Darkest Nights | Love of Royals: Book II

XXXV: Survived

Fírion's POV

It's over before any of us know it. Whether it was Fíria's words that roused them so, I do not know, but every elf who could wield a blade has given it everything.  We've massacred the spiders under the rising sun, and Valar, I'm exhausted by the end.  Much of my strength has been drained from using magic to save Legolas, as was the strength of Elena and Fíria.

It seems Fíria and Legolas aren't going to let each other go. Tauriel and I get little time with either of them after the battle, since they want to be alone with each other so much. Understandable, considering my friend was so close to death that my sister nearly broke—an event that will haunt all six of us until the end of time.

I tell the others that I'm going back to my room to rest for a few hours, and Tauriel, without a second thought, goes with me. We don't say much, both of us simply content in the other's presence while the morning creeps through the windows and illuminates our skin. She does sleep for a little while though, curled up with her head on my chest whilst I lie still and run my fingers through her hair. Sights and sounds of the battle still thrum through me like a second pulse, but Tauriel's heartbeat alone is enough to steady me back to the present. I survived, and so did she.

What does this mean for us?

And I don't just mean Tauriel and I. I mean the four of us. Two couples crossing a boundary between two opposing races. None of us had ever really contemplated our fate beyond dealing with Fínegel, besides what Tauriel and I agreed a while ago: it would be an utter joy if we could stay together, here, in this kingdom. Nowhere else calls to me like this place and these people, and no one has made me feel more alive than them. I owe them all so much—especially the flame-haired elleth with a heart of fire and adventure, who makes me happy beyond belief.

And although I can't sleep like she can, I can close my eyes and let my thoughts carry me off. As I lay there, I feel my magic slowly replenishing after almost being completely spent to save my friend's life. I feel the embers forming in my soul, and if I think about them hard enough, I'll forget about the choices we'll have to make once we leave this room.

Stay, or go.  Take the crown, or run away from it.  In an ideal world, I would remain Ílren; I would stay here, with Tauriel, as the lowly Elf-ranger.  I wouldn't have to leave her, and she wouldn't have to give up her title of Captain and sit by my side on the Dû-edhel throne.

But in my heart, I know it's going to be more complicated than that.

Awakening from her peaceful doze, Tauriel shifts a little against my chest, and stretches one arm before wrapping it around me.  'You will stay, meleth?  Won't you?' she murmurs.

'Yes, I will.' 

I must promise her that.  Because her last love left her—left her alone and broken beside his cold body, while her heart ached for things that could never have been.  But if I can figure this out so I don't have to go, then I can keep my word.  Throne or no throne.

She moves further up to lay her head right beside mine, a glow of hope in those soft hazel eyes of hers.  Hope for us.  And after years of believing there was no hope for me, that I would feel lost and yearning for a mortal woman whom I could never have for all the life ages of this world, watching friends' lives flicker past me... after all that time, I see that hope.  I reach out for it, for this prospect of a life I could only have dreamed of.  

It's within my reach.  I only have to survive the negotiations that are sure to come, that will settle what exactly happens now Fínegel is finally gone.

***

I know, by now, that I shouldn't fear Thranduil. And I don't—yet when his Majesty apparently summons me to speak to him alone, my stomach lurches. He's surely going to ask me to about a certain kingship, and I don't even know if I can face it.  Can I avoid claiming it?  I suppose I'll find out soon enough.