Written for Teitho Contest, July/Aug 2021 Challenge 'Divergence' where it was 3rd of only three stories entered.

In the Contest-Version on the Teitho page, the names of the OC's are changed and some small links to my other stories are largely erased, to avoid recognition for the contest.

Here it is posted as the sequel to 'Flames and Vile Men' and 'Words can not tell…', precedent chapters in this series. I originally planned to write one-shots here, unrelated to one another (yet all linked to 'Carried by the Wind' on ffnet and A03). But somehow it just turned out like this, and I must say I got very attached to this little girl.

This is for Legolass, who was wondering how the little girl would respond if she learnt about Legolas' wounding (AU that happened in CbtW). And when I saw the theme of this July/August Teitho Challenge the idea came to me, to pick up the term 'Immortality', which bears a divergence/discrepancy in the world of Tolkien.

Legolass was one of the first LotR-fanfiction authors I've read. Her stories are a wonderful tribute to Aragorn-Legolas-friendship and have been so very inspiring to me. I feel humbled she is reading my stories and supporting me with her interest. Go check out 'For the Love of the Lord of the White Tree' if you have not yet read it. It is very much worth it.

And always to mention Ruiniel who makes this all better with her skilled beta-reading, freely giving her time for my stories, even while she is working on her own fics. Thank you, my friend!

Immortal

She heard the words again and again in her mind: "It is about the elf – he was struck by a poisoned blade." They hit her like a slap. And Godliss had run and left Gram with them. Her mother had lain her sister close to Gram, to watch over both of them. The boy was whimpering softly in his sleep, and her mother's firm hand stroked his back soothingly until he stilled and was once more breathing evenly.

But Sorwyn's heart hammered hard and her breathing became rapid as if she had run for miles, and it was as though something pressed on her throat, it was tedious and painful to swallow. She glanced at her mother, who was focused on Gram. Her little sister had now awoken and crawled into her lap. Sorwyn dared not to speak. She only stared, trying to make sense of it all.

… The soldiers had run into the caves, urgent, their footfalls thundering on the stone within. The men had spoken, breathless and grave. "… the elf… struck by a poisoned blade…" and Godliss' eyes wide with shock; she had left her son to the care of her mother and went with the soldiers.

Sorwyn blinked – blinked at her mother and wanted to speak, but almost dared not to voice it. She opened her mouth, but nothing came.

Then finally, she pressed her voice out. "Mother-" it was a soft whimper. Her mother's gaze met hers and she blinked again, "… Elves are immortal, are they not?" she dared the question.

"Yes, Sorwyn, they are; they can live forever," her mother said gently. But it was to Sorwyn as if a glint of sorrow quivered in her mother's eyes and she then turned her gaze upon the sleeping boy again.

Sorwyn stared at her mother and the people scattered in groups in the caves, stared at the stone on the floor and the walls, blinking and trying to grip it all –

… the elf — beautiful, tall and elegant… he is immortal… and strong, and brave, and lethal on their enemies… she had seen it, in her vision, in her dreams… he had brought back Gram to his mother… — but then the urgency…

The words sounded in her ears again —

"… the elf… struck by a poisoned blade…" Godliss' eyes wide with shock… she had run to aid… the gentle voice of her mother trying to soothe her… "they can live forever"… and the flick of sorrow in her mother's eyes before she looked away.

Sorwyn's throat tightened further until it truly pained her. She dared not ask more questions. She knew her mother wanted to protect her. She had not lied, and she had answered her question.

Sorwyn did not see the people, nor her mother, nor the stone around them as she now stared into nothingness, blinking more and more rapidly. She saw the elf, Legolas — he had told her his name. She saw his eyes; blue and deep like water — transparent, strange, but immensely gentle. She heard his voice, low and warm, like music linked to living earth, reminding her of the grass on the hills, moist soil, water-streams and trees of far forests. And then she saw those blue eyes shifting, becoming hard, like ice — impenetrable — gleaming silver. They reflected the blades' metallic flashes. His white knives blurred as they hissed through the air and cut — bright, sharp, ferocious and devastating. Smooth skin tight over high cheekbones, like sculpted stone, sleek and hard, his face impassive and beautiful. He fought for them, to keep them safe. Swift movements carried out with catlike grace, his body slender but powerful, his shoulders wide and strong. And then, as if out of nothing, his wild charge was stopped. She did not see how it happened. She only saw a crude dark blade sink into his chest, and bright crimson blood spurting. She pressed her eyes closed and could not see again, did not want to see more. Could not see him crumbling, slumping to the ground. But the brightness of his blood... she could not get rid of that last image, and the crude blade embedded in his chest.

She wanted to cry, to yell, but her throat was tight. And she did not want to wake Gram or startle her sister, even less worry her mother. She painfully swallowed, and blinked again — tried to blink the horrible image away.

Her mother's attention was all on the boy and her sister. And she did not look at Sorwyn again after giving her answer.

A being so bright could not die! Sorwyn thought of the crystal reflecting the light. "They are immortal… they can live forever…" But in her vision the blood had spurted, crimson, bright. And there was poison, the soldier had said.

"Immortal-…" What did that mean? Why then the urgency, the grave voice, the shock in Godliss' eyes, the sorrow in her mother's as she answered her question? — Sorwyn needed to see, needed to know. — He had to live! She had given him the crystal, the brightest gem. If he died, her world and all of her hope would crumble to dust and blow away.

Sorwyn's gaze was fixed upon her mother's back, bent with care over Gram and her baby sister — and slowly, step by step, she took distance. Her mother did not turn, she was unaware. And when Sorwyn considered she was far enough, she whipped around and ran.

Nobody paid her attention. There were people in the caves, recovering, some tending to others, some weary, reposing, children playing and moving about, and outside the caves, many were attending to various businesses; the burg, like a field camp, awakening in the morning.

She ran past all of it, until between the people crowding the area, she spotted soldiers standing firm in regular distances from each other, and behind them, there was a void extent, as if they built a wall they allowed nobody to trespass, securing the place.

She pushed past the people standing about, talking to one another, and peering the direction the soldiers were standing. Nobody noticed her. She was small and slid easily, making her way, until she reached the level where the soldiers were posted. There she stood still, barely breathing, peering out past the guard's legs and hips. At a distance, under the arcs, behind the pillars, something was happening. She stumbled along the line of the guards until she got a better sight. She froze, staring past the soldier towering before her.

They were all there on their knees, those important people; the Lady Éowyn with her fair long hair falling over her back, her brother, first Marshal of the Riddermark, the short but sturdy and strong dwarf, his mighty war-axe lying carelessly abandoned on the stone floor a few yards away. There was Godliss and the young apprentice healer who had left the cave together with her, urgently following the soldiers, and finally, the woman from Harad with the amber skin, her ebony hair tucked behind a pointed ear, and the tall handsome man they said might soon be king.

From where she stood, she could see his face; his firm jaw was set, his expression grim. He might become King but he was also a healer. He had come to see Gram when he was ailing at his worst and not allowed to sleep. The man's strong hands had been soothing as he examined and tended the boy's hurt, and his warm words had been pleasant and reassuring.

But now it was different; his serious face looked too pale and drawn, his silver eyes flashed with fear, and he looked almost… vulnerable. His hands and his eyes lay upon the prone body between them. She could not see much of it because their bodies shielded the sight, but even without seeing much, she knew it was Legolas who lay there on the stone. His torso was bare and very pale.

Too many were the thoughts swirling in her young mind; she could not grab them. She felt a strange void. But one bitter question settled and tormented her, 'He was immortal — how could that be? Why were they all kneeling around him, as if he was dying?'

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed and sniffed. The soldier before her must have become aware of her as she was crying. She felt his strong hand on her shoulder, his worried face appeared in her vision as he bent down. He regarded her with gentle brown eyes, his brow creased.

"What are you doing here, child? Where is your mother?"

Sorwyn did not answer, and the man lifted her from the ground, settling her onto his hip. She struggled weakly as he carried her, walking towards his companion.

"I think the child is lost," he called, "secure my position, I will go look for the mother."

Sorwyn squinted out over his shoulder, towards the pillars where Legolas lay. She did not want to be carried away. She needed to see, needed to know. And as she kicked and struggled tiredly against the man's hold, she heard the scream; deep, harsh, and raw, and she thought it might shatter the stone. Her eyes were wide with shock and her heart frozen in terror. She stared back over the soldier's strong shoulder as he hurried her along. All she could see of the elf was a strand of his pale gold, long hair, his upper arm and one shoulder forcefully pressed to the stone. Strong muscles bulged and struggling, while they were all over him.

She struggled no more and gave in to the sobs, sniffed bitterly against the man's shoulder.

"Hush, little one, do not cry. I will return you to your mother. Surely we will soon find her." He stroked the back of her head, trying to soothe her. But Sorwyn did not react. She did not really listen. Her mother was tending to Gram, who miraculously had survived, and to her sweet baby sister. And she had said that elves were immortal, but she had not answered her question plainly. Maybe to protect her, to not rob her of the hope and innocence of fair children's tales.

"Sorwyn! My girl… why did you run away?" She heard the frightened voice of her worried mother.

"My Lady, what a relief to find you so quickly. I picked her up outside on the burg, between the tumult of people. I promised to find you, but she would not settle."

Sorwyn still cried as the man carefully handed her over into her mother's arms. She heard her mother speak words of gratitude to the soldier, even as she cradled her head in her hand and pressed her comfortingly to her breast. Sorwyn relaxed into the familiar, beloved embrace, and her emotions soared even more; she wept and wept and was inconsolable.

"Hush, Sorwyn, you must not cry so hard. I am here now. All is well."

It was not well at all! How could her mother say so? It was far from that.

That scream! It would not leave her. She still saw the blood in her vision, bright and spurting, and she heard the grave voice of the soldier — "…struck by a poisoned blade…" — the prone body, so pale, and the struggling bulging muscles… Even as the tears blurred her vision; she saw it. Even as her own sobs filled her ears; she heard it.

Elves were immortal but not invulnerable, and in this war, they died as men did. She was now certain of it, and she wanted to tell her mother, but her throat was closed — she could not speak.

Despite it all, her mother's repeated gentle words soothed, and the strokes of her hand on her back eased her tense muscles. The kisses on her wet cheeks were sweet. And finally, partly by her mother's incessant efforts and partly by exhaustion, she calmed slowly.

She clung to her mother for a while. She needed to feel her warmth. Her mother held her close, so close she could almost deceive herself to believe all was well and the only thing that mattered in this world was her caring and protection. For a few long, deep breaths Sorwyn almost believed that her mother had the power to keep all away and let it be well. But then, beside them, there was a whimper, and Gram thrashed uncomfortably in his sleep. His face became tense and pained, and he moaned and mumbled something incomprehensible.

Her mother slowly eased Sorwyn from her hold and leant towards the boy, her attention shifting onto him. Sorwyn scrambled slightly away, allowing her mother more space for tending to Gram. Her sister was also still there. But she was sleeping again. It was wondrous how oblivious she was, and it was also a blessing.

Sorwyn watched her mother and Gram, and her placidly slumbering sister. The desolation overwhelmed her once more. — Nothing was well! — She thought of the elf, Legolas, strong, brave and fair, who was now lying too pale on the stone at the knees of these people.

Her tears ran in renewed streaks down her face, but she stifled the sobs. She did not want to attract attention to herself. It mattered not, anyway, because nobody could keep her anguish away. All was not well, and they would not deceive her.

"Oh, child," her mother sighed, her fingers brushed gently through her fine hair, but she said no more as she observed her concernedly, tears of sympathy shining in her own eyes.

Gram had stilled once more, and while, from time to time, Sorwyn's tears fell silently, she let them. She hunched close to Gram. Stroking his hair while he slept. It was soft and her fingers relished the feeling. This boy had been forced to fight; he had seen the monsters, the killing, the blood, and had survived as so many had not. He had been carried in the elf's strong arms…

Her mother quietly regarded her, but Sorwyn did not lift her gaze. The sorrow washed over her in waves and so, at intervals, she wept, again and again.

She did not know how much time had passed when Godliss returned to them, exhausted, with disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes. Sorwyn lifted her gaze then, eyes tearful, expectant and fearful — and still; she could not speak.

Godliss was quiet as she asked about her boy.

"He is mending well," Sorwyn heard her mother say, and Godliss breathed a hitching sigh of relief as she bent down to him. She caressed her son with such tenderness that Sorwyn's tears began to pour again.

When Godliss rose after a long moment, Sorwyn saw her mother reaching for the woman's arm. Squeezing it gently with a concerned, questioning gaze, she motioned the woman a bit further away.

Sorwyn observed them, holding her breath. She saw them speaking; hushed, for her not to hear. Godliss' face looked anguished and her lips quivered as she spoke, and then she suddenly was weeping and her mother held her in her arms while silent tears ran down her tired cheeks.

Sorwyn could barely breathe. It was too painful.

After Godliss had somehow recomposed herself, they did not hush their voices again. Sorwyn heard patches of sentences of what they said, and while they talked, they squinted over to her. She heard her mother mentioning her name, and she heard things like; "… ran away… brought her back…" and "utterly distraught… does not speak anymore…"

Godliss reacted gasping, "Oh dear!" and she covered her mouth with her hand in dismay, her eyes were startled wide, "I can only guess… should never have seen… and if she heard!" she exclaimed, failing to keep her voice levelled.

The women both turned towards her, their gazes worried and pained. Godliss took Sorwyn into her arms when she reached her, and Sorwyn just let it happen. She was unable to feel comfort though; the whole world was crumbling, and she trembled.

She heard Godliss saying softly, "Sorwyn, my girl, all is well."

But Sorwyn did not believe these words anymore. The sobs soared unbidden, from deep in her belly hitching painfully in her throat.

As if through a daze, she heard Godliss' words, "You fear for Legolas, don't you? Do not fear, my girl, all is well..."

There, they kept saying it, trying to soothe her, trying to keep the cruel reality of war away from her. — It was not well! She had heard the crude scream. She had seen him lie there forcefully pressed to the stone, pale and helpless. The tall, beautiful being, with the crystal-clear eyes. He had fought for them; strong, fey, and lethal. She had given him her hope, the crystal. He was an elf — immortal! Her mother had kept up her illusion.

They wanted to keep it all away from her; the suffering of war, the death surrounding them. To preserve the innocence of the child she once was, but war made it impossible. She had lost it already, that innocence, and she could not be protected anymore — it was too late! She did not want to be deceived anymore. She wanted to tell them, but she could not speak.

They kept talking to her, her mother and Godliss, but she could not really hear them. Because her mind was tormented with the images of bright spurting blood, of pale strands of silken hair sprawled on cold stone, of a strong shoulder pressed to the ground, helplessly struggling and twitching, the heavy silence pierced by a consuming scream, and grave words like struck, blade and poison. It was all endlessly repeating. And they kept saying all was well…

As they seemed to despair, failing to calm her, behind the blur, she saw Godliss hurrying away. And as the woman returned, right behind her the Lady Éowyn followed. Like in a dream, the princess took the girl's hand in hers, "Come with me, Sorwyn," she simply said. Like the first time, Sorwyn stared at her in awe, and followed, scurrying along beside her, her cheeks wet with tears. Sorwyn glimpsed up at the Lady, and Éowyn smiled down at her. Sorwyn noticed she looked tired, but her smile bore a comforting quiet. She did not say that all was well. She simply held her hand, guiding her.

They walked up and up, where the people seemed far away, and the sky was close. Fresh air stirred around her and cooled Sorwyn's flushed, tear-streaked face. By the time they reached the top of the tower, her cheeks had completely dried. She blinked up uncertainly at the Lady Éowyn, who was still quiet.

There, in a sheltered corner, sat the man who would be king, his dark hair hung tousled about his face, and his features were edged by exhaustion; he looked as if he had just returned from a long stride through the wilds, and had even engaged in a fight. The stout dwarf sat beside him, and his eyes were strikingly soft and of such a warm brown that for a moment Sorwyn thought it did barely fit his strong, raw appearance. His gaze was resting on the white blanket before him. And he was holding a still, long hand that lay on the linen. Sorwyn held her breath, her heart thumped quickly; there lay Legolas. The blanket was drawn up to his shoulders. His still face was white like the sheet covering him, his eyes closed and his features so smooth that the softness utterly unsettled her. The girl trembled from the cold of the breeze stirring around her, or from the impact of the sight she was taking in, trying to make sense of it all.

The Lady Éowyn held her firm, squeezing her hand encouragingly. But she still did not say all was well. And Sorwyn was grateful for that. Because it was far from well. There lay an immortal being, who had fought for them, fey and elegant, broad shoulders and skilled hands coaxing a song from a mighty bow — a lethal song protecting her, protecting all of them — strong arms carrying back Gram; and now he lay there pale and still, and her hope… her hope had dwindled. This was war, and nothing was well!

The dishevelled and weary ranger-king then lifted his gaze to them, and when he nodded to her, his eyes silver grey and friendly, Sorwyn thought that despite his apparent exhaustion he looked handsome in his wilderness. She did not really know how to behave before a king, and so she blinked up again, uncertainly, to the Lady Éowyn. The White Lady gave her an encouraging smile and led her close to the man who held out his hand to Sorwyn. Without hesitation, Sorwyn found herself seizing the strong hand.

"My name is Aragorn," the man said while leading her close to him. "I know yours is Sorwyn, and you brought hope to the soldiers with your beautiful little tokens," he said tenderly, "Legolas told me."

Sorwyn swallowed, and still could not speak. Legolas had told his friend about her. She could not believe it. She did not think a small girl like her could be of importance to an immortal, that he would talk of her to his friend, who would soon be a great king. She could not make sense of it, as she could not make sense of all that happened.

As she now was so close, she stared at the elf. He looked peaceful, as if he was sleeping; he looked beautiful. But then she remembered the scream and the convulsing muscles pressed hard to the stone. She winced and went rigid, staring at where his chest lay under the blanket. She saw no movement, no rise and fall, and a desperate sob escaped her small lips. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes; he was not breathing; he was too still!

They all turned concerned eyes on her. Aragorn rubbed her shoulder and arm comfortingly. "He lives, Sorwyn, he lives," he said seriously, with an urgency that she might believe. And when she did not cease crying, the ranger drew her onto his lap. He took her tiny hand gently and laid it on the thin blanket over the elf's heart. And there, under her small palm, she felt it beating, and she felt also the soft rise and fall of his breathing. There on Aragorn's lap, her hand on Legolas' chest, the strong calloused hand of the king softly rubbing her fingers, she smiled at the Lady Éowyn from under her tears and at the dwarf, who both regarded her fondly, eyes bright with their own tears.

Sorwyn slowly calmed, but she now stared at Legolas' face. Hoping for something that would help her speak, because still, it was hard to swallow. As if he sensed her eyes and her hand on him, Legolas' long, dark eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheek, and slowly, he blinked his eyes open. Sorwyn watched the shifting colours in the deep irises and the dark of his dilated pupils recede as they wearily moved to take in his surroundings. Patiently she waited, breathing softly, not to disturb him, until his gaze rested on her.

"You live," she said shyly, and a small sob came again. "I thought… I—…," her breath hitched slightly, "I thought you were immortal, my mother said so, but—…" her lips trembled, "Now I know you can die."

Legolas gripped her small, chubby hand on his chest with both of his. They felt strong, warm, and reassuring as they wrapped around her cold fingers. She did not tremble anymore.

Legolas gazed at her for a long while. His eyes were crystal-bright and deep and transparent. She held his gaze, unwavering, bathing in it.

He looked concerned for her, not for himself. For she realized he had known for all his long life that he could die, and still he fought. She cried again as understanding washed over her, that this was real strength — and her courage returned.

The elf squeezed her hand tighter and smiled at her. She felt immersed in deep blue water, fresh and clear and gently reviving. She heard a music carried on the breeze; it sang of the grass on the hills, moist soil, water-streams and trees of far forests. His face was no longer white, still somewhat pale, but now she had the sensation as if he glowed with starlight, although it was day. And his features were noble, with his defined cheekbones and smoothly curved lips.

She loved her mother and her sister, and now Gram and Godliss. She had admired the elf and the man who would be a great king. But now she knew their names, and they had let her into their hearts. She would be with them when they fought and so would be her hope.

They were strong and bold, but not invulnerable. They would fight, and her hope would not die.

Sometime later, she knew not how long, the Lady Éowyn took her hand and securely led her back to her mother.

Thank you to all of you who are leaving reviews to my stories. It is always encouraging.

Be well!