had its limitations, its walls and a door. She would not stay. Ari made her way to the washrooms which were earlier shown to them by the elves on their way down. After washing herself, she bundled up in her second attire, black leggings and a dark green tunic. She then returned to the room to rearrange her belongings and headed straight for the stables to meet her dear companion, Aro. He had been fed and was now idly standing in the stable. Ari was halted by a guard at the entrance but as soon as he recognized her, he wordlessly let her pass. Ari nestled her face against Aro's strong broad neck and sighed heavily before she lay down onto a pile of straw.

*****

Thranduil could not find rest. Even when he lay down to rest, peace did not come to him. He heard the storm raging outside. It had been a long time since the forest had faced such a storm. In the morning he would have to inspect the damage done in the newly established elven dwellings. A lot of repair work would need to be done. Yet that was what they were used to doing after the wars. Inspecting the damage and loss, rebuilding, comforting and going on. Go on till the end of time... Thranduil's brows furrowed. Until the end of time, he thought. No! This was not what he intended. It made him feel uneasy and vulnerable. Vulnerability, a feeling Thranduil detested. But why did he feel vulnerable?

Legolas, his only son and heir had still not returned home. Thranduil had heard the dark stories and details of the War of the Ring. His own memories of old times still gnawed on his heart. Legolas had faced the same, if not worse, and who could tell if his son's heart had been strong enough to endure this evil? Perhaps Legolas' heart was longing for the sea now. Perhaps he had sailed already.

No! No! No! Thranduil rose abruptly from his bed. Legolas had to stay in Middle-Earth! He had to return home! He was his son, his heir, he was the only family that Thranduil had. The thought of Legolas leaving Middle-Earth crushed Thranduil's heart. He had not wished for Legolas to leave his home, but back then, at that moment, his heart had been guided by a superior power and Thranduil had send his son to find Aragorn. Had he been mad? His own prompting had led Legolas to join the Fellowship of the Ring. Thranduil had sent his son to his doom. If Legolas' heart had become burdened by the darkness of war, Thranduil would have to blame himself. And he, in fact, did blame himself. Every day, every moment, every single second that passed. Too many times had he regretted sending Legolas away. But what would have happened if he had not done so?

Lord Elrond had seen Legolas at the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen. He told him that Legolas was happy, or, at least that is what Lord Elrond had told him. But that was a long time ago. Aragorn and Arwen were long gone. Maybe the war had not affected Legolas in the way Thranduil feared. But why did he not return home? Thranduil faced the thought that had tried to enter his mind countless times. But he had never before allowed it to do so. But now it was there - very clear and painful - he had caused his son to leave his home because of who he was. He had pushed Legolas into this dark world. Thranduil now stood at the window, looking out through the stained glass. Lightnings flashed in the sky and thunders sang a song of anger, accompanied by the fierce howl of the wind. Thranduil watched the battle between nature and his forest with concern. The elements of nature were outfighting his forest.

He witnessed trees getting uprooted by the force of the wind, crashing down on other trees as they fell to the ground. There had been many storms in this area, but this one was the fiercest Thranduil had ever experienced. This storm was no ordinary one. It would rinse his forest once and for all from the filth which had been lingering there for hundreds of years. The storm was the beginning of the end of the last remnants of the darkness. However, Thranduil did not know that. He continued to watch the battle of nature, not knowing that this storm would set into motion far more than just the cleansing of his beloved forest.