A/N: Hi, and welcome to the start of The Greenwood Chronicles. As I've mentioned on my profile page, this is a long series that explores the history of Thranduil Oropherion and his family. My co-writer and I have chosen to go back two generations and start off with Thranduil's grandparents, exploring their lives in Doriath before we follow Oropher to Lindon and then from there to Greenwood. For a while the series focuses on OCs (original characters created by me and/or Kaylee) but canon characters will start to be introduced soon.
As I've also mentioned on my profile page and in the description for this story, many future stories will contain discipline in the form of spanking and other punishments. I cannot stress enough that if this bothers you or offends you in any way, then it only makes sense that you don't read the stories with those warnings. It's easier for you, and it's easier for me and Kaylee, because then you won't need to send us flames.
For those who do choose to read our stories, we hope that you enjoy them, and all feedback will be much appreciated.
Disclaimer: Whilst the original characters were created by me and my co-author, we do not own anything related to Lord of the Rings and are making no money from this.
It was summer, and Lady Siliveth of Doriath was in labour for the third time in her one thousand, seven hundred and forty-five coronarí long life. Her husband was not present. She did not mind. He had attended the birth of their first child, and hated the entire ordeal, and he had been there for the last five minutes of their second child's birth. It was not something that he was comfortable with, the screaming, the crying, his own helplessness. Being so useless and ordered around by ellith was damaging to his male pride, so he had elected this time to be useless at home, attempting to work in his study with a glass of expensive wine close at hand to steady his nerves.
He was nervous, yes, though not by the thought of becoming a father again; after thirty-six coránari of raising children, he knew very well what he was doing. No, he was afraid that his wife might deliver another daughter. He did love Miniel and Tadiel. He loved them deeply. They were his precious children, lights in his life. But he needed a son. He needed an heir. Of course, all the odds were in his favour, with two daughters already. Whilst he was an only child himself, Siliveth had three brothers, and one of them had three sons. So it wasn't as though only ellith ran in the family. Yes, it was time for a boy. It was. He would have a son before the night was out. He knew it.
Relaxing slightly, Brandir drained his glass of wine and focused on his work for the King, but some while later, he was disturbed by a knock at the study door. It was his youngest daughter, twenty-four coránari old Tadiel, and she looked torn between nervousness and excitement. "Um...Ada," she began, bouncing lightly on her toes before a look from her father settled her. "Ada, there's someone here to see you. I think she's come from the healers'..."
"Thank you, iel-nín," Brandir said, rising fluidly. "I shall see her at once."
Tadiel stepped back to admit the visitor, a fair haired elleth garbed in the white robes of a healer. Her hair was tied back in a single long braid, and she had forgotten to roll her sleeves down from her elbows. As the door closed behind her, she curtseyed to the King's loremaster. "My lord, the labour is over. Lady Siliveth has delivered her child. She is tired, but well."
"And our child, Healer Malwien?"
Silent for a heartbeat, the healer took a deep breath. "A healthy baby girl, my lord."
Brandir's heart plummeted, leaving him feeling uncomfortably hot in his blue-black robes. "I...I see." He exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of his desk. "Well. She is healthy. Good. I am glad to hear it."
"Lady Siliveth is sleeping now, but she wished for me to tell you that she is sorry," Malwien said quietly. "I do not think she will wake for a few hours yet, my lord. Perhaps you will visit your wife and your daughter."
Nodding absently, Brandir did not really see the healer curtsey again and back out of the room to give him his privacy. He stood in silence, stillness, taking it all in and accepting it. Another girl. A third daughter, when everyone had been so sure that their longed for son would finally be given to them. He had pictured himself teaching a silver haired, green eyed boy how to wield a blade, shoot an arrow, fell a stag. He had even started thinking of names that he liked. He gave himself a mental shake, pulling himself out of his thoughts, and strode from the study. "Tadiel," he said, hardly surprised when the girl appeared from around the corner. "Where is Miniel?"
"She's in our bedroom, Ada..."
"Go and tell her that the baby has been born," Brandir instructed the elfling. "Both your mother and your sister are well."
Tadiel's light green eyes widened in surprise. "A...a sister? Nana said we would get a brother."
"Well, she was wrong. Perhaps she ought to be sure of things before promising them," Brandir replied. "Let that be a lesson to you, my daughter."
"Are you mad?"
"Mad?" the ellon repeated. "No. What happens, happens. Go and speak with Miniel."
Tadiel turned with an obedient 'yes sir' and walked away with all the grace and dignity befitting a young lady of her station, but the moment she heard the study door close again, she broke into a run and dashed upstairs, racing along the upper hallway until she reached the bedroom that she shared with her thirty-six coránari old sister. "Min!" she gasped, bursting into the room. "Nana's had the baby now."
"Are they all right?" Miniel asked, sitting up straight.
"M-hmm."
The adolescent elfling narrowed her eyes, looking thoughtfully at her little sister. "What are you not telling me?"
"Erm...well...you know how Nana said we'd get a brother?"
"Yes..."
"We didn't."
"But you said...oh," Miniel breathed, her eyes widening as she realised. "We have a sister?"
"Ada said he's not mad, but...I don't know," Tadiel sighed. "He didn't want another girl, Min."
Miniel sighed as well, softly, and got up from the bed to hug her younger sibling. "He loves us, Tadi, but he needs an heir. Of course, he could always wait until one of us marries...me first, I expect...and have his son-in-law as his heir. But he doesn't want to have to wait that long, and it's not the same as having a son of his own. Still, at least he won't need to think hard about a name. I'm pretty sure I know what they'll call her, considering."
"You do?"
"Yes, but we're not to say it until the Naming Day," Miniel replied firmly.
"Write it down, Min," Tadiel implored her sister.
The eldest of Brandir's children went to the writing desk and sat down, drawing a sheet of parchment and writing materials close. In black ink, she wrote: First Daughter – Miniel; Second Daughter – Tadiel; Third Daughter – Neldiel, and underlined the last name and embellished it with little stars. Standing at her side, Tadiel nodded in understanding. "Yes...yes, he'll call her that. I wonder what she'll be like. We'll be able to dress her up like a doll, won't we? We couldn't have done that with a boy."
"Ada would have strongly disapproved," Miniel said with a wry smile. "I do hope we can meet her soon, though. We've waited ever such a long time for her to be born."
"So has Ada," Tadiel sighed. "I know he told me he's not mad, but...well, I hope he's not too disappointed."
"Me too," Miniel agreed softly.
Brandir waited a few hours before attending the House of Healing, leaving his elder and younger...no, middle...daughter alone. He trusted that Miniel could take care of Tadiel for the short time he expected to be gone. He would be back within the hour, he was sure. When he reached the healing wing, healers and apprentices going about their business bowed or curtseyed to him, but the usual congratulations that they would give a new father died on their lips as they realised that perhaps this new father did not wish to be congratulated.
He was shown to the recovery room by Healer Malwien, the same golden haired elleth who had visited him with news of the birth. Nodding in response to being told that Lady Siliveth was yet asleep, he stepped inside the small room adorned with few furnishings – the bed, a washstand, a changing table for the baby, a cradle – and his eyes went straight to his slumbering wife. She looked peaceful, though pale and exhausted, her raven dark hair tied out of her face. Brandir noted that a few bits had slipped loose and were lying across Siliveth's cheeks. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his time lightly moving the soft strands back behind his wife's pointed ears, his fingers gently caressing her flawless skin. He supposed she would not feel very beautiful, right at that moment. He had heard it said that ellith did not, after giving birth. But to him, she was glorious.
When there were no more loose strands to fix, Brandir took a deep breath and looked down into the cradle by the bed. The girl that should have been a boy lay there, and though he knew that he loved her, knew that he would die for her, the elf-lord couldn't help the gnawing sense of disappointment that he felt. And he hated that. He hated that he was disappointed. Well did he remember how devastated Lord Gwathion and Lady Tatharien had been half a century before, when they had lost their unborn son. He would never forget the false smiles they had worn, pretending that it didn't hurt any more, whilst their dead, defeated eyes told the truth. Now they had their Celepharn, a bright and beautiful little boy who was the centre of their world. But they would have no more. Tatharien could not handle more. What right, then, did Brandir have to feel disappointed when he had not only two wonderful, perfect girls at home but a new little daughter to love and cherish? He knew the answer to that. None.
"Hello, little one," he murmured. "Welcome."
The baby stirred slightly, and her long dark lashes fluttered as they lifted to reveal the most extraordinary pair of eyes that Brandir had ever seen. Azure and emerald both, they looked like the blood of molten jewels mixed together; they looked like splashes of paint on an artist's canvas; they looked like the calmest ocean that at any moment could flare up into a tempest. And Brandir fell. He fell hopelessly, helplessly into their depths, his own eyes filling with tears that he did not even try blinking back before anyone could catch him being sentimental.
"Perhaps you would hold her, my lord," Malwien suggested, from her place at the back of the room.
"Oh...yes." Only vaguely aware of the healer retreating to give him space, Brandir leaned down into the cradle and carefully took his daughter into his arms. She was as light as a feather, but when she grabbed her father's smallest finger in her fist, her grip was iron. The ellon gasped softly in delight, in disbelief, and cuddled the baby lovingly. "You are so very strong, little one. It is hard to believe you're not a son. And your sisters never attached themselves to me so."
There was movement from the bed as Siliveth woke, and Brandir turned in time to see her glancing away, her lashes lowered to hide her eyes. He spoke her name softly, and although she looked at him, he knew it was because she had been taught to obey her husband, not because she wanted to. "She likes me, you know," he said softly.
"W-what..."
"Our baby," Brandir clarified. "She likes me."
"She...she pleases you?" Siliveth asked uncertainly, fear and doubt darkening her indigo eyes.
"Oh, well." If the silver haired elf-lord had had a free hand, he would have waved it dismissively. As it was, his tone was enough. "She may not be a son, but you would never know it from how strong she is. I am happy, beloved. And she is beautiful. Exceptionally beautiful. Just like her mother."
Siliveth ducked her head, but it was clear from her faint smile that she welcomed the compliment. "Perhaps next time, you shall be telling me how handsome our son is."
"It isn't your fault, meleth-nín," Brandir said quietly, steadily holding his wife's eyes. "I was not, and I am not, angry. If Iluvátar does not grant us a son, then we will not have one. We have three daughters, and if I was offered the chance to change any of them, I would not. Nor would I change you for a wife who bore me only sons. I love you, and I am proud of you and eternally grateful to you for the children you have given me. My beloved girls, all of you."
Though Siliveth blinked quickly, a few tears of relief slipped out at the uncharacteristically sentimental words from her usually reserved husband. "Thank you, my love," she whispered, filing the words away in her memory so that she could return to them when doubt and guilt came upon her. She adored her stoic Brandir for setting aside his own noble pride to voice the thoughts that he could have so easily kept to himself. They were all that she had needed to hear.
The End