Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 48 ~ Reminiscence

The forest morning is brisk as I stand silently at the sidelines of the procession, my thick, raven-coloured gown heavy at my ankles and unmoving in the chill breeze. The king and Legolas linger close by, their gazes fixed ahead as prayers are offered and soldiers bid farewell to their comrades. The living burying the dead.

Tauriel stands cold as frost by my side, a dark veil draped over her face. Neither cry nor prayer passes the firm line of her lips but through the deep shadows of her veil, her red-rimmed eyes shine through, bright with tears.

The body of her sister already lies cooling beneath the thin layer of snow coating the forest floor.

Nëniel.

Dead.

I watch the flurries fall from the bleak sky as my mind struggles to accept the reality. I had once considered her a friend. Now that I knew she had been commanded to only acted the part, I wasn't so sure. She had seemed so eager for friendship, so earnest and lonely, that some part of me still finds it hard to believe that it wasn't true. But whatever she had thought of our acquaintance, whether she had truly considered me a friend, was lost. And tainted by our bitter farewell.

Tauriel stirs at my side, as if sensing my thoughts.

"Orphan. Then captain. First below the friendliness of others, then too far above. Always alone." She draws in a shuddering breath. "In life, and now in death."

I meet her eyes, unable to answer. A tear slips down her cheek, catching the early morning light. She turns her gaze back to the earth.

"When we were orphaned, she had to take care of me, become mother to us both. And when she became captain..." she trails off, her brows knitting at the memory. "I never repaid her."

I search my mind for any words of comfort to offer her but come up short. The air is quiet save for the rhythmic hiss of her silk veil snapping in the wind.

"She deserved a better sister."

She says is so quietly that I almost miss it, but it hits me square in the chest, as loud as if she had cried out. My own guilt weighs heavily on me.

I can only echo her admission, lowering my head. "And a better friend."

Her bitter laugh surprises me. "On that we agree."

My brows furrow as I turn to her, searching her gaze.

She continues to watch the forest, but resentment and guilt burn in her eyes, piercing beneath her dark veil. For myself, for us both, I do not know. Both are justified.

My tongue fails me at the misery carved deep into every line of her face.

"You scorned her," she continues, her tone biting. "In my eyes, you were no friend to her. And yet, against all reason, Nëniel thought the world of you."

Her words cut deep, but I finally find my voice.

"Forgive me, Tauriel, but I truly wanted to be a friend to her," I manage, disbelief at her accusations widening my eyes. "It was her friendship to me that began as a lie."

"Befriending you was her duty, yes, but my sister was not heartless." She finally turns her head, lips pressed firmly in a line. "She struggled to feed you half-truths, to knowingly deceive you. Your friendship was more kindness than she had ever known, and it pierced her to the core.

"She begged the king to search for your brothers in the forest when you first arrived." Her words are not hateful, yet they fly like arrows from her mouth, each hitting their mark. "She insisted you be returned home when news of your mother's rescue was brought, defying the command of her sovereign. She protected you when you brought that dwarf here, taking King Thranduil's wrath upon herself. And she was demoted for it."

"Even in her anger toward you for mistrusting her, she never once forgot; you were the first to look beyond the captain, to the passionate-hearted young elf hidden underneath." Tauriel pauses, as if lost in a memory. "The first to call her 'friend'."

My heart clenches in my chest. I struggle to understand.

From friend, to fraud, and now friend again.

A true friend.

My anger evaporates, crushing guilt replacing it.

The kindness I had observed in her had not been false. She had truly cared, had tried to help.

Tauriel speaks again, her face softening as the resentment melts away, casting it into deep shadow once more.

"You made her final days some of the worst. And yet, those leading up to it were also some of the best she had ever known."

Guilt twists inside me.

And our parting had been bitter. I never had the chance to apologize.

"It matters not now," she whispers, more to herself than to me. "My sins far outnumber your own, and it is too late to repent. My sister is not coming back."

She returns to her vigil of the forest. Her eyes are hollow, laid bare for all to see. And in their depths, such sorrow.

A sorrow known all too well by me. In the recent months, it had been my companion, haunting my steps, the shadow of another I had lost. Something in me cracks, and I find myself taking her hand.

For a moment she is still, eyes lost in the tree line. But then her grip tightens in mine, the gesture passing unspoken words between us. Together, we watch the slow spread of dawn greet the forest.

Grief is now familiar to both of us.

Nëniel is gone, beyond the reaches of this life. But this is not the end of the journey. A kernel of light ignites softly in my chest.

"She walks in starlight, in another world," I whisper, the words lilting like a song.

From the corner of my vision, I see the smallest of smiles touch Tauriel's lips.

Long moments pass us in silence until with a squeeze to my shoulder, she walks away, and I am left alone. The chill seeps through the threads of my heavy dress, a northern breeze carrying the promise of snowfall. A blanket of white to cover the world, to shroud the dead.

With a glance to the lightening sky, I offer a single prayer for the fallen.

Farewell, daughter of the Greenwood. May you find peace on White Shores.

My steps turn back toward the palace.

Until we meet again.