Beyond Adversity
Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's characters or settings, even if I love them as if they were my own. The idea and all characters you don’t recognize as Prof. Tolkien’s a are mine.
A/N: When I finished writing "In the Midst of Adversity" I felt accomplished, relieved and terribly sad. I had managed to write the OFC I wanted for Legolas, kept the story within the LOTR timelines and settings and incorporated a new element too. I even convinced myself that, with Cyrene’s death, I had created a believable, logical closure to the tale, but I could not bear to leave my favorite elf and my favorite shieldmaiden as well as the King of Rohan alone. So, this is my best try to approach a new tale.
If you enjoy what you read, please let me know, so I will continue writing this story. It is not absolutely necessary to have read “In the Midst of Adversity” to understand this story (I hope!), but it will certainly help understand some personal conflicts and issues that appear again.
All my love and gratitude to my dear beta Viv, to Miriel and Katt whose unwavering faith in me moves mountains and muses. And to Lorena and the amazing girls at OSA for their support and good vibes.
To the readers who read and reviewed, you kept the spirit of this story alive. All my deepest and heartfelt thanks!
Prologue
The light of the rising sun reached the site quickly and lit the funeral pyre and the small gathering of people surrounding it.
There were different races of Middle Earth represented: Gondorians, Rohirrim, Hobbits from the Shire, Elves, a Dwarf and an Amazon. And all were together to say farewell to a loved and respected friend and comrade, Cyrene, the Amazon who fought for Rohan in the War of the Ring.
Her family stood close to the pyre, three lean, blonde figures, each line of their bodies conveying the pain and grief that filled them.
Legolas Greenleaf an his children, Cíndar and Kyme, faced the almost unbearable task of paying their final respects to the woman, the mother, the wife that had died the way she wanted, wounded from combat, a couple of hours ago.
Cíndar laid his hand upon his father’s arm. “It is time, father.”
Legolas looked at his son, and nodded, forcing himself to move towards the torch burning at the head of the pyre.
His eyes fell again upon Cyrene`s body, laying on top of the stacked wood, in the fashion of the amazons, wearing her warrior attire. The elf could not resist the urge to touch her face one last time, and though the skin was already cold, his fingers traced the serene smile on his wife’s lifeless lips.
She had died peacefully, while he had held her in his arms, until her heart stopped beating, until there had been no more life left in her. And now, he felt as if his own life had also vanished with her last breath.
He gathered his will to move on towards the torch, and retrieving it, he approached the dry wood. Legolas closed his eyes, and whispering an elvish prayer for his lost love, lit the pyre.
There was a soft sob coming from where Aella, Cyrene´s best friend and Gimli´s wife, was standing, while the lovely voice of Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien, rose in the heartfelt mourning chant due to the Rohirrim warriors.
Tears gathered in Legolas’ eyes as they wandered upon the friends standing close, accompanying his small family in their grief. Elessar and Arwen, Eomer and Lothiriel, Merry and Pippin, Faramir and Eowyn, Gimli and Aella. The dwarf´s hand was holding his wife´s, to give her comfort and strength at the parting of her best friend.
The twins, Kyme and Cíndar stood where Legolas had left them, their gazes lost in the flames that where now consuming the body of their mother.
Cíndar’s face was etched with pain, while the look on Kyme´s stony features wrought Legolas’ heart. There wasn´t a single tear or any sign of sorrow to be seen. She looked into the fire with eyes devoid of emotion, strangely and disturbingly empty. .. Kyme was lost.
***
As the company left the pyre behind, Legolas looked upon his children.
The twins walked far away from one another, and they could not be further apart in their personality either. Legolas wondered if this distance was his and Cyrene’s fault. Had they made the right choices for their children?
Legolas quickened his step to reach his daughter. He had missed Kyme, and he had not spoken to her since their brief encounter at Cyrene’s deathbed.
Chastising himself for this, and after seeing the look her face moments ago, he realized it had been an unforgivable omission. He laid his hand on her shoulder, only to draw her angry stare.
“Child, I wish to speak to you,” he said softly, not recognizing his daughter in the bitter woman who was looking back from with eyes so like his own.
Kyme, looked away from her father, replying with strain, “I cannot speak. Not now, Father.” And shrugging his hand off, she walked away.
Legolas was left watching her and barely felt his son’s hand upon his arm until he heard the young elf talk.
”Leave her be, Father, she needs … I do not know what she needs, but first, she needs time on her own.”
“And you Cíndar, what do you need?” asked Legolas in a soft voice.
A sad smile curved the young elf’s lips. “I do not know either but I know I can not linger on that matter now.”
Now when life had given both of them their first hard blow, neither was ready to deal with it or its consequences. Not even Legolas.
***
After the ceremony, the friends gathered in the castle to talk about and remember the war and the deeds of Cyrene. Such reminiscence was custom.
Aella did not join the tale-telling, but settled in a high chair, mourning. Gimli stood by her side, his hand gently caressing his wife’s forearm.
Cíndar stood by the window, his clear eyes lost in the distance. He sensed the call even through the dull pain he was feeling. Without having to look at the gathering, he knew his twin was not in the room, but her presence was as strong as if she were standing next to him.
Excusing himself, he went to the chambers assigned to Kyme, only to find them empty. After a short search, he found his twin outside the Houses of Healing, standing on the exact place where Cyrene had exhaled her last breath.
Kyme’s eyes were closed, her fists clenched.
“If you feel like grieving, you should give in to it, Kyme,” Cíndar said as he gently laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Even Amazons grieve.”
Kyme turned around sharply, shrugging off his hand, and looked at her brother.
“You do not know anything about the Amazons, Cíndar. You do not know about our bond in battle, our duty towards each other … You know nothing about the Amazons, about Mother, or about me,” she spat at him. Her eyes were angry blue slits.
Cíndar, blessed with elven patience, only felt saddened by his sister’s outburst. “’Tis true. I do not know much about the Amazons, not anything more than what Mother told us. But I knew Mother, and I knew you. Mother was the finest woman I ever met and you are her daughter, and my beloved sister. Is there much else I ought to know, Kyme? Speak to me, scream at me, but do not try to bear this pain on your own. We feel it too, Father and I.”
“You would not understand, Cíndar. Father would not understand either. Maybe Mother would, if she were here, but she is not,” she whispered bitterly and turned away again from him.
Cíndar considered for a moment what to do. This was not the girl who would have trusted her life in his hands, or her most precious secrets and fears, knowing that her twin would always understand her. This was a woman, almost a stranger now to him, though he suspected the girl was still somewhere inside the anguished warrior.
“Kyme, you and I are siblings, twins, there is no closer bond than that. What you feel I feel, what hurts you hurts me. Let me help you, speak to me, help me understand,” Cíndar pleaded.
It was as if he was speaking to a rock. No part of the Amazon moved, except for the mantle and the wisps of hair that had escaped the strict Amazon-style braid .
Cíndar saw his mother’s own stubbornness in the way his twin’s features were set. He decided to lure her out of her obstinacy by defying her.
“Do you by any chance think, Kyme daughter of Cyrene, that you are the only one entitled to grieve your mother? Are Father or I not worthy of feeling the loss and pain because in your haughty eyes we are ignoble males?” he said, taunting his sister.
The reaction came with the swiftness of lightning.
Had Cíndar not been prepared, the blow aimed for his head would have probably sent him to the ground. He deflected it and stood firmly, grabbing Kyme’s wrists.
The surprise in her face made place to despair, as she softly confessed. “You were not there, Cíndar. You did not leave her behind. I did, and if I had not done it she may yet be alive with us, and no one would have to suffer the pain, the loss …” She caught herself then, trying to turn away from him.
She had never lost her temper before in all her adult years. Again she fought for control, but frustration and anger were tearing her apart.
Cíndar pulled her closer and embraced her stiff body until she slowly softened against him.
“We will not ever know, will we? She is gone, and you did what she told you to do. It was her time; the Valar took her and we must now grieve and then move on. Without her. But you will be there for me, my sister, and I will be there for you.”
Kyme did not speak, but her arms encircled her brother’s waist. And again, for a very long time she felt she was not alone.
***
All the guests at the palace of King Elessar retired early that night. The silent distress that hung over them shrouded every conversation, every meal.
Legolas retired to his chambers, the ones he would usually share with his wife, as soon as etiquette allowed him to leave the gathering.
Cíndar and Kyme had returned from the palace grounds shortly after sunset, but they left the King’s hall as soon as their father did. Cíndar followed Legolas.
Kyme was retiring to her own chambers when she heard Aella’s voice.
“Kyme, I need a word with you.”
Though she would have preferred to be alone with her pain and her demons, Kyme nodded, inviting her mother’s best friend into her chambers. Aella, with the authority of her age and the familiarity she had for the young Amazon, sat on the only seat by the fire and gestured Kyme to approach her.
“It has come the time, child, for you to know many things that your mother withheld from you. I respected her wish in life, but now you will have to make decisions for your life and it is your right to know.”
Kyme settled at her elder’s feet by the fire. She was intrigued and at the same time anxious.
The older woman smiled sadly. She had never thought she would be the one to tell about Cyrene, that her friend would go to Hades before her, without her.
In this very moment, not even her love for Gimli could fill the place of her sister, the only woman she would have given her life for and knew would have gladly died for her as well.
Kyme resembled Legolas, it was true, but much of her expression reflected Cyrene. The old Cyrene, the warrior who resisted love and all the softness that came with it, sacrificing everything for honor and duty.
“Do you know how very much you resemble your mother, Kyme? I do not think so. She is … was always willful and very aware of her duties and responsibilities. She was blessed by the Goddess ... but forgive me, I am here to tell you about your mother’s youth. And why she left Artemis Island.”
***
“Are you well, my son?” said Legolas, turning to Cíndar.
“No, I am not, Father. I thought I would be ready for the moment when either Mother or you would … leave. I thought I was an adult and able to face the worst pain when it reached me. But I am not,” Cíndar explained.
For him, it had always been easy to speak to his mother and father. He had understood their choices and their way of life. And he respected and loved both of them deeply.
“Cíndar, I lived dozens of human life-spans, and I will never be ready to bear the pain of loosing a loved one. I was never ready to part from your mother. And now, I pray to the Valar not to have to face your or Kyme’s parting. I fear I would not have the strength to bear it,” Legolas told him, sitting down on the bed, cradling his head on his hands.
Cíndar sat by his father, laying his arm around the broad shoulders of Legolas.
“Eru’s firstborn are blessed, Father, but your love for mortals has brought you pain and loss. “
Legolas’ eyes rose to meet the eyes of his son.
“Love can give you pain and grief, Cíndar, but it gave me much joy and happiness, and it also gave me you and your sister. When your mother died, she said that she did not regret a minute of the life we shared. Neither do I. “
“But the grief … the pain, it may take your life!” exclaimed the young man, letting now his own suffering surface.
Ah, so that was it. The elflings must have heard legends of elves diminishing with grief.
Legolas stood up and for the first time in a decade, he enclosed his son in his arms.
“No, my son. Many years ago I learned not to give in to grief, but instead to fight for life and loved ones. And as I promised Cyrene, there is still a life ahead for me as long as the Valar grant me breath.”
Cíndar took one step back from his father’s embrace and squared his shoulders.
“What are your plans, Father? Will you return home or stay here at Elessar’s court?”
The elf turned away from his son and walked to the open window.
“I need you to settle all our matters and leave someone else in charge for some time. Your sister, you, and me have family matters to resolve; I believe it is time we all journeyed to my father’s kingdom.”
*******************
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