The muffled chatter of a thousand elves filled his halls with a gentle soothing melody, merging with the swirling waltz from the harps and flutes. Nearly every single elf in his realm joined the celebration, as they did every Winter's Solstice, all of them dressed in their finest robes of rich fabrics and rich colors. Ladies dripped jewels from their heads and nearly to their toes, incrusted in their elaborately braided hair and sewn into their dresses which seemed to float about them as they danced. Emeralds, sapphires, rubies, pearls and opals all sparkled throughout the majestic rooms in a splendorous dance, and it seemed that every single family was waiting for a turn to approach him and his children in greeting.
Millions of golden flowers, the winter flower of Mirkwood, hung from the ceiling high above his head, a canopy of gold like a winter sun, shimmering in a thousand reflections at the many bright candles. Everything had been meticulously arranged to perfection. Same as it had been the year before. And the one before that. But no matter the decorations, the jewels, the exquisite food that had been served on silver plates and cut crystal glasses, this year was not the same. This year, unlike many countless previous years, the smile on his face was real.
He had gotten used to it. Used to smiling politely at his guests, engaging easily in conversation and sometimes even pretending to be listening to someone when in truth he could not get himself to concentrate on what was being said. Not that he had not really smiled in previous Witner's Solstices. His smiles had always been real, always reaching his eyes and warming his holed heart when the time came to exchange gifts, watching the bright eyes and smiling faces of his children around him. But this year he did not have four children. This year, he had five.
The sole though of that made the smile on his face widen slightly, as he nodded his head at whatever it was Doronor was saying to him to his right. His closest friend had not stopped talking, and the King of Mirkwood would have guessed that by now, his advisor would have noticed that nobody was no longer listening to his tale.
"Your Majesty" A voice from his left made him return from his wondering thoughts, elegantly turning his head to meet the speaker, already knowing it would be another elf or family that sought to greet him in person, as was customarily done through the celebration. A tall elf with long hair the color of soft ashes was standing to his left, rich formal robes of a deep burgundy embroidered in silver and golden thread and brushing the floor at his feet as he moved. A beautiful Lady stood to his side, slightly behind, her dress a lovely shade of dark violet that cascaded down her figure. Pearls adorned her deep ebony braids, like pure white stars in a blackened sky, perfectly framing the delicate features of her porcelain face.
"Lord Laeronor, Lady Celairil." He greeted in return with a graceful nod of the head, recognizing the elves immediately as they bowed respectfully. His ice blue eyes did not miss the young elleth standing behind her mother, also bowing in greeting, sporting that same head of sweet ashen hair as her father.
"It is a pleasure to welcome you back in the realm, and to see you enjoying the celebration." He recited his pleasantries as elegantly as he always did, the ghost of a smirk curving in his lips as he studied the partially hiding young elleth. She was beautiful, there was no denying it. The perfectly angled features of her face, though sharp and refined carried a certain softness that was difficult to overlook, hazel eyes like two large ponds of warm honey. Her dress was a dream of blue, paler at the top and gradually turning darker as it reached her feet in floating vaporous waves, sapphires expertly sewn into the embroidery and interwoven in her long hair. "And may I as who is this Lady I do not recall?"
"Allow me to introduce my niece, Your Majesty, Lady Indilene." Lord Laeronor spoke, motioning with a hand for the young elleth to approach him, a proud smile on the Lord's lips, one that belonged more to a father than to an uncle.
"Ah, yes." He easily feigned recognition, very well aware of just who this lady was, but he was not supposed to know as much as he did yet. Still he took his time to carefully scrutinize the Lady. "Last time I saw you, you were barely this tall." He motioned with a hand what would be an elfling's height, easily recalling her running behind Legolas outside in the gardens.
The elleth simply smiled at him politely without a word, an adorable combination of embarrassment and nerves visible in her deep hazel eyes. He decided he would not torture her yet, not tonight. Tonight he would pretend that he did not know that it was not him but his eldest son the royal this Lady longed to greet. Just as he would pretend he could not feel Arahaelon's eyes nervously watching the exchange from his spot at the long high table.
"We simply wished to thank you for such a joyful feast, My Lord, and to wish you and your family a merry Winter's Solstice." Lord Laeronor continued politely, nodding his head respectfully once more, to which he expertly smiled in return- just as he had done to all the previous well-wishes.
"Thank you, Lord Laeronor, the same goes to you." He replied almost immediately, knowing the words he had repeated the entire night by heart. The ashen haired Lord merely nodded his head once more, giving him a slight bow before he and his family continued making their way through the tables and joining in the many conversations and dancing elves.
He took a second to glance along the elegant high table upon which he sat- his table- using the few minutes he knew he had before another family made his way to him. His ice blue eyes easily landed on his eldest son, just as a passing servant refilled his nearly emptying goblet. Arahaelon was no longer looking in his direction, the back of his silvery head to him as he said something lowly to Lossenel, his daughter smiling in a way that told him that whatever she was hearing was some sort of gossip she was thoroughly enjoying. He was barely aware of his lips curving up in a faint smile at the mere sight of his children, as if his body suddenly remembered how to smile only when they were in sight.
Lossenel looked stunning, just as she always did. How many compliments had he received in favor for his daughter he could not even recall, and yet he knew that to no pair of eyes she looked more beautiful than to his. She had opted for sapphires on her hair tonight, waving with her silver formal diadem, like drops of ocean over her platinum head, the color of snow and starlight. He was aware there was already a line forming of every ellon that wanted a dance with her for the night, and he already wanted to murder every single one of them, wanting to throw into the deepest and darkest of his cellars every ellon who so much dared touch his delicate Princess of snow and starlight.
She looked like his naneth, a thing he had always found oddly amusing. He did not remember her much, but he did remember those same locks of platinum hair and snowy skin. Lossenel laughed again at whatever it was Arahalon was telling her, the bright mirth in her icy blue-green eyes- eyes that he could pin point from whom she had inherited for he said it was his blue and Alarya had said it was her green- sparkling in delight, an expression he had seen in her face ever since she was a little elfling.
The corners of his mouth dropped however as his eyes landed on the nearly full plate of food that Arahaelon still had in front of him. His eldest son had barely eaten at all, merely moving his food around with his silver fork to the oblivious eyes of the neighboring elves. Worry crept through him as he let out a silent sigh at his son's stubbornness. Arahaelon should not be here. He should be in his bed resting comfortably. He would not last long in the feast tonight, he could already see that the wound was paining him just by the way in which he was sitting, even though he knew nobody else would be able to tell. Still he prayed his son would retire to bed early, wishing that he could trade places and take the pain himself instead of his son.
He took a sip of his wine, the rich flavor filling his mouth as his eyes searched the table for his second son, a different kind of worry creeping over him as he could not easily find him. Where had Tadion gone to? He knew that losing sight of Tadion nearly always meant trouble. His eyes scanned around the room, finding his middle child waltzing his way through the crowd with a very pretty golden haired Lady in his arms. And the smile was once again on his face, letting out a silent chuckle at the Lady's face who looked to be having the time of her life. Typical Tadion. Always fun, always trouble, always the one to give him a heart attack in fright and worry and the one to make him laugh the most.
He spotted Legolas sitting at the long table as well, adding something to Arahaelon's and Lossenel's conversation. He looked elegant too in his pale blue robes, always his kind and loving elfling. Out of all of his children, Legolas resembled him the most, and he ignored how he did it but his youngest son was the only one who could manage to get anything he wanted, that is anything, from his siblings. They would all give into Legolas' wishes, and with a smile on their faces nonetheless. Even when he was fighting with any of them, Legolas somehow seemed to know just how to get Arahaelon to intervene for him, a thing which immediately ended any argument and made Tadion rage in fury. The perks of being the youngest.
His smile widened slightly on his face as he felt his heart swell with warmth and pride, his eyes flying to the elleth sitting right next to Legolas. Tonight Legolas was not the youngest. He would never again be the youngest. It felt so surreal that he nearly felt the need to constantly remind himself that tonight and for the rest of eternity if he could control it, he had five children. Not four. Five. And the fifth, his youngest daughter, was currently sitting in his table, in this very same majestic halls, right next to Legolas.
It had been impossible not to look at her the entire night, his eyes darting in her direction every two seconds or so, almost on their own, as if they could not find anything else to interest themselves with, nothing else worthy of looking. She looked like Alarya. It was the thought that had accompanied him for the length of the night, the thought that he did not know if it made him smile all the brighter or pain rip through his already torn and broken spirit. She looked just like Alarya.
She always had. Ever since he held her for the first time the day she was born she had already had those bright emerald eyes and golden hair that her mother had, and yet nothing could have ever prepared him for when he saw her in flesh and bone once again, in his very own palace, fully grown yet still so young. She was the copy of her mother, none of her features resembling him, and he thanked the Valar for that, every single one of Alarya's features had been too perfect for his to come stain them.
Almarëa. He would never tire of saying that name in his head over and over again. How many times had he not longed to finally see his youngest daughter, his precious treasure that had been cruelly robbed from him so many years ago, sitting right here in his very table. How many times had he not wished that he could merely steal one more glance at her, just to see if she was all right, is she was fine, simply to lay eyes on her smiling face and the manner in which it lit her bright forest colored eyes. And now that she was here, he could barely grasp it, could barely contain himself from smiling beyond what his lips could.
Even if Alarya would never return to him, his daughter had. Almarëa had. And he did not know how to mane what he felt, as if a void in him had somehow healed and at the same time it ached. It made his lips stretched into a wide smile that filled his body with the most overwhelming joy and at the same time it hurt like a hot knife tearing deeply through him. His daughter was here, he finally had her next to him, she was finally his again, and yet he knew nothing about her, she knew nothing about him, could not even call him 'father'.
She looked splendid tonight in that pale rose dress adorned with silver. No elf in his hall could ever deny that she was truly a Princess. She certainly looked the part. Her long golden hair had been braided and weaved with the delicate strands of silver from her diadem, but even the precious diadem seemed dull and lacking shine next to her golden locks. How many times had he not ran his dingers through those same golden locks over a baby's head as she giggled on her lap and tried to get away from his hands. But she could not remember that, she had been too young to remember anything.
Everything she was he owed to that woman in that small village of men, and he would have gifted her his whole kingdom in gold and jewels if only to thank her for taking care of his Almarëa, for watching over her, for giving her what he could not. And yet, no matter how much he thanked that woman, he resented her, resented her for being the one to witness his daughter's smiles, his daughter's laughs, her fears, her joys, when it should have been him. But she was here tonight. She was again his. His daughter. And he had made sure the entire kingdom knew of it. But she was not entirely his.
The sole of thought of that made anger spread through is body and constrict his heart like a poisoned claw, his eyes turning into ice as they landed on that familiar dark haired elf sitting right to his daughter's left. She was not entirely his because of the cursed son of Elrond. What claim did he pretend to have on his daughter? What right did he have to approach her so familiarly as if she belonged to him. Oh, he was no fool and he was definitely not blind. He had seen the way his silver eyes looked at his daughter, adoringly, as if she carried the Sun and the Moon in her very hands. He had seen the way in which the son of Elrond's hand seemed unable to detach from around his daughter's fingers, making him want to break each and every single one of his fingers one by one. But it was not so much his anger which ripped through him like a torturous blade. No. It was fear. Fear at the way in which those silver eyes gazed into his daughter's. Fear at how his own daughter seemed so comfortable next to the son of Elrond's presence. Fear at what it could possibly mean. And he did not want to think on that, did not to even acknowledge it as a possibility. If there was a bond, then he had lost his daughter even before he had even had her back.
His icy eyes, cold as a merciless glacier tore through the son of Elrond's figure. He knew both of the twins, even if he could not easily distinguish one from the other, and yet never before had he though any of them as a threat, never before had he considered any of the two an ellon worthy of careful scrutiny. But never before had any of them showed interest in someone he valued more than his own life. They were handsome, to his grief, and well trained warriors, respected Lords and heirs to the Valley of Imladris. Curse the Valar, curse Eru, and curse Iluvatar for not giving him any reason to discredit their suitability to his daughter.
He was pulled from his thoughts as he felt a gentle hand tap into his shoulder, making him immediately turn around as his face adopted that polite regal smile he had carried nearly all night.
"Your Majesty." Another elf bowed next to him, another one to greet and welcome to the feast. And yet he forced himself to remain the elegant powerful King he was even though the corner of his eyes remained fixed on his daughter and the son el Elrond sitting next to her.
"Lord Gaerlan." He greeted with a kind nod of the head, pretending to listen as the lord continued with his greeting and gratitude for the feast and well-wishes. He was barely even aware as he too replied with those same phrases he had used all night, until he caught sight out of his peripheral vision of Legolas extending his hand to Almarëa and guiding her to join the dancing elves, leaving the son of Elrond sitting by himself on the table. This was his window. He needed to know. And he needed to know now.
"If you would forgive and excuse me, Lord Gaerlan, I have some important matters to attend." He excused himself politely as he rose to his feet, interrupting the elf almost mid-sentence, the latter immediately bowing respectfully with a kind smile before walking away.
His wine colored robes pooled at his feet and swirling over the floor as he made his way around the table, most of the elf having vacated their seats in order to either mingle around the crowds of conversing elves or to go join the dancing. The winter Mirkwood crown of sliver leaves rested regally over his head, and never before had he been so grateful and conscious of this splendorous symbol that showcased his authority. This same crown which had at times felt so heavy of a burden suddenly seeming so light, for once to his favor, for once to his delight.
He stopped right behind the dark haired elf, who looked just like his father, resting a hand not too gently over his shoulder, making sure his hold was a little tighter than necessary, even though his face remained that perfect mask of the powerful smiling King welcoming his guests.
"Peredhel" He spoke the words as if they were warmth coming out of his mouth, when in turn his eyes glared at the younger elf like the coldest ice. He could feel the son of Elrond tense under his grasp, almost unnoticeably yet it was enough for him to gloat in it, fighting the urge to dig his fingers all the more painfully into the elf's shoulder, if only to make his point clear.
"My Lord." The twin in question was quick to rise to his feet even though the Elvenking did not drop the hand holding his shoulder. The son to Elrond must have known he would eventually approach him during the feast, he would be a fool not to have expected it.
"It is a pleasure to have you here for the celebrations." His words where polite, his tone warm and welcoming yet his eyes continued to glare at the elf as if he had stolen something from him. But he had stolen something from him. "Pardon my confusion, but are you Elladan? Or are you Elrohir?"
"That depends on the situation." A clever reply from the twin, and he had his answer.
"Elladan." He concluded correctly, only one of the twins would dare answer so ambiguously and he knew that Elrohir was not as defying under pressure. He knew it from experience of the many times he had caught them along with Tadion doing mischief in his halls as elflings. "A word, please."
He dug his fingers a little deeper into the twin's shoulder, pretending to be politely guiding him to a secluded corner of the enormous hall. He could feel the tension increasing on the elder twin's shoulders, slightly annoyed at how well he managed his composure, his face perfectly calmed and complying, silver eyes like guarded steel. He pushed open a discrete door to one corner of the room, letting the bright light, music and chatter from the halls wash into the small adjacent room.
Motioning with a graceful hand, he allowed the dark haired elf in first before following, gently closing the door with a silent click. A kind fire roared silently on the ample fireplace, casting orange and golden shadows upon the ornate carpet and couple of couches and high-backed chairs laying across the room. Now with the tall wooden door closed behind his back, the joyful chatter and sound dancing through his halls suddenly seeming so far away.
"You may sit." He spoke, his tone no longer warm and friendly, and yet entirely hostile. His icy blue eyes followed the eldest son of Elrond as he slowly made his way towards one of the cushioned seats by the fireplace, gracefully lowering himself into it, sitting tall with his back straight instead of leaning against the cushions.
He did not follow him, walking right past him and towards one end of the room where a long wooden table laid with some trays of food and silver carafes of wine. Part of him wanted to gloat at the twin's obvious discomfort and nerves, and yet part of him he had nothing to gloat for. If anyone would be losing something dear tonight, it would be him. And the sole thought of the that, the mere possibility, stabbed him like a new hot blade through the chest.
His long fingers curled around the carafe, the silver feeling cold to the touch, heavy, as he watched the deep crimson liquid fall into his cut crystal goblet. Taking another glass from the table, he poured one for Elladan, handing it to the younger elf before taking the seat right in front of him.
For a few seconds silence reigned the room, the only sound that reached his ears, that dare to break the tense hollow atmosphere was the sporadic cracking of the dancing flames. He studied the young elf sitting in front of him, who had not even taken a single sip from his wine. Those grey eyes that a second could not depart from his daughter now were fixed on the fire, his deep green robes obtaining a strange color at the red and orange reflections. And yet he remained sitting straight, although slightly tensed, as if knowing exactly why it was the King had brought him here.
"You already know what it is I will ask you." The Elvenking's voice could have frozen even the roaring fire as he spoke, his fingers drumming against the fine crystal of his goblet.
Silver eyes turned in his direction, unyielding steel that let nothing in and nothing out, but the son of Elrond did not speak, watching him intently, cautiously. Once again only the fire crackled, only the fire flickered and cracked and twirled. The King of Mirkwood took his goblet to his lips, taking another small sip from his wine. It tasted bitter now, somehow having lost all of its rich flavor.
"What are your intentions towards my daughter." His voice was sharper that swords as it cut through the heavy silence, the sound having long ago lost all of its warmth and friendliness as he voiced the question that plagued his mind. He needed to know, and yet there was a part of him that too scared to know, fearing that he already knew and merely did not want to accept it.
Once again, there was no answer, only those large steely eyes watching him patiently, attentively for a long moment, not a hint of surprise visible as a reaction to his words. But of course Elladan would have known what he would ask him. He knew exactly why he had brought him here, away from the dancing and merry chatter.
"I have seen the way you look at her, the way you trail behind her like a lost fly following the light of a candle. What it is that you want from her." He nearly hissed forcing his fingers not to turn into fists as he glared mercilessly at the eldest son of Elrond.
"I want nothing from her." The younger elf was quick to answer this time, his voice low yet quick, gentler than his had been. Still that did not serve to reassure him. On the contrary, it only seemed to make the hot agonizing blade go deeper into his chest tearing through him all the more fiercely.
"Have you not many other ladies in your own realm to toy with?" He snarled, trying in vain to keep his composure, but it was futile. "There are many other beautiful ladies in my own realm if that is what you seek for. Why her?"
"I…" Silver eyes widened slightly at his words, yet they did not soften, for a second the younger elf seeming at a loss of words. "I cannot answer that, My Lord."
Of course. He knew there was no why to it. There was never a why to it. Bonds were not made on calculated decisions. No. He would not think of that. He did not know if there was a bond. There could not be a bond already. He prayed to the Valar that that was not the case. And still he needed to know why. Why could the Valar not let him finally have his daughter back before needing to worry about someone taking her away from him? Of all the available Ladies it had to be his daughter. It had to be his little Almarëa, the one that no matter how hard he tried seemed to always be sliding through his fingers like sand, slipping away from him.
"Pick another Lady from your games, Elrondion." He stressed every word, tasking venom in them as they left his mouth. And for the first time those steely silver eyes softened, if only for a second, honesty shining right through them as a transparent ocean.
"I play no games with your daughter, My Lord." The dark haired elf spoke softly, sitting through his poisonous questioning with surprising dignity and grace. At least the younger elf was smart enough to always use a formal address when speaking to him.
"I care not what you play or do not play. Pick another Lady." He demanded again, aware of the absurdity of his request and yet unable to control it.
"I cannot do that, My Lord." The younger elf answered patiently, and once again he felt the urge to launch at him, to tear that peaceful knowing calmness from that handsome face, to do anything to stop that tearing agony ripping through him that let him known that no matter the direction of this conversation he would be the one losing. A dark chuckle escaped his lips, humorless. Even before beginning he had already lost.
"What is it that you want?" He snarled again, losing his patience, but more than that, losing the fight against the hole he could already feel forming again in his chest. "You believe you can follow her here into my realm and whisk her off to Imladris with you?"
"I do not wish to whisk her off to Imladris." The dark haired elf defended himself, brow furrowing slightly as he spoke, and yet his voice remained perfectly calmed, as if knowing that losing his patience would do no good at the moment.
"The let her go!" He hissed almost too quickly, slamming the base of his crystal goblet against the small round table next to him a little too strongly, a couple of crimson drops splashing outside the glass but he could not have cared less. "Let her go. She is here with her family. You have no business with her. Find another Lady to entertain yourself with."
"I love her."
Those words. He felt them crash over him like a drowning tide, silver eyes once again made of steel in their determination. Three words. Three small words and he knew he was disarmed. How could he fight against that, when those words meant he had already lost? The cold claw inside his chest squeezed harder against his heart, and he forced his face to remain of stone.
The eldest son of Elrond remained sitting in front of him, his back straight, eyes steady, pure resolve visible in them. The half-elf would not let her go. He had no intention in letting her go. Not now, not ever. And he knew the courage that it had taken the younger elf to say those words to him, knowing beforehand the weight those words would carry.
But should he not be happy? Was he not supposed to feel joy deep inside of him, knowing that his daughter would be loved? Was that not how it worked? Alarya's father had been happy when he had confessed his love for his daughter. They had even celebrated. Then why could he not feel that same kind of joy? Why did it feel as if he was slowly about to lose something that was too dear to him to afford? Why did it feel as if part of him was dying inside, aching so much it felt nearly unbearable?
"I just got her back." His voice was flat as it reached his own ears, all the previous anger and ice that dripped from it suddenly vanished, the sound pathetic, defeated. But his words could not change the situation, no matter what he said, his words could not make the son of Elrond pick another Lady to fall in love with.
His Almarëa. Of all the Ladies, it had to be her. His precious daughter that he could never fully grasped. Was the Valar so intent in cursing him that he would never truly have his daughter to himself? He was tired of the pain, tired of the cruel teasing of destiny that always had him having her right between his fingers before she slipped right out of his grasp like vapor.
And just like that he was there again, in that small plain room that creeped into his nightmares to haunt him for eternity, finally learning his daughter was alive after so many years. He was there again, watching her small frame sleeping under plain covers of the small bed, beautiful emerald eyes glazed as she dreamed, as he closed the door behind her, as he entrusted her to the care of that woman that had taken her in and raised her. That had been the hardest decision of his life, the hardest thing he had ever been forced to do, and even now he wondered and cursed himself for simply not taking her into his arms and carrying her home with him. She was his daughter. His little piece of live starlight that shone brighter than the Moon and Sun.
"There is a ring, is there not?" He phrased it as question, but he already knew the answer. He could see it in the soft silver gaze of the son of Elrond's eyes, on his determined steely posture yet respectful words. Of course he had a ring. And of course there was a bond. Fooling himself into believing otherwise, into pretending otherwise, would not change the reality.
For once the son of Elrond did not speak, merely moving one of his hands into the pocket of his robes, retrieving a small velvet box. The King of Mirkwood closed his eyes momentarily, swallowing hard against the tight knot forming in his throat, forcing his face to remain that same marbled expression that let nothing through. Such a tiny thing, and such a painful hole it tore through his heart.
He had it with him. He had the ring with him. In his robes pockets. But of course. It was Winter's Solstice, what better occasion than to ask for a hand in marriage. And still he had not expected it would be so soon. Too soon.
"If you would allow it, My Lord, I wis-
"Do not ask." He interrupted Elladan, raising a hand in a silencing gesture. Elladan. He guessed he must get used to referring to the twins by their names if one of them was to marry his daughter. "I already know what it is you will ask of me."
He could not bear to hear the question. It would make everything so real, too real. It would finally tear through the little composure he had managed to gather, through the few stitches left keeping him together from crumbling in pain and loss.
Instead he rose to his feet, silently making his way to the table at the end of the room to refill his goblet. He did not need to turn to look to know that the son of Elrond's eyes were carefully watching his back, waiting patiently for his answer. And he had to give an answer.
No. It was what every instinct seemed to yell at him, to scream inside his head. Say no. Do not allow it. He did not want to allow it. He did not want to give her hand. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. He had just gotten her back, how could anyone expect for him to give her away so soon? Had he not had enough? Were the Valar so intent in cursing him and watching him suffer?
He left his hands fall against the tables polished surface, leaning his weight on it as he hung his head, his back to Elladan. He could say no. He should say no. If he said no there would be no wedding, he knew it. Elladan needed his permission to marry his daughter. If he said no, he would keep her with him, she would not leave with the half-elf and his twin brother to Imladris, so far away from his realm and where he would see her perhaps on occasional celebrations and visits.
She was finally here, finally with her family, just outside the elegantly carved wooden door and probably dancing her way merrily through the crowd of elves. She was finally his.
He felt another dark humorless chuckle leave his lips. His. She was his daughter, but she had never really been his. Perhaps once, many years ago when she had been nothing but a baby, when he should have been able to shield her from any harm that came her way, protect, and raise her, and watch her grow happy and beautiful. But he had not been able to even do that. He had filed her from such a young age. Had not even been able to find her for so many long years, believing her dead. Had left her to the care of that blessed woman who watched over her like her own daughter.
He had not given her anything. Merely an occasional toy or gift sent in secret and that she would forever believe came from her adoptive mother as to not raise suspicions. He had not given her any of the things he had been able to give all of his other children. She could not even call him father. What claim did he himself have over her apart from her being his biological daughter? What right did he have to say no?
Is that how it was always supposed to be then? Her being right in front of him and vanishing to thin air every time he was finally about to grasp her? Holding onto Almarëa was like trying to hold water in his hands, trying to seal the sunlight into a glass jar. She had never been fully his. Even before she had reached Mirkwood she had already found someone to turn to, to love, to belong to. And that someone had never and would never be him.
Would things be different if it was Lossenel's hand the one being asked? He knew he would still want to murder the ellon in question, but would he feel joy then? If this was how it felt then he prayed he would never have to find out. But with Almarëa it felt particularly painful.
Just say no. Say no and there would be no wedding. But he could not do that. Even through the pain tearing through his chest like a hot sharp blade, through the hole that seemed to be growing larger and larger inside of him. He had never fully had Almarëa. She would never be fully his. Part of it had been his own fault, his failure to be able to keep her safe. He could not hold that against her. What right did he have to say no? What right did he have to deny her to marry the elf she loved, as it seemed it was the case?
He swallowed once, feeling as if he needed to clear his airway from the tight knot stuck deep in his throat, making breathing harder. Let her go. Ironic, was it not? He had demanded that very thing form Elladan only some moments ago. To let her go. But it was not Elladan who needed to let her go, it was him. She would never be fully his, and he had to let her live, to let her love, to let her be happy and laugh and cry and dance. He had not been able to give her anything, and yet this he could give her. No matter how much it hurt.
"You have my blessings." He barely even heard his voice as his words left his lips, not knowing how any sound made it through the tight lump lodged in his throat. And nothing, no other words had ever hurt this much. And he was there again, in that small bedroom watching her little from sleeping in the bed, letting her go, leaving her to the care of that woman. It seemed that was the only thing he had always been able to do for her. Always letting her slide right through his fingers. He took a deep breath, not turning to see Elladans' face. "You may have her hand if she wishes to marry you in return. And you have my blessings."
He did not turn around, not even as he heard Elladan slowly rising to his feet, seeming to hesitate a little before remaining right where he was standing by the grand fireplace. He could not bear to turn around. He could not bear to turn and look at the joy he would find in the son of Elrond's face. Not when it felt as if part of him was dying, about to lose something he valued more than his own life, watching her slowly leave him until he took her back to Imladris.
"You will wait a year, as it is customary." He continued, making his terms clear, wishing that he could sound has cold and threatening as he had only moments ago. But it was a surprise that he still had any voice at all. "That year will be spent here, in my realm. And you will marry here, as she is the bride and you should marry in her homeland. I throw the wedding."
And what a wedding that would be. If it was the only thing he would be able to give her, it would be one to remember, even if only to make up for the many years he had been force to neglect her existence. And then, bracing himself with as much strength, as much self-control as he could muster, he turned around.
Elladan's face remained as expressionless as before, silver eyes looking at him patiently, waiting for him to finish stating his terms of the agreement. But even through his serious calmed expression only a fool would miss the joyful sparkle that swirled deep inside those silver eyes, as if no matter what terms he proposed the younger elf would happily comply to them, already having gotten the only thing he desperately longed for. And he envied him, he envied the son of Elrond for his joy, wishing that he could feel even if just a little at the moment.
"Give me the feast." He spoke, his voice nearly pleading, finally surrendering, defeated. A pathetic excuse of a request, feeling his shoulders drop from the menacing authoritative stance he had been holding so well. How ironic it was that it was now him asking something of the younger elf, pleading for at least an ounce of pity to stretch the few hours he knew he had of his daughter begin fully his. If he would ask her to marry him tonight, he selfishly at least longed for one full winter's solstice celebration solely with his five children. With her. "Give me until the celebration is over."
A silent nod of the head was the only reply he got, but he needed nothing else, closing his eyes and nodding his head in thanks. He took a deep breath, once again allowing himself to stand tall and royal, trying to push the pain that ripped through him with the most overwhelming sadness deep into the back of his mind. If this night why all he got to have her all to himself, before there would officially be someone- Elladan- by her side at every hour, he would not let it slip by.
And yet, as he looked at those gleaming silver eyes, that could barely contain their joy concealed in their depths, something else downed on him, something that he could not really pin point how it felt about it. His daughter would be happy. Almarëa would be loved. He could see it in Elladan's eyes as clear as crystalline water. Come what may he would never leave her side, perhaps for once someone would be able to keep her safe, or at least make her feel so.
The edges of his mouth curved up in the ghosts of a smile, a smile that he thought would not come. Is this hoe it felt like? The tiny drop of joy surfacing like a single drop of warm water in an ocean of ice? And still even through his agony, even through the torture he knew he would face of having to give his daughter away, he smiled. His Almarëa would be happy, and that was all he needed.
"I believe this is a matter to celebrate to, then." He found himself saying through his smile, his throat closing all the more tightly but he no longer knew if from sadness and pain or from the tiny relief of joy he had felt at the notion of his daughter being joyful.
And that was all it took. His words suddenly tore through the son of Elrond's perfect mask of calmness as if the younger elf could no longer hold back the wide smile that formed on his face, reaching his eyes. He knew that smile. It was a smile that nothing, no matter what, could ever break at the moment. It was the smile of the purest kind of joy anyone could possibly feel. He himself had carried that smile once, so long ago, when Lord Lasgaer had agreed to give him Alarya's hand in marriage.
"You may go." He waved a hand gracefully as he made his way to sit upon his previous chair by the fireplace, already seeing as the younger elf nearly fidgeted in his spot, eager to rejoin the feast, eager to go find his daughter. "Go dance with her. She must be waiting for you."
Hi there! I know I have taken a while to update the stories but between finals (thanksfully over) and other stuff it's been really hard for me to get any time at all to write. I apologize for the long waits I know they get annoying and tiring, I'm trying to do my best. And thank you gain so much to those of you who had stuck to the stories throughout the wait, you have idea how much you help in keeping these characters alive!
Anyway , here a small one-shot of that little piece that I know some of you were left wondering about in my story Almarëa. So here it is finally! Let me know what you think!
Eryniel Greenleaf this story is for you! Thanks for suggesting it so that I finally got up the will to write it haha :) I hope it makes up to your expectations! It was certainly an emotional piece to write! :)
Love,
Elena