Disclaimer: all recognisable characters, places etc belong to Tolkien and his estate. The others belong to me.
A/N: This fanfic's already finished (amazing, I know; I was snowed in for most of last weekend when I was writing this) so I'll be posting it weekly, either late on Sunday evening or early-ish Monday morning (according to my time, GMT!) to kick Monday blues for a short while at least :¬ ) Enjoy!
The meeting was drawing to a close, finally. Lords and ladies drooped in their seats and Legolas sat with elbow on table and chin in hand, looking at the speaker, currently chief advisor Eruwest, and willing her to hurry up and finish. Even her son was making eyes at her to get on with it. She glared at him in return; she was already summarising as much as she could.
Thranduil had the opposite pose to his son; he sat well back in his chair and his eyes, instead of half asleep, were alert. Though he too was only half listening to what Eruwest was saying. His gaze was darting around the circle, flicking from one Elf to another almost anxiously. His fingers were laced together in his lap, and the nail of his top thumb was digging into the skin of the thumb below it. It was either that or have them strumming the arms of his chair, or something else that would be noticed. But he noticed when his son's chin slipped off his palm next to him, and kicked Legolas under the table. Legolas jolted and earned disapproving glances from the equally bored court. He returned his attention to Eruwest just as she finished talking:
"…and thus we have no need to worry until well into the summer months."
"Hannon le, Eruwest," Thranduil said, smiling. Eruwest bobbed to him and smiled quickly at her companions. Thranduil looked round the circle of now hopeful faces. If that was the last item they may have the luxury of moving very soon. "One more thing before we leave," he could see the annoyance in his lords and ladies but he ignored it, "as we all know the Dwarves will be passing through these next few days. Is everything arranged for them?"
"Yes, sire," Mithras said from a few places to Thranduil's left, "wardens are stationed up to the path to guide them onto it. I don't think any should go astray but we are ready for any who do, and also there are some provisions for the dwarves should they run out. I see no reason why there should be any detrimental hold ups."
"Good," Thranduil replied, "I want them out of our realm as quickly as possible. Is there any reason for them to come into the halls?"
"None, Aranhîr."
"Even better." He clapped and rose, "I think that is all. Lords. Ladies."
oOo
"Must you show me up so much, Rîneglan?" Eruwest asked of her son as they, Thranduil, Legolas and Mithras made their way away from the conference hall.
"Personally I thought I was being very subtle about it," Rîneglan replied, grinning, "and it made you speed up, didn't it?"
"That's not the point," his mother huffed, "you would never have seen such behaviour in Thingol's court."
"How many times did you attend?" Thranduil asked, though his expression remained blank and his gaze fixed on the far distance.
"Not many," Eruwest admitted, grudgingly, "but-"
"I think other things are more important than impeccable behaviour during meetings," Thranduil continued, "Things like letting the Dwarves through without having to mix with them anymore than is necessary."
"You could order them to go around the forest if you wished, sire," Rîneglan suggested.
"I could but that would create unnecessary animosity. They're just going to toy fairs." He paused, then half turned to them both, "You are sure that the Dwarves aren't planning anything, aren't you?"
"Of course," Eruwest spluttered, "Why would they be?"
"They're Dwarves; why wouldn't they be?"
"He has a point," Rîneglan said. His remark earned him an intense look from his king and a rebuking one from his mother.
"They shan't do anything, Thranduil," Eruwest reassured him, "They have no reason to and besides they'll be too far away from us." She watched him for a moment before asking, "Are you alright?"
"So being cautious is unnatural now, is it?"
"No… no; of course not."
Half a step behind them, a good natured argument had begun between Legolas and Mithras.
"There really is no need for you to carry my papers, young master," Mithras insisted, though Legolas was equally persistent,
"It would be no trouble, I assure you."
Eruwest and Rîneglan turned round. Mithras had a huge sheaf of parchment under one arm, and Rîneglan agreed that it seemed like a lot to be carried by one hand.
"I am fine!" Mithras insisted, elbowing the prince out of his way. "I am perfectly able to carry things."
"But-"
"But nothing! My right hand still works, does it not?"
At this point the other three Elves let their gazes drop to Mithras' paralysed and now rather withered left hand. Mithras took this opportunity to push past them and fall into step with the king.
"They're at it again," he told his old friend.
"I know," Thranduil replied, "I have ears. And if they really aren't going to relent may I suggest letting Legolas carry them for you."
"Sire?"
"You heard," Thranduil snapped. But looking ahead again he suddenly lost interest. Someone in the crowd of the main halls had caught his eye. "I'll catch you up later," he said before pushing through the throng. Mithras blinked and then succumbed to Legolas' pleading.
"Come," the prince said once he'd balanced the documents, "let's see if Galion will give us a post meeting drink."
oOo
Thranduil met up with the figure he'd seen at the doors and they made the journey down the steps, over the bridge and into the forest in silence. Thranduil didn't mind though. His wandering companion looked the same as ever he did, in his dark, tattered tunic and hoes and travel stained cloak and boots. Once they were some way away from the other Elves, however, the figure took down his hood, turned round and embraced Thranduil,
"How long has it been? Decades?"
"It may even be centuries," Thranduil replied.
"Really?" The figure pulled back and regarded his friend, his grey eyes critical, "Lore how I lose track of time."
"No matter," Thranduil said, waving it away with his hand and also giving his friend the once over. The Noldo had cut his hair much shorter since their last meeting; it now hung lank round his face down to his shoulders. His face was equally filthy; the Elf hadn't washed in a very long time. He looked quite the ranger he'd been posing as. "How are things?"
"Can't complain." A smile, "I mean things aren't perfect but how can they be when one has nowhere to go?"
"My halls are always open to you," Thranduil said hurriedly. He'd love for Nenros to live here in Mirkwood. But Nenros shook his head,
"It's fine, travelling and keeping a low profile are part of my job after all. And I can't stay long, but I've found something out, something monumental."
Thranduil nodded. It always amazed him what lengths Nenros had gone to to fake his own death, and how well he'd kept everyone fooled. Nenros had once told him that Thranduil was the only person who knew it was a hoax.
"Is that why you're here?"
Nenros bit a chapped lip and dragged dirty fingers through his hair, "Mae; I have some bad news for you." He sat down on the buttress roots of a beech tree and motioned for Thranduil to sit close by him.
"As you know I've been following the few remaining Noldor who followed Fëanor across from Aman."
Thranduil nodded.
"Well," Nenros continued, "our suspicions have proved correct; they're after the Silmaril Eärendil took over the Sea. I don't know how they plan to get it so please don't ask me but this is their plan."
"What's that got to do with my people?"
"They think you've found a way to get it."
"But it's a star!"
Nenros shrugged, "That's what they think; I never said it made sense. But they're on their way here. Their advanced guard has already entered your realm. I doubt they'll strike soon though, they're more likely to send a mole into your halls first."
Thranduil's eyes widened, "The Dwarves! They're using the Dwarves."
"It's possible," Nenros said, matter-of-factly, "though I never heard them say that specifically."
"No, it all makes sense. The Dwarves and the Noldor have always been close!" Fear entered his face, "I must stop them!"
"That would be stupid," Nenros disagreed, "if they aren't working for the Noldor it would anger them, and if they are it would let the Noldor know we're onto them. Either way you'd do better to hold out until I can gather more information."
"How long will that take?"
Nenros shrugged, "I can't say; I'm sorry."
"Well what am I supposed to do?" Thranduil demanded.
"Make sure they can't find anything out. Keep them away from your halls and away from your people as well if you can."
Thranduil nodded and Nenros rose to go, but before he could Thranduil said, "People think I'm lying about you."
Nenros turned round. "Have you been telling people about me?" He asked, his voice slow and full of menace.
"Only two," Thranduil replied, nervously, "Galion and Míriel."
"Well, let it be a lesson to you," Nenros said, warningly, "and be thankful that they disbelieved you. If anyone finds out about me I really will be dead this time." Thranduil still looked unsure, so Nenros sighed and said, "Look; they think me dead. I put a lot of effort into making people think that, and making sure no one finds out otherwise. So of course they're going to think you are mistaken when you say to them that you've seen me." His frown left and he smiled, "And who knows what you see best? You or them? Do you disbelieve your eyes, your ears, your sense of touch?"
Thranduil shook his head: "No. But why have you been gone so long? Why didn't you contact me?"
"There was nothing to tell you, and I can't come here when I have no reason to. Every time I come here I run a very high risk of being found out, and if the Noldor find out that I'm tailing them they will try to kill me, and they will succeed. Do you see?"
Thranduil nodded.
"I should be back soon this time, though," Nenros continued, "with more information. In the meantime, tell no one anything. If you do thousands of lives could be at stake, and ours most certainly."
oOo
"So I said to him: 'Maedhros could have beaten you one handed' but he didn't get it."
Eruwest, Legolas and Galion all laughed at Rîneglan's friend's ignorance and Mithras rolled his eyes, refusing to laugh at jokes of that nature. Cútur, the chief of the guard who had been keeping Galion company when the others arrived, looked blank; "But surely that's obvious. He only had one hand."
"Yes," Galion relied, hitting the table with his hand, "that's what makes the joke funny."
"But," Cútur said, still looking confused, "that's not a joke; it's just a statement of fact."
"You know the expression: 'they could beat you one handed'?" Legolas pressed.
"Of course."
"Well there are two meanings which could be applied; the metaphorical one and the actual one."
"Oh leave it, Legolas. Jokes are never amusing if you have to explain them," Eruwest said.
"But I don't understand!" Cútur complained.
But that particular conversation was stopped by the sound of boots on the steps down to the wine cellar, and presently by the appearance of Thranduil. Galion poured him a drink but Thranduil didn't take it, so Galion put it on the table.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Eruwest asked. Thranduil shot her a glance. Oh, how much he wanted to tell her that Nenros was alive and well but he couldn't. He wondered if Nenros even knew Eruwest was here. Maybe he did. Maybe she was even the reason he stayed away; he'd lost her so many times already. She was now smiling uncertainly at the king, "What's that look for?"
Thranduil blinked, "Sorry, just thinking." His gaze flicked to Galion, "I asked Palandir to visit while the dwarves pass through."
"An excellent plan, meldir," Galion answered. He knew how unsettled Thranduil was about letting Dwarves through his realm, and Palandir was one of those with a knack for calming the king down.
"He should be arriving within the next few days; make sure all is ready for him."
"Where did you go?" Rîneglan asked.
"I needed some air after being in the same room for hours," Thranduil replied, smiling. Then he spoke to Galion again, "Do you know where Lianna is?"
"In the palace somewhere," Galion replied, "I think she's helping direct the Dwarves when they come tomorrow."
Thranduil nodded, "At least there's someone to keep them in check."
"Am I doing anything tomorrow?" Legolas asked.
"Not where the Dwarves are concerned, no," Thranduil snapped, "In fact you will stay well away from them."
"I don't see why I shouldn't help Lianna."
"If you don't give me your word you'll be doing paperwork inside until they've all passed through!"
"Alright, Adar; you have my word."
Thranduil looked at him long and critically, before turning to go.
"You aren't staying?" Galion asked, surprised.
"I have things to do."
"But it's getting late-"
"I have things to do!"
Galion raised his eyebrows as the sound of Thranduil's footsteps faded away. "I'll check on him in a few hours."
A few hours later found the king in his study pouring over a large map of Mirkwood rolled out on the desk, eyes darting from one part to another and fingers tracing arbitrary paths through the trees. Candles burned low in their holders and the fire glowed in its ashes. Galion's gaze took in the large pile of firewood beside the grate. Untouched. Galion sighed and weaved his way through the ever present sea of papers to the windows and onto the balcony.
"Maybe you should stop for a moment, Thranduil?" He suggested. He heard a snort from behind him. "Come and look at the stars; they're really bright tonight."
Thranduil looked up in annoyance. Why couldn't Galion leave him alone tonight? Or else be quiet? How was he supposed to pre-empt the Noldor if he kept being interrupted? Then he looked beyond Galion and saw, glinting brighter than all the other stars, the star that had once been a Silmaril. And there was Galion looking at it not knowing that it could spell the doom of the Greenwood Elves. He couldn't bear it. But he had to.
Then he realised something. Just because Galion didn't know about the Noldor didn't mean he was immune from them. Thranduil launched himself across the room, grabbed Galion roughly round the wrist and dragged him back into the room. Then he pulled the doors to and locked them.
"What on earth are you doing?" Galion asked indignantly as Thranduil drew the curtains and hurriedly rolled the map up.
"I can't tell you."
"I think someone's a little over-tired," Galion chided gently.
"No," Thranduil replied, his tone almost whiny, "I need to solve this." With that he took out the map he'd just packed away and unrolled it on the table again. "I've almost cracked it."
"Come on, meldir," Galion said in a firmer tone, "it's very late now and it's pitch dark. These candles will go out in a short while."
"Then I'll light some new ones," Thranduil said, taking the required number out of the desk drawer, lighting them using the already lit candles. Then he began throwing the old ones onto the grate with their wicks still burning. Galion watched the flames sputter in the ash and go out. He made a note to get them out of the grate first thing in the morning; even with Beorn and his hives only on the other side of the forest good beeswax was expensive.
Over the short distance back to his desk, Thranduil staggered slightly through tiredness. Galion was about to say something when one of the candlesticks began to rock seemingly of its own accord – though it had actually been joggled by a loose floorboard as the king passed. It rocked on its base first backwards, then forwards, for a while. Thranduil, oblivious, was back at his desk by the time it decided to fall. Onto the sea of papers.
Even as Thranduil saw the flames and stifled his own scream, Galion righted the candlestick and scooped the burning papers into the grate, where they withered and folded in on themselves without destroying the whole room. He looked up at Thranduil, expecting the usual slight nod of thanks for such a minor favour, but instead he saw his king white faced, one hand still clapped to his mouth and the other gripping the desk behind him as tightly as possible.
Galion realised he had no explanation for what had just happened either. He rose and approached his terrified friend, hushing and soothing him and making to pull Thranduil into his embrace. But before he could Thranduil pushed him away and swept across to the other side of the room, only lowering his hand from his mouth when he was in the far corner.
"They've found me already."
"Who have?" Galion whispered.
"And they're trying to kill me." He turned to Galion, "Don't you see? They used their magic to topple the candlestick."
Again Thranduil's conviction made a convincing argument. Galion nodded, "I suppose magic is possible."
"I can't stop them," Thranduil continued, "They'll only stop when they have what they want. And I don't have it. I can't get it. They're mad; you can't get things from the heavens."
"Thranduil?" Galion's brow furrowed. Thranduil was known to say strange things when exhausted, which he evidently was now.
"They'll kill everyone. Just like before. What can I do? I'm not as powerful as the kings of old, I stand no chance!"
"Thranduil, stop this." Galion put out the candles and advanced on his friend. Thranduil looked at him in the dark as though seeing him for the first time. He went as white as a sheet and started shaking,
"I shouldn't have said that."
"Come on," Galion repeated but as his hand touched Thranduil shoulder Thranduil began weeping.
"What if they heard? What if they know everything?" He pulled away, back to the map, and when Galion tried to stop him he repeated, "I have to finish this!" over and over again. Eventually, in exasperation, Galion put an arm around his friend's waist and pulled him off his feet. Thranduil screamed in indignation and fear, so Galion put a hand over his mouth,
"You are too tired to think. If you won't go to bed willingly then Eru help me I'll drag you there!"
With that he half carried, half dragged the Sinda out of his office and along the corridor, with Thranduil writhing and screaming and even kicking in his arms. When none of these worked his tongue found the fleshy base of Galion's thumb and he bit down on it hard. Galion cried out, more in surprise than pain, but didn't let go and eventually threw the king into his rooms, locking the door behind him. He then went round the room locking the doors to the balcony and taking the keys out from Thranduil's various hiding places – he knew them all. Then he turned to the king who now sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands.
"I'm locking you in so you actually go to sleep," he explained, "I'll be back in the early morning." He stopped and watched Thranduil, "Are you alright?"
Still with his head in his hands, Thranduil nodded and mumbled, "Just over tired."
Galion pursed his lips, "I keep saying those long council meetings always end in tears but does anyone ever listen?" Then he left and though he said 'good night' at the door he got no further reply.
Thranduil sat on the bed, shaking and weeping silently. He felt even worse for not being able to tell anyone, but how could he have told Galion that he'd as good as killed someone everyone else thought was already dead?
