The Shadow Hunter

Chapter 22: Ghosts in Her

She had ever felt this feeling before, once or twice, but she could not remember. Perhaps it was when Ellain and Ruindoldir fell. Perhaps it was when Arwen fell. She could know, but it certainly felt the same. The world stopped moving. Everything became soundless, even her own voice. Gandalf had fallen, just like Ellain and Ruindoldir. His fate could be prevented by her hands.

Where had she gone wrong?

“Varilerin!” Legolas shouted as he pulled her up. “We need to get out of here!” His voice snapped her to wake for a moment, enough for her to stand with her cowering feet. Her world slowly returned audible. She could hear Frodo’s screams, arrows whistling in the air, Legolas repeatedly saying her name.

“Let’s go,” she finally said. Her feet were heavy, but she forced them to move. Gandalf’s sacrifice should not be vain. They should finish what they had started. “Get out!” she muttered coldly to Frodo, pushing him and the others towards the exit. Aragorn ran behind her, deflecting arrows targeting them. They ran through a series of dark stone tunnels and corridors, now no longer chased by the enemies, before they could see the light coming from the outside world.

Scorching sun greeted them mercilessly as they exited the dreadful minds, almost blinding them after days of dark journey. The Hobbits immediately fell to their knees, unable to continue after what had just occurred. They wept in pain on the ground. Legolas and Gimli fell grief stricken, and so was Boromir. Varilerin panted as she arrived in the scene, trying to calm herself down. Her mind was blank and she could not think anything. She glanced at Aragorn, both knowing they could not stay there, not when Orcs were possibly chasing behind.

“We need to move,” Varilerin muttered loudly enough for all the grieving members to hear her. Biting her lip, she turned to Aragorn. “We need to get them up,” she told him bitterly, herself not willing to disturb their grief, for she was crying at heart as well.

“Get them up!” Aragorn ordered reluctantly.

“Give them a moment for pity’s sake!” Boromir pleaded, frowning.

“We cannot stay here,” Varilerin explained. “When night comes, Orcs will dominate this place. We cannot let that happen, not when our quest still continues.”

“A moment of grief won’t hurt, will it?” Boromir retorted impatiently. He huffed when he saw Varilerin did not show a slightest bit of emotion. “Look at them. They cannot even stand! Have you no loss for Gandalf?” he snapped.

“Do not even speak about loss in before me,” Varilerin hissed with a trembling voice, standing just an inch before him. She raised her hand as if she wanted to hit him, but merely gripped her own fingers as she held back her emotions. Boromir widened his eyes as her hand lowered down. “You have never, ever, known the pain of losing someone most treasured in your life, in front of your eyes,” Varilerin rasped,” And… And Knowing…. That the fault is in you!”

Her last words were desperate and bitter. Her breath trembled and irregular. She cared not if Boromir or the Fellowship was looking at her in such a way. Her heart was broken. Gandalf was no longer there to comfort her broken self, or prevent her from being broken. He had fallen and she was now falling.

“Gandalf won’t want us dead after his sacrifice,” Varilerin continued, her voice calmer it sounded horrifying. Boromir could not believe her impossible control of emotions, but he knew she had reached her limit.

“Forgi—“ Boromir was interrupted when Varilerin placed her left arm on his shoulder, revealing a bounded gash.

“Help them get up,” Varilerin muttered silently, before she left his vicinity. “We are going to Lothlorien,” she announced, walking to Frodo. The Hobbit was no longer looking emptily to the horizon, but was now sharing the same eyes as her. Varilerin winced as she said, “Let’s go,” with the outmost burden. The Fellowship did not dare to say any objection, merely now following Aragorn as he led them to the woods. With their remaining strength they sprinted to Lothlorien, where they did not know if a warm welcome or arrows would greet them. Varilerin ran behind them, tightening her bandage as they entered the forest. She immediately regretted the decision to touch Gandalf’s scarf, wincing as she remembered his eyes.

The sun was starting to descend when they finally reached the deep forest. By then they had lost all their strength and their sprint was reduced to a stroll. “Stay close, young Hobbits,” Gimli whispered, finding courage to speak after the dreadful silence among them. “They say there’s a great sorceress living in these woods,” he explained, trying to lift their spirits. He had been spent with the loss of Balin, and Gandalf’s was saddening but still lighter than his cousin’s death. “An Elf witch of terrible power…”

Gimli stopped when he received a glare from Varilerin. At this mood she could not tolerate the Dwarf’s protests; moreover if they were about Lady Galadriel, who had been kind enough to offer her numerous helps in the past. She shifted her attention to their path. Aragorn seemed to know the forest well and they were following the correct stone path, but something among the trees were unsettling her. The forest had changed since she last visited. Shadows tried to seep past the leaves, dulling their golden colours and withering them.

“The forest has suffered,” a voice spoke in her head, gentle and elegant. Varilerin was not surprised like Frodo, who seemed to be hearing Galadriel’s voice as well, and continued her walk. She did not prevent the lady from speaking in her mind. She had no more reason not to. “And so have you. You are in the verge of fading. We need to speak.”

“Yes…” she answered weakly. Galadriel stopped speaking. Now the only voice she could hear was Gimli’s.

“All who look upon her fall under her spell,” Gimli continued with his comedic voice to scare the Hobbits. “And are never seen again. But well, here’s one Dwarf she won’t ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and ears of a fox—“

In a sudden dozen of arrows appeared from the dark, pointing themselves at the company. All but Varilerin and Aragorn shuddered, drawing their weapons to no avail. The assaulters stepped closer and revealed themselves as Elves wearing grey cloaks, all fair and glowering at them. “The Dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark,” a voice came from among them. Emerged a blonde Elf with a face familiar to both Varilerin and Aragorn. Haldir looked at the Dwarf coldly, before he shifted his attention to Aragorn and Varilerin, and then to Legolas. He nodded when he recognized them and lifted his hand to let the rangers lower their weapons.

“You’ve brought a strange company here, Aragorn,” Haldir told him.

“It is a strange company in need of your protection, Haldir of Lorien,” Aragorn said.

“I need to inspect all of you,” Haldir responded, glancing to his surroundings. “But not here. Follow me.” Haldir gestured the other members to follow him and Aragorn. The Fellowship lined up anxiously and followed their footsteps deeper into the forest. The sun was descending from the top sky when they were brought to an Elven outpost established on a large malorn tree. Several rangers eyed them from atop the branches, while Haldir instructed for a ladder to be set down. Aragorn and Legolas climbed first, followed by Varilerin and the rest. Above, they lined up so the Elves could inspect them. Haldir came forth, greeting Legolas with his open palm.

“Welcome Legolas, son of Thranduil,” he greeted the Mirkwood prince with their tongue.

“Our fellowship stands in your debt, Haldir of Lorien,” Legolas replied. Haldir nodded and moved to Aragorn.

“Aragorn of the Dunedain, you are also known to us.”

“Haldir,” Aragorn responded. Haldir nodded again and then stood before Varilerin. They looked at each other unlike friends, but as comrades and warriors.

“The Lady has awaited for your return for a long time,” Haldir started. “Your arrival is truly welcomed, Varilerin, the Shadow Hunter.”

“Forgive me, but courtesy can wait now, Haldir,” she whispered. “We need your protection, if you allow us.”

“Patience, Varilerin. I cannot let just anyone enter my Lady’s realm,” Haldir said as cold as ice. Varilerin frowned, knowing that she could not fight his will.

“So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves! Speak words we can also understand!” they heard Gimli protesting. Haldir turned to the Dwarf as fast as the wind and glowered at him, using his height to his advantage.

“We have not had dealings with the Dwarfs since the dark days,” Haldir reasoned.

“And do you know what this Dwarf says to that?” Gimli shot back. Before he could even continue, Varilerin gripped his stout shoulder tight with her wounded hand and squeezed it. Gimli shuddered and immediately stopped all his intentions to curse the Elf, much to Haldir’s satisfaction. When Varilerin saw that Gimli had calmed down, she released him from her grasp. Haldir saw her wound when she lowered her arm.

“You’re wounded,” Haldir remarked.

“It is small. Please continue quickly,” Varilerin suggested. Haldir nodded and stepped to the other companions. He stopped abruptly in front of Frodo and Sam. Blue eyes widened in horror and he snapped to Aragorn, his composure all lost to fear.

“You bring great evil with you. You can go no further!” Haldir curtly said as he walked away. Legolas and Aragorn widened their eyes and instantly tailed Haldir, blocking his path. Varilerin merely sighed as she fell to the ground lightly, losing all the strength to even stand the possibility of them travelling at the dangerous night.

“We need your protection. The road is fell!” Aragorn pleaded.

“All are allowed except for the Halfling,” Haldir said.

“Please, Haldir. A shelter at least,” Legolas added. ”We carry a heavy burden. Please do not make us suffer when we have suffered enough.” Legolas paused, glancing at his company, before he returned to Haldir. “Gandalf has fallen. Without him, we cannot go further tonight.”

Haldir was bemused by Legolas’ information and was rendered silent. He glanced at the Fellowship as he thought about the odds. Aragorn and Legolas waited patiently, praying at heart that the man would allow them protection. “Farewell,” Haldir said finally, his voice hesitant. “We will help you. The Lady has deemed it well. Tell your friends to stand up and follow me,” Haldir said. Varilerin stood up, her face unchanging, before she told the others to join them.

“Thank you, mello-nin,” she thanked the ranger. Haldir nodded and instructed the other rangers to escort them.

The Fellowship was led deeper into the forest, which darkened as the sun set. The last rays of the day shone on the leaves, glinting it golden in colour and red in glow. The place had not changed really much, except for the darkness which silently crept inside the woods. The forest revived many memories, all unpleasant. Flashes of Ellain and Ruindoldir’s lifeless body came to her mind. It was as if she was seeing the scene all over again. Varilerin shook her head, trying to discard or at least supress the thoughts with Gandalf’s death. It is all the same, anyway.

The Company continued to walk until their feet now sore. As if hope finally arrived for them, light greeted, and they were brought to a cliff showing vast expanse of the golden wood. Lying not far was a dense forest growing on a highland, with shining golden trees which touched the sky. They stood still, mesmerized, for they had never seen anything like it before.

“Caras Caladhron,” Haldir introduced them. “Homes of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel,” he said as he continued their journey. Once they entered the settlement, the view changed tremendously. Now that the sun had sunken, they were greeted by glowing houses perching on massive white trees. Each of the trees seemed endless, with stairs winding around the wooden barks beautifully. All over white light glowed faintly, shining the place with ethereal warmth and comfort.

“My,” Gimli silently muttered. Haldir smirked, taking them farther into the city. A larger Elven building lay in its centre, towering the smaller others with its magnificence. Haldir gestured the Fellowship to line up below the stairs which led inside the building, relieving them from their exhaustion slightly. Varilerin sighed and waited as two figures greeted them from above. They glided the stairs gracefully, their faces covered in light. Once they arrived before the Fellowship, their fair faces were revealed. One was an ellon, mighty and wise. Long, silver hair trailed down from his head and deep blue eyes decorated his face. In his hand was an Elven maiden, her face radiating with light and beauty. Her hair was gold, long and wavy strands reaching to the ground. Her eyes were, unlike the ellon, calm and gentle. Celeborn and Galadriel studied the Company intently, without voice or movement.

“Nine there are, yet ten there were set out from Rivendell,” Celeborn began, hopelessly looking at the Fellowship. “Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him.”

“He has fallen to shadow,” Galadriel intervened, her eyes glinting like stars. She scanned the strange individuals standing there, before her eyes fell to Legolas.

“He has fallen to a Balrog of Morgoth, for we have wandered needlessly to the darkness of Moria,” Legolas explained sadly. Gimli merely stared at his feet, feeling guilty.

“The quest stands upon the edge of a knife,” Galadriel continued. “Stray but a little, and it will fail, to the ruin of all…”

Varilerin closed her eyes and reminisced the events which had unfolded the day before. Indeed, now that Gandalf was no longer there, they had little chance.

“Yet hope remains while the Company is true,” Galadriel added, smile appearing on her ageless face as she moved her eyes to the Hobbits. She then turned to Varilerin, looking grim with her wound. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil.” Her gaze then settled on Frodo, who flinched in anxiety of her eyes. “Tonight, you will sleep in peace and recover,” Galadriel ended curtly. Celeborn then nodded at several other Elves standing close to the Company. Haldir came forth with an ellon similar to his appearance beside him.

“Please follow me,” Haldir said. “Those who have injuries needed mending shall follow my brother Orophin,” he continued as he directed his eyes to the ellon. Varilerin glanced at the others, realizing she was the only one needed healing. She stepped forth and waited for any others with a change of mind.

“Is she the only one?” Orophin asked, receiving a short nod from each member. “Farewell. Varilerin, if you will follow me.”

Varilerin didn’t spare a glance and quickly tailed Orophin. She diverted paths with the rest, brought to the healing chambers by Haldir’s brother. There, upon her insistence, she was left alone to mend the wounds. She opened her scarf, now reeking of blood and death, and put it on the table in the chamber. She covered the cut with some ointments to prevent infection and hasten the healing. The wound needed stitching, so she sat on the provided bed and took the equipment Orophin had given her. She pointed the needle at the cut, but she could not insert it to her body. Her hand trembled greatly, unlike anything she had done before. She dropped the needle immediately and grabbed her trembling hand, trying to calm its erratic tremors.

What’s wrong with me? she thought desperately. Her hand slowly calmed down, but her mind did not. She frowned and stared silently at her hand. It was the same hand which failed to save Gandalf and perhaps the same hand failing to save her friends. What is this feeling? She thought as she picked the needle up again.

Guilt.

How tempted she was to stick the needle into her own throat and slit her neck open. However, Gandalf’s sacrifice would be vain. She could not die, at least not now. The fate of Middle Earth was in the Fellowship’s hands, and her support might increase the chance of the quest succeeding. Might was the correct word. It was strange, she thought, this quest. For the first time in her life she could not judge any situation or her surroundings. Everything became random pieces of puzzle. Her ability to discern circumstances and feel people was numbed. Perhaps, returning to Rivendell had lowered all her guards.

I should have not stayed so long, she mused as she finished her stitches. Just then, the door to the room was opened, revealing Orophin with a stack of garment in his arms.

“Varilerin? I’ve brought new clothes for you,” Orophin said as he entered the room. He handed her the new clothing, which revealed a simple white dress reaching her ankles. “Forgive me. The Lady didn’t give you any choice of clothing,” he said again when he saw her grim expression.

“Well, thank you,” she muttered quietly.

“The bath is just next to the healing chambers. You can have a rinse if you need it. I must leave you, but someone will come here to take your dirty clothes and give your meal,” Orophin continued. Varilerin nodded and placed the dress on the bed.

“Oh,” Varilerin said before Orophin could make it out of the door. He turned and raised his brows. “Can you also wash this scarf?” she asked, taking her bloodied scarf and showing it to him. Orophin studied it intently, his face looking doubtful.

“Perhaps, I have seen my own cleaned fully. Don’t worry, I am sure they will find a way,” Orophin said, twitching a smile.

“Thank you,” she said as she let him leave. Varilerin stared at the scarf for a while before she put it next to her new dress. She sat silently on the bed for a moment, sighing. It was only then she felt all the pain of her smaller wounds and bruises raining down on her, more like arrows than rain. The room was silent and centred her like a lonesome wolf. A pained wolf, seeking warmth in the darkening night. A wolf who had left its friend astray.

“Meet me at the Mirror after your rest, Child,” she heard Galadriel’s voice echoing in the empty room, “for we have matters left to be discussed.”

Once Galadriel’s voice left her mind, she closed her eyes out of exhaustion and rubbed her nose’s bones. Drawing a deep breath, she once again remembered how comforting it was for her to be alone. The thought only brought her back to Gandalf, who had ended her days of loneliness by her side. She would certainly cry as she thought about their younger days, though she found herself unable to.

“For what is to be discussed when horrifying truth only lies before you?” Varilerin muttered. Nothing answered, other than the echoes of her own voice. She scoffed.

Perhaps, she was better to be left alone after all.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“To be honest, I am now really worried,” Merry said to the rest, resting on their own bunk beds. “Not like she’s not used to disappearing or anything… But this time I am really worried.”

“She’s only tending her injuries, Merry,” Aragorn assured the Hobbit as he sharpened his sword.

“But she didn’t join us for dinner!” Pippin defended. “And she should be done by now. I mean, look at her! Have you ever seen her behaving like that back in the exit?”

None said a word regarding his argument. Apparently they all agreed with his concerns. Throughout their journey, Varilerin had been the quietest among them. She might talk, but only in rare occasions. She had been careful to keep her emotions behind, focusing on whatever task at hand. But back in the mountain, they knew that the cold ranger had reached her limit. Perhaps she had calmed down, but inside they knew she was still too broken.

“I should have not said those words,” Boromir said regretfully. He covered his face with his hand in distress, trying to think of a way to apologize to the elleth. The others remained silent, for they did not know what action they must take. Merry rose from his seat and walked back and forth, folding his arms in worry as an ethereal song flowed in the air. The song took all their attentions and they glanced up at the trees.

“A lament for Gandalf,” Legolas bitterly explained, as if he was answering the inaudible questions coming from the Hobbits. He was holding a silver pitcher in his hands, and just like the other members of the Fellowship, had changed his clothing to a new, silver tunig.

“What do they say about him?” Merry asked.

“I have not the heart to tell you,” Legolas said again, his eyes looking onwards in sadness. “For me the grief is still too near.” But perhaps, Varilerin’s grief is worse, Legolas mused as he continued his walk.

“Where are you going?” Pippin asked out of curiosity. Legolas turned and wrinkled a small smile.

“I have something to do,” he simply answered, despite his intentions more than the Hobbit was expecting. Something inside him instructed him to look to the Mirror near the fountain. He knew what he could see, yet he had never dared to see into the waters. Perhaps the mirror would show wisdom in the dire times, or memories forgotten. He didn’t know, but he knew his heart was pulling him there.

Legolas left the Company and followed the white path winding around the base of the trees. The lament continued, the forest now empty under the night. The ellon finally arrived in a clearing, a fountain lying in it. The place was decorated with white, carved statues which gave the place a sense of secrecy and magic. And magic indeed ruled the place, for the Mirror showed things even the visionary ones could not see. He approached the fountain and filled his pitcher with the clear water. Once finished, he walked to the Mirror, lying undisturbed in the centre of the clearing.

“For people who inherited the gift of vision, they live a life of suffering,” his father once said. “We see things, but rarely succeed in preventing them. We succumb to our own guilt.”

“I have no vision about this,” Varilerin said back in Moria. Does she have the gift of vision? If then, she surely suffers from it. The thought of Varilerin’s broken soul because of her visions frightened him. But he could not stop now. There was something he meant to see in the mirror, whether he wanted it or not.

Slowly Legolas poured the water into the basin, rippling the surface with small waves. He leaned down and waited for any mirage to form, drawing a deep breath as he did so. The first image he saw startled him. It was his father, Thranduil, his eyes bearing sadness Legolas had not seen for more than two thousand years. He was kneeling beside an opened wooden coffin, his face buried on his arms. Legolas finally remembered where he had seen it before.

The wooden coffin was his mother’s.

Legolas returned to his 20-year-old self, still not reaching his maturity, watching as his father wept her mother’s lifeless body day and night. His hands trembled as the image continued, his father finally standing up and now closing the coffin. Legolas’ hands trembled as the scene shifted, afraid of the next image it would show him, for he saw the mirage had not ended.

He saw himself, sitting on a set of stone stairs. Startled by the view, he studied himself, who clutched a necklace in his hands. He leaned on his knees and prayed for something. He could not see his own face, but he was confident it was himself. He had not seen the place nor the sight before. Perhaps it was from the future, but in his shaken mind he could not think clearly.

The image moved on, this time swirling into a shapeless ripple for a long moment. Legolas drew a deep breath, hoping for the next to be the last. The water began revealing its image, slowly turning into a young Elf maiden dressed in white. Her face was unclear at first, but her night-coloured hair was familiar. She was standing in the middle of a clearing, with the surroundings blurred. She was weeping, without even moving. Legolas widened his eyes when the image became clearer under the moonlight.

She was Varilerin.

“Legolas?” a bitter voice abruptly came from behind him. Legolas immediately turned away from the Mirror, which rippled back to its undisturbed state, and was stunned by the presence of Varilerin in the clearing. Either he was surprised she could sneak behind him or how she appeared currently, he did not know. Perhaps the latter was more probable, for he had never seen her like this. But one thing the ellon knew for sure: She was beautiful.

Possibly it was an effect of her wearing a dress, but Legolas knew her entirety was radiating something which struck his heart. Her raven hair was now loose, reaching her back, contrasting with her dress like night and day. Her face became more graceful under the light of the stars, which glimmered in her silver eyes and in her necklace he had never seen before.

But all of her beauty was in vain, for her face was grief-stricken and sorrowful. It was pale like the moonlight, bleak like the shadows. For the first time in their journey, Legolas saw how tired she was. He could see the shadow beneath her eyes, invisible yet visible at the same time. The way she looked at him terrified him, for she seemed as if she was caging a demon beneath her gaze.

“Varilerin,” Legolas muttered slowly, trying to hide his captivated and horrified state. Varilerin tilted her head, looking grim with her unchanging emotion.

“What are you doing here?” she said, her eyes grim. They dimmed as if shadows hid inside her soul, eating her heart slowly. “You looked into the mirror?” she continued, her voice cold and painful. Legolas was rooted with her strength to keep away her sadness and tried to muster the strength to speak in his pitying her.

“It is nothing important,” Legolas stammered. “You will not be interested in it.”

“Humour me,” Varilerin said curtly. “I will not tell anyone… Besides, it seems really fitting right now. If any, I really need it. Ghosts keep haunting me.”

“Ghosts?” Legolas said, but did not continue. Somehow he knew what she meant, vague but clear. He swallowed his words down and breathed out. “I saw my father, mourning over a death long ago,” he started, careful with his choice of words. He did not want to touch any sensitive matters in Varilerin’s heart, for he knew she was extremely fragile right now. “And I saw myself, mourning someone, holding a necklace… At least it is what I can discern for the image…”

Legolas stopped, widening his eyes. He looked at Varilerin and studied her. She was wearing a white dress, just like in the vision. Legolas was sparked with a sad realization. He opened his mouth to tell her, but found his voice wavering. “And… And I saw you,” he said hesitantly as his face pitied her. He did not intend to tell her, but his mouth did not follow his bidding. “I saw you crying, weeping, in this clearing.”

Varilerin stared at him blankly. She was taken aback by his statement and fluttered her eyes in disbelief. “M—Me? Crying?” she stammered, her voice trembling. She scoffed and turned away, seemingly amused by the idea, but Legolas could see her eyes saying another. “It is impossible… for me to cry…” Varilerin mumbled as she covered her mouth with her left hand. “What should I cry about?” she rasped, blinking her eyes in confusion, for somehow the resolve in her heart seemingly weakened.

Legolas was rendered bemused, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Varilerin remained silent as she tried to calm herself, but Legolas saw she could not. The grief in her heart was too hard to bear by herself alone, for he saw she was in the brink of letting her tears flow. It was painful to see her holding herself back, more aching than being stabbed by a blade. “We are all grieving, Varilerin,” Legolas said slowly and bitterly as he pursed his lips, “of Gandalf’s death.”

“And his death is mostly my fault,” Varilerin muttered. “I should not have left him alone before the demon… He could have been saved—“ She stopped when she realised tears welling in her eyes. She rubbed them away, but they won’t escape her eyes. “Curses,” Varilerin muttered, turning to Legolas. She forced a smile to assure him she was alright, but she could not hide anything in her grief.

“Forgive me,” she said brokenly, wiping more tears as her breathing became erratic. She turned away to hide from him, but there was nowhere to hide. She could not think to control her emotions nor to understand why. All she knew was her painful heart. All the fights and tragedies distracted her from noticing how wounded her soul had been—and only now had she realized it. “Why are there… so much tears? I do… know… what is happening—“

“Varilerin!” Legolas said, his voice like a warning and sharp. Varilerin looked up to meet his eyes, blue and clear like the skies. It just dawned to her that he was standing close to her now, gripping her arms gently as he shook her in the last seconds. He saw hers glassy and grim, full of sadness he knew she had dammed for hundreds of years. She was struggling to dam them even now. He could not imagine the pain she had endured. There was a long moment of silence between them, enough for Varilerin to trust his next words.

“It is not wrong to weep,” Legolas simply said.

Varilerin did not speak nor move. The only thing which moved were the warm waters flowing from her eyes. She looked down to see the tears touching the ground. The elleth was utterly confused, for she had never felt like this before. For once in her life, her heart felt relieved. Not because of their safety or anything else, but because of letting her emotions took the better of her. And for the first time in her life, she did not have the courage to stop.

“I am sorry,” she whispered, now covering her face with her palms, not wanting the ellon to see her in such a state. She wondered, however, whether she wanted someone to comfort her or not. Her heart was in disarray and her mind was utterly confused. She could not think clearly, for the tears seemed to prevent her doing so. “Forgive me, Gandalf….” She sniffed, trying to control her erratic breathing.

“It is alright… I am sure Gandalf will forgive you,” Legolas whispered back as he pulled her slowly to a comforting embrace. Varilerin did not retaliate, for somehow his presence soothed her—she had never felt such a thing before in her life. He brushed her back gently as she wept, noticing the coldness from her heart radiating to his body. “All is fine,” he chanted repeatedly, knowing it was the only thing he could do at the moment. At least at the moment, she did not embrace the bitterness of grief alone.

Varilerin forced herself to nod, letting his warmth move to her heart. Now she knew. Perhaps she did not want to be left alone after all.