The Patriarch
Summary: Short glimpses into the life of Thranduil's father, King Oropher.
Disclaimer: Not one teeny tiny bit.
Rating: T simply for safety.
All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise but you do not need to read one to understand the other.
My stories are now available in chronological sequence on my bio.
These are not complete stories but more of a character study of who Oropher was and how I would like to portray him. Also, it helps me get back in the game of writing. ;)
Enjoy!
~S~
He remembered the halls of wood and stone, looming high in rounded buildings and domes. The trees were just as tall and heavy with leaves.
The soil was fresh and the flowers emitted sweet scents. Oropher plucked a flower from a nearby plant and held it close to his nose, enjoying the scent. He still wore his armour, preferring to stop by the ladies' clearing first.
He heard laughter before he saw the clearing. The ladies sat in a circle, all of them working on some interesting craft. His eyes were only upon his own wife, who sat in a dress of green with one of his shirts in her hands. He prowled undetected in the shadows, like a predator hunting his prey. When he was behind his wife, he crept forward and dropped the flower on top of his shirt.
His wife gave a cry of surprise and then she laughed. She looked up at him.
"Oropher! The least you could have done was to tell me of your arrival."
"And so I have," Oropher murmured. He bent and playfully picked her up. He began to carry her out the clearing, inciting more laughter from everyone as the ladies called their farewells after them.
oOo
There were uncanny similarities between him. Thranduil stood as tall as Oropher, but with muscles slightly less defined. His hair held as much as gold as silver like Oropher, but Oropher always instead Thranduil's hair leaned more towards gold.
But what truly made him uncomfortable was that there were too many habits that mirrored Oropher's.
Like he sipped his goblet and played with it as well, tipping it back and forth. When he ate, he had a habit to shift back and forth from sweet to savoury. He ducked his head a little when he smiled in response to admiration, tilted his head back when thinking. Some differences were there, like Thranduil hated chess while Oropher enjoyed it. Thranduil was more open, more likeable if Oropher was completely honest. Oropher was more reserved.
In his musing, he did not realise how long he stared at his son. Thranduil finally set aside his book and said, "What is it? You have been looking at me for at least half hour."
Oropher smiled a little. He was not an outspoken doting father and so often wondered if his son ever realised the depth of his love.
"I was thinking that even if you did not look like me, there will never be any doubt that you are my son." Oropher said ruefully.
Thranduil laughed and picked up his book.
"I am more refined version of you, you mean." He said loftily.
"Well, he certainly does not lack modesty." Oropher raised his head to the ceiling and said to the heavens.
"Not out of the lack of trying, I assure you."
Oropher shook his head and laughed at his son's cheekiness.
oOo
Oropher spoke little to Gil-Galad except for the few courtesy words. It was not because Gil-Galad was somehow lacking, not even because of his pride. Oropher simply did not like to hold conversations by nature.
So the only way to break the ice between them was through practice.
When they crossed swords, Oropher found Gil-Galad to be an admirable swordsman and they became evenly matched. Later though, when they practiced alone, the young soldiers began to pester them both for a duel.
At first, Oropher was courteous but it was frankly the job of the one challenging him to see whether or not he himself was any good. As a result, Oropher bested his opponents with ease and grew tiresome of the fact. Gil-Galad, too, was irked.
"Insolent pups," Oropher said later in disgust, wiping his wooden sword for dirt. Gil-Galad choked on laughter.
"I think," Gil-Galad began with a broad smile. "You and I will become good friends."
Oropher placed the wooden sword over his shoulder and matched his smile.
oOo
The sound of a babe's shrill cry splintered the hovering thick silence like a knife through a cloth. Thranduil, who sat with face in his hands by the fire sprang up as if he were burned. Oropher only turned away from the window but his heart leaped. By the time he moved, Thranduil was already out the window.
Oropher followed him as if he were dazed, skirting around the servants as they removed soiled cloths. The door leading to Thranduil's rooms were open. He entered, following the mewling cries of a child.
His daughter by marriage lay exhausted on the bed, but she was awake and smiling. A good sign. Thranduil stood by the bed, holding a bundle of blankets in his arms. He cradled it to his chest and at times laughed in wonder and delight.
Oropher began to retreat, not wanting to ruin the new family's joy.
"Father!" Thranduil called him. "Where do you go? Come and meet your grandson."
Oropher came and took the babe carefully into his arms and stared down in wonder. He was small, his hands wrinkly and peeling. His face was red and puffy and the skin on his head was slightly bruised under a mat of soft fair hair. But there was an elated joy in Oropher's heart. Something he could not describe.
It was true when they said that being a grandparent was a feeling incapable of words.
oOo
"You should marry." Oropher said flatly.
Gil-Galad gave a bark of laughter from his throne. He sat with the loose-limbed grace of a youth, his legs crossed, and his hands dangling over the armrests and yet his eyes held the wisdom of an Elf who had seen much in his time.
"Marry?" Gil-Galad scoffed with unveiled humour. Oropher did not laugh. "And who must I marry?"
"I will that for you to decide." Oropher said, refusing to rise to his bait. But Gil-Galad leaned forward and shook his head.
"Nay! I will not let your retreat so quickly, my friend. You said I must marry. Nay! I believe you commanded me." Oropher turned his head away.
"It was wrong of me," Oropher said after a pause. "You may, of course, do as you wish, as you always have since you have been made king."
What little humour Gil-Galad had now vanished. Instead, he exhaled and leaned back against his ornate throne.
"I have done little as I had wished since I have been made king." Gil-Galad said softly. Oropher looked up and caught the longing look in the king's eyes. The kind belonging to an Elf who wished for a different life. "But the world demanded me to become someone different. What wife will stand beside me? A maidenly matron, who knows the ways of the world and would not expect me back from a battlefield? A young maiden, who would seek laughter from me and brighten my days ere I die? I know in my bones that I will die on the battlefield. Nay, I will not leave someone a widow and a child fatherless."
"Then I may be selfish." Oropher commented. "My wife may have passed before me but I have a son and a grandson just the same."
Gil-Galad looked at him, his gaze warm.
"I never contested that you were stronger than I." He said.
To that, Oropher could make no reply.
oOo
The air blew into his face, carrying the songs of his upcoming death. Before him, the Orcs gathered their ranks, beating upon their shields and waving their spears and swords. The ground beneath his feet trembled. The end was indeed near if the ground trembled so.
"Take heart," Thranduil whispered beside him. Oropher looked. His son was pale underneath his helm but the hand holding his naked sword was steady. A wave of tenderness and nostalgia hit upon Oropher. His son was only a newly born babe in his arms a breath ago. Now he was a fully grown Elf, capable of shouldering a burden that Oropher was sure he was leaving him with. Thranduil glances at him and seemed to decipher his thoughts, for he paled further.
"Please," his son whispered. "If not for yourself, then for me."
Ah, because his son knew that his family was his weakness.
"Go down and take control of your part of the army." Oropher said, turning away and mounting his horse. The roar of his upcoming death grew louder as the Orcs sneered at him atop his steed. Thranduil had not moved. Oropher let the kingly steel seep into his voice. "Go, now!"
And immediately Thranduil sprung to action. Oropher sighed and fixed his gaze upon the screaming enemy.
End was nigh.
~S~
Author's Note:
These are honestly just some snippets I used to do some character studying on Oropher.
This year I have been writing *sees audience do an eye roll* I have! Honest! Sheesh. :P I was actually exploring Celebrimbor's character and how he played his role in the Second Age and decided to do a character study on Oropher.
My 'sketches' tend to explore parts of their lives and their sentiments to such memories. That is what I did here.
Do leave a review!