Author's Note:
No romance in any form.
Flames not appreciated.
Constructive criticism welcome.
Do not own LOTR.
Meduseld,
The City of Edoras,
Rohan.
Set eleven years after the War of the Ring.
"If I see one more report." Éomer breathed dangerously, glaring at the stacks of paper before him. His wife, Queen Lothíriel, looked up from her desk, wisely not saying a word even though her eyes glittered in mirth.
"Come, come, my lord. Surely the sight is not so revolting. You will be doing this for the rest of your life until you pass on, Sire."
"Humph, your humor amuses me like always." Came the sarcastic reply.
Husband and wife shared a grin. They had engaged in such banter every now and then. It helped pass the dreary hours of paperwork and reports, which neither particularly enjoyed.
"Look at it this way," Lothíriel offered, reaching for the letters that had arrived from Gondor with delicate hands. "Your people call you Éomer Éadig, the Blessed, for the past years have brought harvest aplenty."
"Indeed," the King sighed. " 'Tis good to see fruit from the hard work."
Lothíriel glanced up at her husband. He had returned to reading military reports, his face seeming to age as he carried the burden of his kingdom upon his shoulders.
Not able to bear seeing her husband suffer through yet another boring account, she hastily went through the letters of Gondor and found one that would definitely cheer the King. It was letter, written by a dear friend.
"You have a letter from Gondor," Lothíriel said. Her husband murmured an incoherent reply. " 'Tis from the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Thranduilion."
The change was amazing. Éomer immediately left his look, a smile on his face. Lothiriel handed him the letter, which Éomer took gratefully.
"He is truly a good friend, a dear brother," Eomer murmured fondly. And sarcastic, Éomer added silently, with a streak of confounded impulse and instinct that has neither any sense nor logic!
But Legolas had been there when the times were harsh. He was resilient, someone Éomer could rely on. And the elf could deliver painful blows whenever Éomer had made a foolish mistake. The Rohirric winced and unconsciously rubbed his shoulder, remembering one of those 'incidents'. Unfortunately, Lothíriel caught the movement.
"Which incident are you remembering?" The Queen asked; laughter in her voice.
Éomer grinned ruefully. "The time when he gave me a beating when I refused to admit I was in love with you."
Lothíriel picked up her chair and brought it close to the King. Sitting down on it, the Queen propped her chin on her hand, her elbow resting on her thigh. With one eyebrow raised, the Queen gestured the King to continue. Éomer laughed. "Well, it was some time at the end of the Winter Festival." The Rohirric began tentatively. "He rounded up on me and asked me bluntly what I had thought of the Princess of Dol Amroth. I refused to give an answer. I never see him look so annoyed. He called me a 'ruffian with a straw-filled skull' and gave me quite a beating." Éomer rubbed his shoulder again at the memory, even though his shoulder was completely fine at the present. "Éothain held Legolas' cloak when he was busy with him."
"Was it really painful?" Lothíriel asked worriedly. She didn't want to be the cause of enmity between the Rohirric and the Elven Prince.
"Painful? No!" The King laughed, his voice echoing in the study. "Maybe it was. But it was rather enlightening. By the time he was done, I was meek as a lamb and admitted everything. After that he gave me an exasperated look and said 'The next time something good happens in your life, do try realize it without getting beaten up'. As if getting beaten up was my fault." Éomer smiled fondly at the memory and looked down at the envelope.
Lothíriel knew that the conversation had ended. Getting up, the Queen quietly retreated to see what her nine-year old son was up to.
Éomer turned the envelope over. Seeing the Prince' seal intact, the King was assured that it had not been read. It had become a habit of him and it was best to check minor things like that.
Breaking the seal, the Rohirric, dug his finger into the envelope for the letter. Much to his surprise, there was none and he pulled out a dried leaf. Éomer frowned, though there was a slight understanding of the mischief the elf was up to.
Taking the dried leaf in between his broad hands, the Rohirric marveled the color. The leaf was so deep a green that it was almost black, and it was crisp to the touch. The veins were dull golden, and seemed to glow lightly. Rummaging through the envelope, the king found a small note inside, on which he recognized his comrade's writing.
I dare you to guess.
Offering a small smile, the King was game. It was the first time the elf had sent such an item, though it was exactly like him to do so. The king twirled the leaf in between his fingers, pondering over the puzzle. It could be anything. It could be some story or a ballad that Legolas had once narrated to him, or it could be some real incident that he had heard from the elves. It could even be some herb that had saved a life, but Éomer could not remember anything even close to it.
"Éomer?" It was Lothíriel, who turned up at the doorway with an apologetic look on her face. "Forgive me, my lord, but you have some reports that require your attention." Éomer gave a vent of frustration. When did he not have urgent reports? By that time, the Queen had left. The Rohirric looked down at the dry leaf. Looks like the puzzle would have to wait.
With a sigh, the Rohirric King went back to work.
oOo
He was still poring over his paperwork when Éothain entered his study. "Éomer, we have riders approaching Edoras…" the Rider gave a grin, "with distinctive green-black cloaks."
To any other, the significance of that detail would not mean anything to anyone else, but Éomer understood. The green-black cloaks were a distinctive part of the uniform of Mirkwood Ranger, a camouflage for the green and black colors of the Mirkwood Forest.
The Rohirric replaced his quill into its holder. "About time the elf showed up." Éomer muttered under his breath. It had been two years since Legolas had last visited his country. Éothain grinned as the King got up and stretched his stiff muscles.
"Come on," Éomer said gruffly. "Let us welcome that princey of ours and see how he has been doing the past year." Éomer walked out of the study, a grinning Éothain following close behind. Maybe he could ask the elf what his puzzle meant.
As it turned out, the King could not greet his comrade. His advisors waylaid him on his way, and sadly Lothíriel was not there to give him aid. Treacherous Éothain excused himself quickly and left, giving no heed to the murderous looks he was receiving from his King behind his back.
It was a good half an hour before he was able to free himself from the claws of his advisors. Sighing wearily, the Rohirric King made his way towards the Golden Hall, where Legolas would no doubt be waiting. He hoped that the housekeeper was quick in providing food and drinks to refresh the travellers whilst Éomer had been busy.
The King entered the Golden Hall without any ceremony. He wore no crown to show his status, knowing Legolas would recognize him at a glance.
The Hall was crowded with roughly thirty elves, many of whom were enjoying the refreshments laid out for them. They were exhausted, Éomer was sure but the elves glowed softly with health and life. Éomer frowned. Strange, he thought, Legolas was never fickle in manners of escort. He had always travelled alone or with a group of ten elves. This was a large number passing into Éomer's lands.
Scanning the crowd, the King's eyes landed on his friend standing by a pillar, who had turned sideways to converse with a sitting elf. The King made his way towards the elf, grinning as he called out, " 'Tis about time you came here into my lands. You know, 'tis been three years since the last time you visited and I was beginning to think that incident with the horse had managed to scare you o…" Éomer stopped, staring in surprise at the elf that had turn to look at him.
It was not Legolas, the Rohirric saw now. But the elf looked uncannily like the Prince of Mirkwood. He was the same height as Legolas, with high cheekbones and a straight nose. His hair was fair, the same color as that of the prince, but certain differences kept them apart. The elf's eyes were misty grey with a glint in those eyes showed a degree of mischief and fun. And yet there was an unspoken air of sorrow, as if the elf had seen much sadness and treachery over the years. It would make sense, of course, for Mirkwood stood at the very edge of Dol Guldur. His clothes were rich, silver-green with a green jeweled collar sat in silver. But the elf had a fatherly smile, while Legolas' had always been light and carefree. He was broad-shouldered, and muscular, while Legolas had always been thin and lean.
"Who are you?" Eomer demanded, his surprise making him forget common courtesy. The elf regarded him unblinkingly before humorous look came into the grey eyes.
"Well," the elf said. His voice was surprisingly soft, but clear and confident. " 'Tis not the first time my name was demanded from me, but I expected a little hospitality from the horse-masters of the North. Still," the elf added, cocking his head to a side as if in thought (just like Legolas). "I believe they call my Thranduil Oropherion. Others call me the Elven King of Mirkwood."
Éomer stepped back in his surprise. The elf before him looked even more amused at the King's reaction. As for Éomer, he quickly realized his mistake. "Forgive me, Sire." Éomer said, vaguely uncomfortable. "I had mistaken you for your son, Legolas."
Thranduil tilted his head, smiling wryly, "Yes, I seem to be mistaken for my son a lot, it seems. Why I had to have a son sharing my good looks is beyond me. Regardless," Thranduil added. "I am surprised to see that my son had not informed you of my coming. He is very particular on such matters."
"I truly had no idea." Éomer stressed. Wait till I get my hands on that son of yours! Éomer thought furiously. That blasted elf will regret his silence when I wring his neck!
Outwards, the young King smiled cordially.
"It would be unlike my son if he had not hinted to you earlier." Thranduil mused. "Think harder. He may have a left you a clue far before you had realized it was a clue. He has the tendency of dropping hints years before the actual mischief takes place."
Éomer turned away, thinking hard. There were so many memories of him and the elf, but each meeting seemed so insignificant. The Rohirric examined every tiny detail before throwing it aside, deeming them unimportant for the task at hand. He turned back, and saw Thranduil regard him with an amused expression. The Rohirric's eyes fell on the Elven King's shirt. He caught the sight of an emblem in colored thread, of a dark green-black leaf with golden veins and a sword above it.
Suddenly Éomer groaned. Now he remembered! It was dark night, and they had been awake, chatting away as was their wont. It was then Legolas had explained the various symbols that the Mirkwood elves used to depict certain important figures of the army and royalty. Legolas' symbol was a light green leaf that was just unfurling, but pierced by a golden arrow. His father's was the opposite, a dark green-black leaf with golden veins and a blood-stained sword above it.
"From your moan, I imagine you remember." Thranduil said, hiding a smile and crossing his arms as he frowned. He looked every bit as an insulted king. Poor boy, Thranduil thought kindly. He must be so wrapped up in running this kingdom; he must have thought everything else was unimportant.
Éomer looked sheepish. "My sincerest apologies Sire. I truly did not expect your arrival. Had I been, then you would find yourself a comfortable lodging in my house."
Thranduil studied the young man in front him, all the while keeping his expression stern. The Rohirric was young, with golden hair and golden brown eyes. What was remarkable was the man's figure. Slightly over six feet, the Rohirric towered over many people, but not so Thranduil. There was openness in the man's attitude and with a hint of seriousness that told Thranduil this man was honest. The golden brown eyes were alert and intelligent. Éomer's perfect stance showed him as a warrior, and the muscles that flexed as the Rohirric shifted his weight showed Thranduil he had not been idle in the past years. The Elven King nodded privately. Legolas was right; Éomer was a good king, a just king.
"Well, no matter." Thranduil said, softening his gaze just a little. "You may as well offer that comfortable lodging now." The Elven King raised a meaningful eyebrow at the Rohirric. Éomer hurried to agree. "At once, Sire. At once!" With a quick excuse, the Rohirric left, feeling that Thranduil was more confusing than Legolas had ever been.
As he left, Thranduil let out a small chuckle. Beside him, his Rangers laughed quietly as well.
"I believe you had enjoyed that." One of them said, grinning. Thranduil raised an eyebrow and said mildly, "I do not know what you are talking about." Another Ranger scoffed at the King's words.
"Bah! Our Prince has gotten that air of mischief from somewhere, Lord!"
Thranduil smiled and purposely did not reply. Privately he grinned. He is going to enjoy this little detour to Rohan. Legolas had told him of the Rohirric King, and Thranduil had been so intrigued that he told his son he would be visiting Rohan before making it for Ithilien.
Make him bounce a bit, Legolas had written about the King to Thranduil. He is too serious. It would do him good, and I know you will enjoy it!
And Thranduil had planned to enjoy it… quite thoroughly.
A great feast was held to welcome the Elven King and his escort. Such a large gathering of elves had not been seen in a while, and in the beginning both races regarded each other with reserve and hidden curiosity. Sometime into the feast, however, both sides relaxed visibly and the golden Hall resumed to its usual chatter and laughter.
He felt his wife touch his wrist gently. "What have you done to have the Elven King look at you so?" Lothíriel asked softly, her lips barely moving.
"I haven't the slightest." The Rohirric King answered, determined not to meet the piercing gaze of the royal.
Lothíriel looked a little mused. "So tell me, has he declared war yet?"
"Nay, why do you ask?"
"It either means you have become diplomatic or that the elf had not decided to kill you yet."
Across the Rohirric royal, the Elven King kept his face blank, even when there was a chance of a smile fighting to break through. He was determined to show that he was as magnificent as could be told.
"Why, may I ask, would the elf decide to kill me?" Éomer asked, his murmur sounding like a low rumble. Lothíriel regarded him with amused grey-blue eyes, "Why, my lord, you forgot Legolas had wanted to kill you the first time you met and I hear Thranduil is just like his son!"
Éomer had been taking a sip when the Queen made the remark. His laughter turned into a panicked choking as he took in the drink in the wrong canal. The servant standing behind him sprang forward and gave the King a few hearty thumps on the back.
"You seem to be in the wrong, wife." Éomer rasped, nodding in thanks towards his servant, and studiously avoided the smirk of the Elven King sitting away from him. "The only reason Legolas wanted to kill me was because I wanted to kill him first."
"Well, then. 'Tis a good thing that you did not brandish your sword in your first meeting with the Elven King," the Queen remarked, taking a bite of the roasted duck to end the conversation. Éomer shook his head and dug in as well.
Across the table, the Elven King was purposely using the best piercing look he can manage at the young, Rohirric King.
"Stop tormenting him." His advisor, Thorontur murmured to him.
"It is highly amusing. Do you want to try?"
"I think one elf looking the way you do is more than enough."
"Are you sure?"
"Aye, I am sure."
Thranduil smiled just a little and dug into his food. The food was too spicy for his liking, the taste quite different from the musky forest herbs they used for their food.
"Enjoy the food, then." Thorontur advised him. "You can torment the poor boy and his queen later."
Thranduil laughed and took in a morsel.
oOo
At night, Thranduil shifted restlessly in his bed. He sighed. Eleven years of peace but his senses still worked as if he lived in times of danger. It made sense. For more than two ages, Mirkwood had lived at the edge of an evil akin to the evil of Mordor.
Thranduil got up from his bed and slowly made his way out of his bedroom.
The wind blew softly outside as he stood on the raised platform. Then he realized he was not alone.
The Rohirric King was standing there as always.
"You could not sleep?" Éomer asked in concern. "Is there a problem in your lodgings? Should I-"
"Peace," Thranduil interrupted. A good lad, the Elven King thought inwardly. "I normally do not sleep much already. But tell me, what of you? Should you not be asleep?"
"I am afraid sleep has escaped me tonight?"
"Is there a reason behind it?"
Éomer hesitated. The Elven King looked at him questionably. His smile was warm and welcoming.
"Are you worried about your kingdom?" Thranduil asked him. Éomer looked back in surprise.
"I understand the worries of a kingdom, boy." Thranduil said, his gray eyes looking up at the night sky.
Éomer looked at the night sky as well.
"May I ask you something?" Éomer asked hesitantly. Legolas always said that his father had an aura that was secure and heartwarming.
"What is it?"
"Have you ever felt fear that your kingdom would be in trouble if you fell asleep?"
"Is that what worries you?"
"I feel as if I am answerable for even the smallest thing of the kingdom if I show a moment of neglect."
"Taking rest is not neglect, lad."
It is strange to be called 'lad' by someone who looks so young, Éomer thought fleetingly.
Thranduil slowly traced the intricate designs on pillar next to him.
"You must know that the only way to better serve your land is to take the necessary measures for your sleep."
"Do you do so?" Éomer could not help asking.
"I do not." Thranduil commented wryly. "But I am older than you and with more experience and before you comment any more like my son is wont to do-"
"I was not going to, Your Majesty." Éomer interrupted hastily.
"Good, at least one of my son's friends know a little manners."
"May I say something else?"
"Aye," Thranduil said.
"Your son is a nuisance."
Thranduil gave a hearty laugh. Éomer smiled slightly. Thranduil's laugh was comforting and warm.
"Tomorrow, I intend to travel on to Ithilien."
"But you have only just arrived!" Éomer exclaimed. Then he grew worried. "Has something occurred of offense, Sire? Perhaps-"
"Nothing of the sort." Thranduil said firmly. "But understand that I am a father and I wish to hasten the time when I meet my son. I will be coming back on this path when I return to my forest. Do not worry. I will stop by then. Perhaps you could even show me the graves of the Lothlorien warriors who fell at Helm's Deep. I would like to pay my respects."
"Indeed. I would be honored to."
"And now," Thranduil said, straightening. "I will go and perhaps take some rest. My people are overly protective of me, I fear. Seeing my bed empty will put them in all sorts of misconceptions."
"Fair sleep, Your Majesty."
"Fair sleep to you as well, lad." Thranduil said, patting the King's shoulder as he left.
He is a good lad, Thranduil thought as he entered his room.
oOo
In the morning, Éomer and Lothíriel raised their hands in farewell as they watched the elven company gallop away from Edoras.
"They stayed for only a short while." Lothíriel said in mild concern. "Is something wrong?"
"King Thranduil had already planned to stay for a day. He wishes to meet with his son as soon as possible."
"How did you find him?" Lothíriel asked her husband.
Éomer rested his cheek on her head.
"He reminded me of my father." Éomer said. "He reminded me of home."
oOo
Across the leagues from Edoras and deep within Ithilien, Thranduil met with his son four days later.
"Did you meet him?" Legolas asked when the excitement died down and he had some personal time with father.
"Aye, I did." Thranduil said. "Now would you tell me why you wanted me to meet him? I enjoyed my stay by the way. I am only curious."
"You have a very comforting presence, father. He was becoming too stiff." Legolas said dismissively.
"You and your antics, boy," Thranduil said, shaking his head fondly.
"Speaking of which, I would like you to meet Amrothos, son of Imrahil…."
Thranduil laughed heartily.
"Later, my son. Later. Tell me about yourself first. How have you been?"
Author's Note:
Meh.
The idea of the meeting came when I was reading about Eomer and Eowyn and the death of their parents. Then I was wondering how Eomer must have met the King of Mirkwood (or Eryn Lasgelen as it was later called). I imagined Thranduil as powerful and experienced leader of his people, but regarding his son, I imagined him to be more fatherly as the Eldar show great love for their children as well as for mortal children.
Thranduil had supposedly left for Valinor after the War, though it is not certain when. So, in a way, Thranduil is assessing if the Kings of Men are strong enough to lead Middle-Earth into the new age. He is then satisfied when he realizes that Eomer is genuine for his cause to serve the people.
Reviews are very welcome. :)