:::::::

L U M O R N E L

:::::::

I was going to throw up.

As the other command members left the meeting room, leaving only Kaylessa and her guards, Aragorn, Legolas, and myself, Legolas turned towards me expectantly. He knew, either from intuition or from his experience in bureaucratic circles, that we hadn't revealed everything Kaylessa had said.

The nausea and tingling in my fingers only intensified.

Please don't make me tell you.

With his icy stare and Aragorn's attention and Kaylessa's uncharacteristically worried eyes—and I had said yes to allowing the Queen in—and Legolas still doesn't know—and—and the way the council had looked at me and bombarded both me and Kaylessa with probing questions and—finally, Talaedra. But— Talaedra. I'm going to have to fight the enemy the Valar warned me about. This is it. This is it— by the Valar! The Queen is going to be inside tonight. Do I tell him now or just not or do I convince the Queen to leave him alone or— or— he's going to hate me. He's going to break. He's—

I clenched my clammy hands against my legs. I didn't have to look to know they were glowing. Then, I glanced at Aragorn. He can do it. I'll leave him to the decision.

But he was counting on me, so was Kaylessa—

I saw Legolas's awaiting, wanting gaze—

I mumbled something, more than a little breathlessly, though I didn't know what. And I stood and fled, mind racing, hands shaking.

The hall spun and swam in my vision, but I took one step, then another. It was less stuffy than the meeting room but there was only the gloomy light of lanterns in the tight, cramped halls, reminding me of the solitary light that had once accompanied my imprisoned days and nights. I squeezed my eyes shut, walking with a hand against the wall. The wall which was stone, the same texture the back wall of my cell had had. My eyes flew open and I saw the weak light again—

Saruman's cells.

A bolt of frigid freezing lighting struck through my chest, turning my legs to jelly.

I was in Saruman's cell.

I could see rusty bars, the grimy bucket, the feel of cold, dank air on my cheek, smell the stench. Orthanc.

I whimpered and crumpled to the cell's floor. My hip and shoulder ached from being deposited hastily into the cell by rough orc hands and—

I couldn't breathe through the sickening, hot, agony that was my back, couldn't move. Tears leapt from my eyes, my jaw about to snap from its tension. The many, many deep lacerations he had inflicted upon my back all just melded into one burning, pulsating wound. I could hardly feel the blood that must be seeping down around my waist, despite the bandages he had been forced to put on me. He had cut too deep this time.

And I still couldn't breathe.

:::::::

"It is not for me to tell," Aragorn said. "But, mellon, you will know."

I turned to Kaylessa from my spot in the doorway. "This is your doing."

She shrugged halfheartedly. "You can tell yourself that."

I narrowed my eyes. What did she mean by that? What were they not telling me? It was something of enough significance to force Lumornel from the room. I set my jaw, but I left them, hating the biting need to find her. Lumornel was out there, vulnerable.

"Which way did she go?" I asked the guard.

He pointed down the hall. "She looked unwell, your highness."

I nodded and made my way in her direction. She had been anxious and stressed when she had left mere moments before, her hands shaking and glowing. Knowing her, she was probably in a corner somewhere, overthinking everything, crying.

So far I'd come. Before I had met her, I would have told any soldier of mine to get up and gather their wits. I expected nothing less, even of myself. If you showed weakness, you were weak. You were a liability when fighting orcs or another enemy. As a prince, showing weakness undermined my authority. But meeting her... Lumornel proved that second-guessing and anxiety weren't the absence of strength. They were the by-product of being strong for too long. Or, sometimes being "weak" meant one was becoming stronger. One could cry and still be able enough to save many. One could cry and come out through the pain stronger.

I loved her and—

—and I still couldn't see her. I sped up my pace, following the curve of the hall.

Lumornel, there in the stone corridor, lay in a rigid heap on the floor.

I froze, seeing not her present elven body, but suddenly remembering the way her broken mortal body had bled out as my father had dragged me away from her. I blinked, grounded my feet to the floor and saw her as she was: alive. But what had happened?

I should have left as soon as she had. I could have prevented this. I should have—

"What happened?" I growled at the guards, rushing to Lumornel's unmoving side. They held no weapons and—after a quick, searching glance—I saw no physical wounds on her body.

"We don't know!" a guard cried. "She started mumbling to herself and her eyes didn't seem to see us. Then she collapsed!"

I stiffened. That was how the elves of my home had described me after returning from Dol Guldur when I had been reliving the terrible horrors that took place there. Lumornel lay there, stomach down, crying with her eyes tightly closed, her fists clenched tight. Her lips apart just enough to take in quick, rapid, and shuddering breaths.

No. I reached out a hand to touch her, but stopped. Memory and fear could play dangerous games on traumatized minds. With just enough negative emotion, just enough to remember a detail, and the whole, terrible scenery would play out again. So real, you could feel the way the air felt all that time ago, see the colors in perfection. I had learned that a simple touch from someone who meant well, while the tricks of the mind were at their highest, could send one deeper into the vibrant illusion. It wasn't a loved one's touch—it was the touch of the tormentor. Or in my case, usually Casdir or rough orc hands.

"Lumornel," I said softly. "Lum, I'm here. Legolas is here."

"My Lord?" another guard asked. "What is happening to her?"

There was tension in her body, her breathing quick, every muscle straining at once. She was in pain.

"She's remembering." And there was nothing I could do. I needed to hit something, but I could do nothing but be held hostage by my meleth on the ground, trapped in the invisible clutches of Memory.

"Remembering what?"

"It is none of your concern," I snapped, my eyes trained on Lumornel. "And you will leave us now."

They were silent and there was no soft pad of footsteps leading away.

"We cannot leave her unattended. We were ordered to be with her at all times."

I straightened, feeling the rage—and exhaustion—building within, pulling me up into the full rank and posture of Prince. My gaze slid towards them.

"Am I not with her now? Attending to her?" They flinched at my venom. I turned back to Lum. "You will leave us now or I will have you stripped of your rank, position, and title. If you so have one." I doubted I could do that here, but all they heard was the cold rage within, the voice of King Thranduil's son.

Within the span of two breathes, one mumbled for the others to follow him away, and so they did.

And then it was just the quiet of the hall, Lumornel, and me.

I slumped and ran a hand over my face. My heart broke again as I glanced at her and—total uselessness filled me. I could do nothing. I had failed again. But I remembered what my father had done for me, how he had pulled me out of my moments of remembering.

"Open your eyes, Lum. Hear my voice."

She did nothing, so I sighed and... I began to sing. Like how my father had for me, softly, strongly. I hadn't sung in a long time and I half worried my voice would be rusty from disuse, but such is not the way of elves, for when we sing, we are ever more connected to our fëa.

I hear their call,

from elvendom,

their cries from misty halls.

They beckon me home,

and call me forth,

to be with them again.

They long for my voice and strong arm,

my dancing and my glee,

but what would they do

if they heard of my calamity?

Ring and treachery,

and of a heart—

that fell and heard a death knell.

My hands of bloodshed,

felt the gore of my Lumornel.

Many days,

I longed for,

what I could have never more.

And I heard the call from the land Valinor.

But true to her I stayed

and my heart could not forget

what she had attempted to belay.

So here, in Middle-earth I stayed

and strove for what she fought for,

all the while, walking blind, in a land darkened without her.

And then dawn came,

and my eyes finally saw

my reborn meleth Gilmaethiel.

My home no longer resides

under tree and woodland lee,

for my heart is with a maiden so lovely.

Her heart is pure,

purer than the crystal forest streams,

and her eyes are allure with something so bubbly and free.

She has tempted me away and stole my heart without a single, luring plea.

How could a mortal do so, so thoroughly?

Through gladden fields

and treacherous days,

I found myself waning—

and her a-flaming;

a light from Elbereth

a beacon to shine,

through all of my sorrowful days.

Gilmaethiel! Gilmaethiel!

My maiden of powerful lays

To bring me home

And be my loving stay—

Gilmaethiel, Gilmaethiel!

A prince of Eryn Lasgalen I may be,

but a prince of hers I am thoroughly.

I would run over crag and gully,

through Emyn Muil and sully,

should she so desire

in any of her ways.

Alas,

home is no longer my Father's Halls.

Nay,

not as long as my maiden calls.

And if she were to settle in woods that did not bore me,

with her,

I will gladly, forever, stay.

Gilmaethiel! Gilmaethiel!

My maiden of powerful lays

To bring me home

And be my loving stay—

Gilmaethiel, Gilmaethiel!

A prince of elves, say farewell,

for I am a prince of—

Lumornel.

"I like that name," a soft voice said, barely a whisper. "It's much better than Kelvar."

My breath caught. I opened my eyes to find Lumornel's vivid leaf irises focused on me, though a little distantly, the whites red from tears. She bit her lip and turned her head away, obscuring her beautiful face with her wintry hair. I smothered the bit of joy that soared at seeing her elven ears, her graceful limbs. I should have been used to the sight by now, but still, even in the midst of seeing her pain, the elation still came.

I wanted to swoop her into my arms, hold her to feel that she was alright, hold her to let her know she was safe. But I stopped myself, though it went against my nature.

"I beg to differ," I said. "I think Kelvar and Gilmaethiel are nearly equal."

She gave no hint as to whether she smiled or not, not with that obscuring curtain of hair. Seeing her there, obviously still in pain, I couldn't help but see her as one of my warriors. We were on a battlefield, her and I, and she had to get back up in order to fight. But it wouldn't do good to force a wounded soldier.

I listened a moment for any passerbys, but heard none, then glanced at her hand which had fisted upon the stone ground.

"I had the rememberings too," I said, looking away. "After Dol Guldur."

She was quiet again, but then shook her head softly. "I don't understand it. It's too strong; as if—"

"—as if you're there again, reliving it."

She nodded and finally looked up, revealing her dark lashed eyes rimmed with glistening lace. Her eyes were wild, still frantic. Exhausted and still distant.

"May I hold you?" I blurted, then gritted my teeth at my own foolishness. But I never was good at holding my tongue. Gildor on Father's council could account for that. As could Rhelan from the Guard. And Gimli as well.

"Please."

Please. My heart leapt in my throat.

I shifted myself to the wall and scooped her into my hold, her head upon my chest. Tension I didn't know I was holding relaxed as I felt her safely within my arms. It felt like coming back to my squad after scouting ahead to see them safe and untroubled, untouched by the evils lurking around. And suddenly, seeing them unharmed, a weight lifted off your shoulders.

She stretched her arm over my waist and shifted closer. She breathed deeply, but her body was still rigid. "How were you able to be so... light after Dol Guldur?"

"I wasn't, not directly after the fortress." I briefly closed my eyes, thinking of Amaron and how he had given up his spirit to escape the torture. How his body simply collapsed, a ragdoll, broken on the bloody floor. I couldn't face his wife—the elleth who took it upon herself to be a mother to me—nor his children afterward. Not until Hwerîthiel herself came and gave me the scolding I needed. "But I was told that living in the dark would only keep me in darkness. If I wanted to live with Dol Guldur behind me, I..." a wash of cold shimmered over me. "I had to live in the light."

I glanced down at Lumornel's white head, my Gilmaethiel. My bearer of Light. She was back, a light illuminating the darkness. But even now, with Gilmaethiel by my side, I was still living in the same darkness of the past nine years, focusing on all my past misdeeds and what could go wrong. The only difference was I was no longer lost in sorrow, rather lost in the muddled pool of joy, hope, and dark, guilty confusion. And frustration. If Hwerîthiel were here now, she would remind me of her words of long ago—and then promptly command me to do something useful.

I sighed and ran a hand through Lum's waves. It was hard not to focus on the past when the weight of it suffocated and crushed. Yet, I also thought the same thing long ago.

"Why are you sighing?" Lumornel asked, then continued almost to herself. "You never sigh."

I twirled my finger around a particularly curly lock of her hair. "I was thinking it is time to do something useful."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure. Do you have anything in mind?"

She sat, leaning away from me and leaning on her arm, appearing utterly spent. I nearly pulled her back to me. The next few days would be draining for her, as I had often ached after reliving Dol Guldur and had lost my connection to the world around me.

"We could spar?" She trailed off as she spoke, looking as if sparring was the last thing she wanted to do. More likely, a long nap was on her mind, as was often on mine after a particularly grueling remembering. But, knowing her nightmares...

"Though," she continued, "last time we did that, we ended up sparring in a more... unconventional way." Rose blossomed on her delightful cheeks, making me smile. Even after what she just endured, she still managed to look beautiful. "But I wouldn't complain about doing that again."

I laughed. "I said 'useful' not 'mind-numbing.'" My smile broadened, remembering the way we had kissed in the grasses, her roaming hands. I glanced at her lips. "Though, I do like the thought of unconventional sparring."

She bashfully bit her delicate lip and—well—my resolve was undone. I dashed forward and took her lips as my own.

She gasped softly and in turn, I deepened the kiss, raking a hand through her glorious mane. Her hand came up to cup my cheek, her other dangerously roaming up the side of my torso—

I pulled away. "Something useful."

She claimed my mouth again, taking my face with both hands, and spoke between the fervent banter of our lips. "This..." Her breath fled across my cheek. "... is..." Teeth grazed my lip. "... useful."

Though my body screamed for more, I leaned away and gently removed her passionate hands—with much difficulty. "Mind-numbing."

"But in a good way," she whimpered.

I smiled in answer.

She sighed and glanced down, pulling her hands to her lap, and whispered, "mind-numbing is what I need right now."

"It is easy to think that," I said, remembering back to my countless hours of sleep and reckless sparring after Dol Guldur, after Morrannon. All those hours losing myself in a sketch, or in a book on battle theory, or training with a sword or bow until I could no longer lift my arms or twist my waist. "And mind-numbing can be helpful and healing and—" I kissed her cheek "—enjoyable. But I have been taught that doing something useful can be more helpful than losing yourself in some mindless activity."

Her green eyes briefly connected with mine before darting away once again. She bit her cheek, appearing nearly disgusted. "You must feel more like a parent to me than my melethron."

"On the contrary, I could say the same to you."

She looked up, brows high.

"Really," I said. "You have taught me much, meleth."

She pulled a face. "Like what?"

"Well... you've taught me that kissing you? Much better than kissing an orc." Lumornel stared at me unimpressed. I thought it was funny. I bit my tongue, then reached and brushed her cheek. "You showed me how to be brave when faced with overwhelming malignity and unpropitious odds. You taught me the meaning of strength and have shown me how to have compassion and humility."

She twisted her lips up to the side and rolled her shoulders in an almost shrug. "I doubt I did all that. And you were already compassionate and had humility before you met me. You forget that I lived in your kingdom before I met you. So," she pointed an accusing finger at me and squinted, "I knew of all your kind deeds."

I rolled my eyes. "You did all that and more. And I may have had those qualities before you met me, but you enhanced them. I had my father's arrogance running through me."

She scowled, but a smile played on her lips. "You still do."

I smirked and, seeing her still perfectly kissable features before me, I decided to stand and help her to her feet. "We shall find someone who is in need of our uses."

She sighed heavily and hung her head, stepping closer to me as we walked. "Good luck with that."

I squeezed her hand. "There are still some who know you to be Gilmaethiel."

She looked up and squinted. "You just made up that name. And yeah, only those of the fellowship believe me to be... good." She said the word with hesitation, as if not quite sure if using the word would be true.

I waved a hand. "Gilmaethiel, Lumornel, prophecy-written, Lady of Stubbornness—all mean the same. And there are others, mostly those from Rohan and a few elves, who believe the actions you took at Morannon were not your own."

"Relentlessness," she corrected. "And a few is not enough. I have to get all of them to believe in me again..." She shook her head, dismissing the idea. "I don't have to, not really. I can fulfill the Valar's task without their support and I think I'd rather not deal with the people."

She stood up straighter and the defeated gleam left her eyes. Instead, they shone emerald with a renewed determination. "I can fight for them, but I don't have to have their support. Just yours."

And could I give that to her? To condone her perilous position in this war, at the helm of the fight, was impossible. The thought of losing her, letting her go off to fight the enemy toe-to-toe... the need to hold her tight and feel her chest rise steadily rose up fiercely as I once again saw her bloody, broken body as it was before Mordor.

But I couldn't stop her without losing her.

The lurking guilt, the shadow that always hung precariously in its ominousity, ready to pounce at a moment's notice, began to descend upon me again. I had seen my warriors die for me—scream their rage and anger and curses upon me, been bathed in their blood, had their flayed and broken bodies forever engraved upon my mind. I would not have that happen again, not with Lumornel.

I didn't deserve her, I didn't deserve her love nor her praises. Not with the blood of twenty elves on my hands. But she was the only one to fully know of what had happened all those years ago and she didn't see me as a monster. Not only did I want to spend every waking moment with her now and forever, but I also couldn't lose the only other who knew fully what I had gone through. Nor could I lose the only one who saw me as innocent, even if I wasn't.

Losing her would be the same as reverting back to the wretch who had lived in the darkness, consumed with the death of others, feeling their blood as a terrible, thick and slimy coat upon me.

"Legolas?" She squeezed my hand, gazing up at me with big, worried eyes.

I couldn't smile, could do nothing but see her as the only precious thing in my life, who would potentially fall to the enemy, cursing my name as she went. It would be unimaginably worse than the wrathful cries of my tortured warriors.

"Come on," my light said, pulling me to move faster. "Let's go do something useful."

Something useful... yes. To preoccupy my mind, to give me a purpose, if even for a short time.

Because right now, I kept imagining the darkness that would take her spot if she failed—if I failed—and I knew this time I wouldn't be able to survive seeing her light go out.

:::::::

Melethron
⇾ "lover" (m)

Welp, not how I was planning on this chapter going 😂 I wasn't expecting Lumornel to have a flashback, but she obviously did. I also realized that if I want to keep this realistic (other than the fact that this takes place in a fictional universe with magic), then I need to not ignore her PTSD. It isn't going to magically go away. I know it may be tiresome to read it and constantly be reminded of her trauma, but she herself is contantly being reminded and as the author, I can't ignore that. I also feel the duty to portray it as accurately as I can. I've done lots of research, but if I have gotten something wrong, please let me know. Feel free to comment or PM.

So next chapter will feature Legolas's mother! Woooo

Shame on you PTSD, for showing up unexpectantly and ruining plans... which is exactly what the disorder does.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed my attempt at writing a song/ode. I had to go back and read some of Tolkien's for it. Not that I'm complaining.

Now off to continue writing that TreeLeaf spar scene...

God bless!

~phoenix