7
Days passed by and turned into weeks, and the rising of the moon each night brought a halt to the Elves' journey. Some days they put a great distance between themselves and their last camp; other days they would only manage five leagues or so before stopping. The lands of Eriador had been kind to them. Some were rough and wild, but there was always food to be found, never a lack of water sources or shelter. On occasion they would meet humans, farmers who were mostly willing to help with provisions; in a region empty of large towns, the immortals accepted any offers which came their way.
Now, two weeks on since Laire's fateful decision to forsake Greenwood, their path led them in a south easterly direction, towards the vast and rolling plains of Calenardhon. The southern boundaries of Eriador had yet to pass beneath their feet, but winter was fast approaching and they hoped to be on the final stretch of their journey before it arrived in full force. One mild snow had eclipsed by already, and the clouds overhead suggested that another was on its way.
An icy wind surged through the company, and Oropher glanced back over his shoulder, instinctively, to ensure that his son had not removed any vital layers of clothing. Though to the adult Elves the chilly bite in the air was merely an annoyance, like a fly that did not vanish, the children felt it keenly. Not yet fully immunised against such drastic temperatures, they wore thick clothes and fur lined cloaks to keep out the cold, though the redness of their cheeks was a clear indicator that they knew it still.
Oropher guided his horse around an icy patch on the floor, and a slight frown marred his fair features. The day had been a strange one for himself and Felith. Almost since waking that morning, their only child had as good as ignored them both, responding to any questions in clipped tones or with looks as warm as the weather. He had distanced himself from them during the ride, reining his pony back to travel with Veassen – who he had become friendly with since the episode with Linwë – and making a good point of disregarding all requests that he join them for a short while. Though shocked by his uncharacteristic behaviour, neither parent had done more than return his chilly glares with warning ones of their own. They would not make a scene, not before their companions.
"I fault the weather," Felith had said thoughtfully, earlier that day. "The cold must be a frustration for them."
"Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but it affects only Thranduil's temper. None of the other children are showing any similar insolence," Oropher replied. "Even Linwë has made no unpleasant complaints since we broke camp this morning. Do not make excuses."
Though the smile and mischievous twinkle that had once been customary upon the auburn haired boy's face were still hidden away, he was starting to see through the darkness that had descended upon him; or so the others hoped. He answered when spoken to now and addressed both elders and contemporaries with polite and quiet respect – or, most of his contemporaries; Thranduil he still pointedly ignored – and involved himself in tasks around the campsite without even being asked for help. Oropher was glad to see the slow transformation, but that feeling came tainted with bitterness. Linwë had come through alone. His brother's cool ways had frosted over with the winter, and it was as though the two were strangers. Felith assured him often that time would heal the rift and painful wounds left behind. He only wished he had her confidence.
Towards the rear of the riders, Thranduil's cerulean eyes narrowed as he watched conversation start up and flow between his mother and father. He stared at them, alternating his glare from one turned back to the other, pinning them with animosity until a soft sigh from beside him drew his attention away. He looked up in time to see poorly concealed exasperation flicker across his new friend's face. "What?" He asked the question, though he knew well what was coming.
"Just tell them. Get it over and done with," Veassen muttered. "You will feel better for it, I am sure."
"No. If they cannot see for themselves, I am not going to lay the answer at their feet. It is simple enough," Thranduil grated mutinously, "and they are not simple."
A musical laugh came from the other boy's father, riding just ahead of them; he had turned on his horse's back to look at the children. "You make me wonder. So quiet at times and tranquil, yet those eyes of yours could burn a hole through any precious metal. Were you older, I would be afraid to face them."
"Sorry." The Elfling squeezed his eyes shut, and the deep pools were softened when he reopened them. "Is that any better?"
"Don't apologise. Just wait until you reach adulthood, and you will find that such a gaze can come in useful," Taldur replied. "For now, though, I have some advice for you." He slowed his horse, and dropped his voice a notch. "I know not the reason for your anger, but dampen it. Unless you want to be on the wrong side of your father's temper, of course."
"With all due respect, sir," Thranduil murmured, "I do not care for his temper."
Veassen's eyes widened in unison with his own sire's unamused shake of the head as he rode forwards once more to join his wife and daughters. "Valar! Either you are very brave or very foolish. I think some of Linwë rubbed off on you. Or you are just pretending that Oropher's wrath does not worry you, in an attempt to make yourself look angrier than you truly are."
"No, I am angry. And to be quitetruthful, he does not frighten me as much as my uncle would, were he my father instead," Thranduil answered. "All he does is lecture me or take away privileges. And I don't care today."
"If you say so," Veassen shrugged.
"I do."
They rode on in silence after the vehement words, breaking it only occasionally to mutter thanks when one held a branch back for the other, or gave way when the woodland path they followed narrowed. Winter sun high overhead shone through the gaps in the trees, but it offered little heat and did nothing to melt the icy patches formed over the ground, making the ride a risky undertaking for those less experienced on horseback. The children's mounts slipped often, though they were quick to regain their footing without further troubles, so when Thranduil's pony stumbled, he thought nothing of it and gripped her mane to secure himself. The crack which came a second later made him freeze.
"Veassen, get your mother," he whispered.
The other Elfling rode swiftly ahead to find Vendethiel, the immortal woman whose talent lay in healing animal wounds, and Thranduil slid fluidly to the ground. Any mortal of any age would have fallen on the slippery surface, but Elven balance held him unwaveringly still. His injured pony was silently shaking, large brown eyes wide in her long face. He pressed his own childish one against her shaggy mane, breathing nonsensical words in an attempt at allaying her fears, but he could see the unnatural angle of her front left leg and knew it was painful for her.
"Darling, what happened?" That was Felith. He turned away to let Vendethiel tend the horse, but his mother pursued. "Are you well? Did she slip?"
"It seems that way." Thranduil looked at her, a thousand unspoken words hidden behind the surface of his young face, and shrugged almost carelessly. "I am fine, thank you for caring. My horse is worse off than I am. You can go on riding."
"Not without knowing that you are right behind me," Felith replied, her voice hardened by concern for her only child. "If you think for one moment that I will continue whilst you stand in the cold, you are quite mistaken."
Words that sounded excruciatingly close to "You do not care that much" left the boy's lips, but Oropher's approach silenced the woman's question before it was conceived, though the desire to understand her son was overwhelming. She searched his downcast eyes with her own similar ones, intensified by desperation to know, but nothing came from the deep blue pools, just anger and a confusion which matched her own. Turning her gaze away with a reluctant sigh, she raised one eyebrow at her husband in question.
"It is a sprain. Easily fixable and not as awful as we feared, although Vendethiel has advised against the horse being ridden," Oropher explained. "Understandably so. She hopes her medicines will work within the week, but until they do, Thranduil must journey with us. Whether he likes it or not."
"He might protest, but the pony and he are dear friends," Felith replied. "He will not risk-
"I am here!"
The cry was like a lightning strike through the sky, and Oropher blinked in apparent surprise. "Valar, is that so? How very strange. We have seen sight nor sound of you all day, yet here you stand before us. Were we ignoring you? Did that anger you, penneth?"
"Just don't talk as though I do not exist," Thranduil muttered. "And don't expect me to ride with you. I would rather walk."
If the older Sinda's temper was tested by such blatant disrespect, he commendably showed no signs of anger. Indeed, he spoke almost pleasantly. "Unfortunately for you, that is not an available option. You will sit before me or your mother at all times, even if we must tie you in place. You will also refrain from making any complaints. Do you understand that, or must I explain myself further?"
"No, Father."
Felith exchanged startled looks with Oropher, though both recovered their calm facades quickly enough that the shock could have been just imaginary. The usage of that word from their young son was a first time event, and it sounded foreign to their ears. It was always 'ada'. Always. She watched through clouded eyes as her husband lifted Thranduil and mounted his dark horse, waiting patiently nearby, and a shadow of doubt gnawed away at her. Something was wrong. She felt as though she should know the answer, but it lay just out of her mind's reach, frustratingly close.
As they rode on to catch up with the other Elves, leaving Vendethiel and Taldur behind to tend to the injured pony, Oropher leaned down to whisper in his child's delicately pointed ear. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?" he breathed. "You can. You know that."
"Yes, and there is something." Thranduil focused his gaze on the cloaked back of Rochendil scouting some way ahead, his eyes following the dark green material as it snapped back and forth in the wind. It looked like a snake striking at helpless prey. "Your hair is tickling me."
Emerald eyes widened in a face darkened by fury, and the owner found himself in a battle to keep from raising a hand to the insolent child. His fingers tightened in the horse's mane, transferring his anger to the thick strands, a safer option than anywhere else. "Is it? Be careful, child. If you dislike that so much, I would hate to see how you cope with anything much more serious. You are certainly going in that direction."
A flicker of something unnameable passed across Thranduil's face, and it seemed for a moment that he would give an apology rather than dig himself a much deeper grave. It was no more than fleeting, though. He drew himself up and continued to stare straight ahead, not speaking, not reacting to his father's threat. Thoughts and memories of the day flashed through his mind and he watched them, remembering his excitement that morning, the disappointment that followed soon after, the confusion. Then the realisation that his parents… He shook himself mentally, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to hold the tears back. It's not fair. All I wanted was for them to… And they didn't.
"Why are you being this way?" Oropher asked, his voice softer, as though tenderness would pull out answers. "You are always so well behaved, but today you are no better than a spoilt brat. Have we ever spoilt you?"
"No, you have not," Thranduil answered monotonously.
"Then, why?"
Silence. The dark haired Elf let one hand fall onto his son's shoulder and held it there, a subtle yet constant reminder that all the child had to do was turn and he would not have vanished, ready to listen and help if he could. He could feel Thranduil's tension, though; he could feel him fighting the desire to pull away from that contact and run far. Why are you sad, ion-nín? What have we done to upset you so? Rather than voicing the questions, he bit them back and continued along the woodland path, sharp eyes focused intently upon the frosted forest floor. Sometimes they drifted back to his son's bowed head, though, and the wonderings would flood his mind once more. As Felith had experienced before, he too felt an uncomfortable sensation that he should be able to answer himself, but nothing came.
They had been riding for just another ten minutes when flakes began to drift downwards, slow at first, then faster and faster until the horses trod upon a blanket of whiteness. The sky overhead was grey, a sure sign that the weather would not improve any time soon. Oropher muttered a curse, remembering his young child's presence a second too late; he cursed again, silently this time, though he still received a look from Felith as though she had read his mind. The warrior brothers, Beinian and Megildur, had reported earlier in the day that shelter lay not too far ahead, but he had hoped to reach it before the heavens betrayed them. All they could do was press on in the hope that they arrived at their campsite in good time and with minimal damage from the heavy snows; although, with the luck he had had so far that day, he did not intend on holding his breath.
By the time they arrived at the large hollow some while later, freezing clumps of alabaster snow had accumulated around the boles of trees, inevitably blocking any escape from underground warrens or setts. Oropher felt a moment of pity for the animals trapped below, but it was just fleeting. Protecting his own family and followers was what he had to focus his attentions on. Branches were laden down with the icy matter, flexing almost lazily as they did in the spring months when heavy with fruit. Stepping into the sheltered basin was like stepping into a different world. The temperatures were not as extreme; the floor was untouched by whiteness; the steep banks offered defence from wind, rain and cold. It would do well for a night of rest.
Before Oropher could help his son to the ground, the Elfling had already dismounted and was walking in the opposite direction, to the far end of the hollow where he threw his small pack down and sat miserably upon it, deliberately keeping his blue gaze fixed away from his parents. Instead he watched the other travellers dismount and set up tents and bedrolls, prepare fires and unwrap food from protective cloths. He was hungry, but he knew that even forcing the meals down his throat would be an impossible task today. His eyes drifted to the left and found Linwë, setting up a tent with the aid of Fainauriel; though their glances met and locked briefly, and he chanced a smile, it was not returned. The other Elfling just shrugged. It's not fair. It isn't. Nearly everyone hates me today. That was not true and he knew it, but the self-indulgent part of his mind would not entertain that thought. Wallowing in his own self-pity was a satisfaction he was yet reluctant to relinquish. It made him feel better, and the Valar knew he needed that.
Barely audible footsteps upon the ground announced Oropher, and he replied to the older Elf's request for help putting up their own tent with not a word. The small pavilions were used only rarely and when the weather demanded that extra shelter was needed, but as he tied off ropes and held wooden poles in place for his father, Thranduil reflected bitterly that he hated tents. He hated them, and he hated sleeping outside. I hate this journey and everything about it. Felith had told him once that hate was a strong word and he surely could not understand its depth, but no other word in his vocabulary was powerful enough for his emotions.
"Thank you for that. I would not have finished it even half as swiftly without your hands," Oropher said. He watched his child's face for a flash of something – anything – at the praise, but he was met with blankness. "You did well, penneth."
"I only helped raise a tent," Thranduil snapped. "I don't think it is a great achievement, Ada."
The dark haired Sinda's eyes flashed, glittering like emeralds set alight, but he spoke no words as accompaniment. He ducked inside the pavilion and set about arranging beds for himself and his family, listening all the while to the audible sighs and mutters from his son, still outside. They made no sense. With every fibre of his being did he try to understand, to put himself in the place of an Elfling, to remember his own childhood; none of this yielded any answers. All he could do was ask outright, but even that would be another fruitless task, he was sure. Throughout his musings still existed that gnawing thought that he should already know the reason behind the evident hurting of the young immortal, but it never came any closer.
"Where did Ada go, Thranduil?"
"In there."
"Will you find him? I have food for us."
"I expect he can hear you."
"Be that as it may, I would like you to-
"I don't want to."
Inside the tent, Oropher's eyes widened and he almost dropped the blankets held in his arms. Had he not been standing just feet away from the conversation, he would not have believed that his gentle Elfling was capable of such rudeness, especially to Felith. This was going far behind an easily dismissed bout of childish naughtiness. He inched closer to the flap of the tent and watched through the slit as his wife placed two plates upon the ground and held a third out to their son. Thranduil regarded the food in silence, taking his time over the matter as though he had all of eternity to contemplate, before reaching up and selecting a crust of bread. Bringing it to his lips, he winced and immediately flung it away; the look he gave his mother was one of utter disgust.
"Thranduil!" Oropher was out of the tent in an instant, leaning down to grip the child's shoulders as tightly as he dared without causing pain. "That is inexcusable. We have had no opportunity to replenish our provisions for days now, and you just threw that bread onto the floor as though our supplies are endless. I am unsure whether making you go hungry or eating that dirty crust is a more suitable punishment."
"I-don't-care," Thranduil ground out.
"Well, you will. I am making a list in my head of every small thing you do, and be aware that it is becoming longer and longer as the minutes pass," Oropher hissed. "This is your final chance. One more item on that list, and you will find yourself experiencing a very different side to me. I am not afraid to take a leaf from my brother's book and send you to bed with a backside you are unable to sit on for some days. Is that clear to you, child?"
Physical discipline had never before played any part in the Elfling's upbringing, but looking into his father's face, he did not doubt for a moment that it would tonight if he did not change his ways – and swiftly, too. As though all of the fight had been pulled from him with that threat looming overhead, he went limp in Oropher's hold and gave a whispered, "Yes, sir".
"Good. Ensure it is not forgotten." The dark haired Sinda stared dangerously into the blue eyes in front of him a second longer, before jerking his hands free and striding away through the large hollow. At any other time he would have been hailed for conversation by the other Elves, but his fury on this day shone like a beacon in the night sky, and all averted their gazes from him.
Thranduil watched him go, and conflicting emotions played upon his face as the temptation to run after Oropher and apologise fought against the angry bitterness still raging inside of him. He was sorry; sorry that he had kept the truth hidden away and passed the whole day in misery. All it would have taken, he reflected sadly, was four words. Just four. It was too late now, though. He had chosen a path, and there was no stepping off it. I have to see it through to the end, and why should I not? I am not in the wrong. They are. They must be.
"I want to question you, but that has been done already with no answers," Felith murmured. "Perhaps if we do not press, you will find it within yourself to see that we want to help you. Your upsets can be shared, penneth, if only you would trust us."
"Nana, I trust you," Thranduil replied quietly, "but how can I confide in you when…when you and Ada are the reason behind my troubles?"
Azure eyes widened at the softly accusing words, but Felith schooled her face into an impassive mask, flickers of hurt betraying her for just a second. She picked up her plate of bread, cheese and vegetables, and stepped under the flap into the tent. Her only child followed her departure with a sorrowful gaze, and wondered silently whether he had distressed her, whether the wall between them hid tears. Before he realised what he was doing, the boy had taken a step forwards as though to go after his mother, offer comfort and a hundred apologies. He caught himself just in time, and sat deliberately upon the ground. No. I am staying here.
He could not be certain how long he did stay there for, alone and shivering in the chilly air, but the afternoon had been replaced by evening when Felith finally emerged from the tent, hard faced, determined to hold her stretched emotions in check before any other than her own judgement. She leaned down and wrapped slender fingers around Thranduil's wrist – they were strong, deceptively so – and pulled him to his feet. Dragging would be incorrect, but she led him through the sheltered hollow the way a meek dog is led; her grip brooked no resistance.
"Where are we going?"
"I will not have you repeat yourself tomorrow, for your own sake as much as any other's. A good night's sleep will do you good, and I hope, cool your temper," Felith replied firmly. "A swift bath to wash the journey's dust from you, and then bed. Argue, but you will not be successful in this fight."
"I was not going to," Thranduil muttered.
He followed the Elven woman up out of the basin to a level where the air was slightly colder and whitened by snow, through trees and past icy boulders to a clearing some way on. His breath came out in mist, and though he amused himself holding it for as long as possible before releasing a long exhalation, the thought of the water, sure to be freezing, did not vanish from his mind. His eyes narrowed to cerulean slits and he nodded once, determination painted in the gesture. No, he would not cause further trouble. Not any more.
"Clothes off," Felith instructed.
Thranduil started to unclasp his cloak, then he stopped and took a step forwards. With just the tip of one finger, he tested the temperature of the pool and… "Oh! Nana, feel it. It is too icy to bathe in. I will freeze."
"Which of my words did you fail to understand?" the lady asked quietly. "I told you not to fight me any more. Now, do as you have been told. Please. I am weary, and have no wish to repeat myself."
"Is this a punishment? Are you doing this because I have been bad?" Tears filled Thranduil's eyes, and he blinked furiously to vanquish them. It's only water. Just water, and coldness. But his finger stung from being dipped into the pool, he couldn't subject his whole body to that. "Nana, you don't know how cold it is. Touch the water, and you will see. I don't want to. I can't… I won't."
"Won't. Won't?" Felith moved forwards and knelt upon the ground to be at a level with her son, and set about where he had stopped, unfastening his cloak. "Ada is furious with you; I am losing my patience. Whatever your reasons, do you not think that the rope you tread on is a thin one? No, this is not a punishment, and you will obey me. I do not wish to be angry, but you make it increasingly difficult."
As the thick cloak fell away from his shoulders, Thranduil jerked out of the loosened hold he was in, grabbing the chance while it still stood and stepping as far back as he could go without touching the pool he was so eager to avoid. Cold air rushed through the material of his tunic, sending shivers up and down his body. His mind screamed in protest. Against the weather, against his mother, against everything. It all coalesced to form one explosion, and the touch of hands upon him once more ignited the fuse. He pushed them away, pushed the owner away from him.
"You foolish, foolish child," Felith whispered. She had him by one wrist, was locked in a futile struggle to bring him under control. "You must stop this nonsense now. You must! I cannot, nor will I, protect you from a punishment that you deserve. If you do not cease, I will have no choice but to go and find your father and let him deal with you."
"No need to find me, Felith."
Mother and son froze. They looked like children caught sticking fingers into a jar of honey, but the situation was not quite as light. In the almost tangible silence, as he watched Oropher enter the clearing with a frostily hard expression and glittering eyes, Thranduil was sure the pounding of his heart could be heard by all. He was frightened. So much so that he came close to burying his face in Felith's skirts, as though hiding himself from the wrathful gaze riveted upon him would somehow make it all go away, make things better.
"Meleth-nín, there is no need to-
Oropher raised one hand and sliced it through the air, the way he would a knife, silencing the Elven woman's half hearted protests. "Leave us, Felith. Go back to the camp. We will follow."
For a moment Thranduil thought that a plea of "Do not be too hard on him" left his mother's lips, but surely he was mistaken. She had threatened to find his father herself, even knowing what that would mean for him. He watched her leave, followed her retreating back with his eyes until it became invisible, and even then he did not retract his gaze. Rather that than look up at Oropher, standing tall above him, though he could feel the emanating anger as though it was physical matter. Don't look. Don't look. Don't-
"You have one minute," the dark haired Elf said quietly. His voice was an unnerving contrast to the blaze of his eyes, shining like emerald flames. "One minute to tell me everything that is inside your head. Fail to satisfy me with an explanation, and I will make good on my threat. I promise you that now. And take care not to waste time. A minute is only short."
Thranduil's eyes fluttered shut, and a long breath left his lips as he found himself sinking to the ground. It was damp, but he could not find it in him to care, even notice. "I will obey you, although I cannot see how it will make a difference. I am just the same as anyone else, and even those who are hurting – Linwë, Veryatur – do not cause trouble as I have done for you today. But if you want to know…
"Firstly, I miss Linwë. He will not look at me, let alone speak; sometimes I find myself wondering if he blames me for Laire leaving, but I don't understand how that could be so. He was my first friend, Ada. He made me laugh and feel special. Nobody else I have befriended can do that, even if they try. I want him to like me again, but I don't know how to stop him hating me.
"Secondly, I miss Saeldur and Uncle Vehiron. It will be months before we see them, and I don't think I can wait that long. Other than you and Nana, they are my only family, the only Elves I have known since birth, and I want them to be here with us so much that it hurts. I'm lonely. If they had come on this journey, I would have someone I could always be with."
"What of your mother and myself?" Oropher snapped. "Do we not exist?"
"You do, but I don't! The other Elves see you as their leader. They look to you for guidance and protection, and you give it to them. But Ada, I have seen this leadership change you. Your attentions are focused wholly on your 'followers', and that makes you forget those closest to you," Thranduil replied, his voice surprisingly vehement for a small child. During the tirade he had risen, punctuating his points with jagged hand gestures, actions which made him look older than he was. "Do you know that I am afraid? Afraid of losing another of our companions, afraid that we might be attacked by Orcs or wolves or anything else, afraid that we will never make it to Greenwood. I cry at night, but neither you nor Nana know that. I am tried of travelling and sleeping outside on uncomfortable bedrolls. I want a home, Ada, but I don't know where that is and…and you and Nana have forgotten me."
"Forgotten… That is nonsense," Oropher berated sharply. His eyes flickered in doubt, though, despite the words. There was that gnawing feeling. "Your minute is ending, child."
Thranduil raised his eyes to gaze up at the older Sinda, but he spoke no words for some moments. When he did, his voice was like the surface of the pool – calm, even, unwavering. It was a battle to keep it so. "Tell me something," he murmured. "Tell me what day it is."
"For your sake, I hope there is a point to this," Oropher hissed. "Oranor. The day is Oranor."
Silver droplets of sadness sprang to life in deep blue eyes, and the little boy bowed his head towards the ground. The war he had waged to keep his voice from shaking was lost in an instant, and he struggled to make himself speak the words. Slowly, they came. "No, Ada. It is my Begetting Day."
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. We would not forget that. Of course not. Unless... No. In conjunction with his adamant sentiments, Oropher ran through the days since they had left Lindon some weeks ago. He had known they would be travelling on that special day, but… Surely its arrival could not have slipped my mind. But the realisation slammed into him almost in unison with that determined thought. It was today. He had forgotten.
"I knew there would be no gifts, and I didn't care about that because I am not so selfish as to put myself above the importance of our journey," Thranduil continued quietly. "I did think that you would remember, though. When you and Nana did not even acknowledge my Begetting Day, I just… I was hurt. That is why I did not speak. I thought you had stopped caring."
"That is not true." The words sounded a thousand leagues away to Oropher as he still struggled to absorb the revelation. "Not true at all."
"Then, why did you not…? Why did you forget?" Thranduil whispered.
Too many answers ran through the father's mind, defences he knew could never justify the crime, and he discarded them with vicious determination. He would not pretend that what he had done – or failed to do – was excusable. To a race which walked Arda for eternity, Begetting Days became trivial matters, easily ignored unless a milestone was reached. There were just too many to pay heed to them as each year passed by. Elven children, though, counted down the days until they could celebrate and open gifts, feast and have special privileges bestowed upon them for just one rising of the sun. For them, the day of their conception was one of the most important in the calendar. That any parent should allow such an event to evade their minds was unforgivable, whether they shouldered other burdens or not.
"Leaving Lindon was one of the most important days of my life, cast into shadow only by my marriage to your mother, and your birth," Oropher explained softly. "It heralded a new start for us all, but I have let myself become entangled in leading everyone to Greenwood and ensuring that nothing else hurts us along the way. So caught have I been that I…I just… Valar, I cannot lie and say that I did not forget. I did, Thranduil. I did, and that is all there is. You have heard the words from my own mouth. I am sorry, but I have not once stopped caring about you. You must believe that."
"You cannot lie," the child repeated, his voice vehement as though he was yet unconvinced. "You said that yourself, so I do believe. Too much today made me think otherwise, though. Nana gave me the bread when we arrived in the hollow, but it has gone stale. I would eat it to save trouble, but it is too hardened for an Elfling's teeth to break. I thought she should have known. I took that as another sign that you did not care. I'm-
The apology was not even half formed on his son's lips before Oropher pulled him into a breath stopping embrace. "Don't," he hissed gently. "Do not even consider telling me that you are sorry. Yes, speaking the truth of your anger would have saved all of this from happening, but you are not to blame. There is only one who can claim such a thing, and that is not you."
Thranduil's hands tightened their hold on the older Sinda's cloak, and a rush of emotions flooded him as he felt tender fingers sliding along the flaxen strands of his hair. He had been wrong, so very wrong. His parents may well have forgotten his Begetting Day, but that no longer meant anything to him. They cared. They cared, and that was all that mattered. Sadness had been his since dawn; now it flowed away from him like the rapids of a river, and he found himself wanting to laugh at the pure foolishness which had made him believe something so far from the truth.
"Thank you for giving me a chance to explain myself," he murmured against his father's chest. "You could have just punished me straight away. I respect you for letting me speak."
"I am glad I was not so hasty, otherwise I truly would never have forgiven myself," Oropher replied in a sigh. He pulled back from the embrace, and began to wrap his child in the cloak that Felith had removed minutes before. Damp from the ground stained its green material, though, and he pulled his own larger one from his shoulders to envelope Thranduil in the warm, dry folds. "There. You look just like a butterfly in a cocoon."
"A butterfly who cannot walk," the Elfling smiled. He tried to kick his feet, but the heavy garment afforded little movement. "And I have no wings, Ada."
"No wings?" Oropher repeated. "Valar, a mistake was made in your making. How do you intend on getting back to the camp, then? Walking is not an option, and flying certainly is not. Must I carry you, my starling?"
"I think so-" Thranduil gasped as strong arms lifted him high into the air, far above the ground which suddenly seemed leagues below him, and he gave a breathy laugh as he was brought back to rest against his father's chest. He had not been worried. Not for an instant. "Ada! I thought you said no flying. You just…." He paused, and let his mind flash back to a conversation he had heard between some of the adults earlier that day. "You…contradicted yourself."
"A big word for a little Elf," Oropher smiled.
As he walked the path which led back to their campsite, his mind inevitably flew over his failure as a parent, and he automatically tightened his hold on the child in his arms. Though he knew it to be true, though the words of betrayal had played ruthlessly a hundred times over in his head, the struggle to believe that he could put such a crime to his name was painful. Every so often he found himself wanting to question whether or not he really had let himself forget Thranduil's Begetting Day, but he always managed to catch himself just in time; he did not want to think of the damage such doubtful words could do to his already hurting son if voiced.
"What will you say to Nana?"
Pulled from reverie, Oropher looked into the azure eyes gazing into his own. "The truth," he replied in surprise. "What else would you have her hear?"
"She will be sad," Thranduil murmured.
The dark haired Elf released a long sigh, but he had to nod concurrence to the statement. "Yes, I have no doubt of that. But don't you start to feel guilty. If there are any repercussions from this, your mother and I have brought them upon ourselves. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Ada."
"Good boy." As the two Elves reached the entrance to their makeshift camp, Oropher set his son back on the ground and took the large cloak from around his small shoulders. "I want you to do something for me: Go and play with Veassen for ten minutes before returning to our tent. Perhaps I can prepare some food that is easier for you to eat than that hard bread."
Thranduil gave his father a sideways glance at the transparency of the words, but nodded silently nonetheless before turning on his heel and running through the camp to find his friend. Following the child's path with the green pools of his eyes, Oropher allowed a weary exhalation of breath to leave his lips. He knew what had to be done now. He had a revelation to reveal to his wife, and that was one thing he did not look forward to doing. Not for the first instance in just a short time, he cursed himself as he slowly made his way to their tent. He was sure it would not be the last time he did so before the night was over. Indeed, as he swept aside the canvas flap and ducked inside, he did it once more for good measure. It made him feel marginally better.
"Well?" Felith was sat upon a bedroll with her legs folded underneath her, and although she did not rise at his entrance, she seemed ready to jump to her feet and shake answers out of her husband. "What happened? Where is he? What did you do?"
There was only silence after the barrage, and Oropher replied with a smile devoid of any humour as he threw his cloak carelessly upon the ground. "I wish with all of my heart there was a way to tell you what I have done without hurting you, but that is an impossibility. This is an important day, a special day, and it escaped my mind until I was given a harsh reminder by our son."
"I do not understand," Felith whispered.
"You forgot also."
The Elven woman gazed up at him from beneath long lashes, and her golden head shook slowly. "I still do not… I have felt something in the back of my mind since the rising of the sun, but I have been unable to identify it. Will you not end my misery and tell me?"
"Our only child was conceived on this day," Oropher said shortly.
A sharp gasp flew from Felith's lips at the words. She raised one hand to her mouth, and again she shook her head as though that could change the truth behind the unveiling. "How is that…? How could we…?" The breathed questions were not finished. Wide blue eyes squeezed themselves tightly shut, and one tear escaped from beneath their lashes to leave a silver stain on a paled cheek.
Oropher sat wordlessly at his wife's side, pulling her close against him and tenderly stroking her hair as she cried inaudibly against his chest. She made no noise and was still, but he knew she wept for their young son's hurt. Their marriage bond lent them the ability to sense each other's feelings and emotions as though they did not belong to a different individual, and he knew her tears were real and many just as he would have known had they been his own. He tightened his hold around her slim waist, offering comfort where he knew words could not, and made himself wait for calm to descend upon her before speaking once more.
Minutes passed them by, and it wasn't until a trembling hand came up to wipe away tears that the dark haired Elf deemed it right to give voice to his thoughts. "I know it hurts," he murmured. "I know. When I realised what we had done, I was so… I just did not believe for a long time. But it has happened, and we cannot change that whether we want to with all of our hearts or not. Thranduil knows we are sorry."
"Does that lessen it?" Felith demanded, pulling away from her husband's embrace. "What we have done? Can you look into my eyes and tell me that means we should be forgiven?"
"I said not so, but I do think there is little to be gained by dwelling on this. You may not feel we deserve forgiveness, but it has been given by our son and he wants us to forget all that has passed," Oropher replied quietly. "We owe him that."
"We owe him much more. Valar, how is it possible that we let such a special event evade us? Now that I know the truth, I do not blame him for the strange way he has acted today," Felith murmured. "How did we forget? How?"
"Don't be upset any more, Nana." The two Elves looked up in unison, sudden gentle smiles upon their faces as a small figure stepped into the tent, small enough that he did not need to duck underneath the flap. "Ada is right. I have forgiven you, and I don't want you to go on thinking about it. I have many more Begetting Days ahead of me, so if you remember those, I don't mind that you forgot this one. Truly."
Oropher drew apart slightly from his wife, and gestured to the free space between them. "Come here. Many children would hold something like this against their parents, but you have shown your compassion and that you do not hold grudges. I am proud of you for that; very proud."
"You doubted our love for you, and that should never have been allowed to happen," Felith said quietly. "I want you to hold deep in your heart that we do love you, more than anything on these shores and beyond, so that you might touch on that knowledge and draw from it whenever you need to, wherever you may be and wherever we may be. Do you understand that? Will you do it?"
Thranduil tilted his head to one side to look up at his mother, and a smile turned his lips towards the deep pools of his eyes, shadowed slightly in the dimness of the tent. "I love you too, Nana." A pause as he glanced the other way. "And you, Ada."
"I know," Oropher answered. He used the tips of two slender fingers to brush strands of wayward hair back from the child's face, and returned the smile with a tender one of his own. "You need to eat. Give me a few minutes to find you something suitable, and we can have our dinner together."
"Yes, please. I would like that," Thranduil said softly.
As the dark haired Sinda left the tent to sort through the food packs, his young son watched him out of sight before turning to wrap both arms tightly around Felith's waist and rest his head against her stomach. She started at the unexpected contact, but the surprise painted upon her fair face was swiftly replaced by pleasure as she returned the embrace, cuddling the Elfling close and planting a gentle kiss upon his golden head. They sat that way for a long while, enveloped in the unique love shared between a mother and her child. No words passed between them, but no words were needed; and when Oropher returned just minutes later, both his wife and son were deep in slumber.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
The verdant region of Eriador had been a victim of robbery since the snow's arrival, losing its hundred hues of green to an impenetrable blanket of pure white which wrapped frosty fingers around all it touched. It was a scene that would have been monotonous if not so radiant, an ongoing tableau broken only at intervals by harsh winter sun, brighter than any other, stabbing through laden boughs as easily as any knife. Silence lay heavily over the woodland. Those birds who had not sought warmer climates huddled together in twos and threes in thick bowers of twigs and leaves, their songs still upon frozen beaks. Wild animals remained in the very depths of dens and lairs and tunnelled warrens; only the delicate smattering of a lone fox's paw prints suggested that life played a part in the white winter world.
Quiescence. So pure, so untouched it made the land empty and desolate in spite of nature's heavy presence, but a sudden peal of childish laughter like ringing bells changed all of that. A group of sheltering pheasants took to the air as two Elflings ran past their hiding place, reproaching them with indignant cries. The children paid no heed, though. If anything, they laughed harder. Their light feet left gentle imprints in the powdery snow, landing atop the fox's and dashing those into history.
"You cannot catch me!"
"So you said the last time, but I did."
"Only because I tripped on a-
"Root," Thranduil snickered as his companion met the floor again. He sat upon Veassen's back, pushing the fallen boy's face into the snow. "I used to race my cousin in Lindon if he was in a good temper. I know how to run."
The other Elfling spluttered indignantly at the injustice dealt to him, and writhed and flailed until a second dose of cold powder stilled him. "I yield," he choked. "You win this time. Now get off!"
"I am glad our parents let us leave the camp to play. I did not think they would. Or, I thought they might send your eldest sister to watch over us," Thranduil smiled, rolling off his friend and lying carelessly in the snow. "This is fun. Cold, but fun."
"Just wait until I get my revenge." Veassen raised one clenched fist, and flakes of white drifted from it. "Then you will say something different."
The golden haired child laughed happily, and sat up to gaze around at their bright surroundings. "Do you remember that hill we passed? If we found a suitable enough device, we could slide down it and… What are you doing? What…? Do you think that is a good idea?"
He folded his legs underneath him, ignoring the dampness seeping through the material of his clothes, and watched as the other boy scaled the branches of an old willow tree, iced all over in piles of white. His deep eyes narrowed against the glaring sun assaulting the top of the woodland, and he shaded them too with a small hand for added protection. He could not help but shake his head. No matter where they were to make their new home, they were not Wood-elves; at least, not yet.
"You were born in a great city, Veassen," Thranduil attempted half-heartedly. "How many trees did you climb in Lindon? If you fall…"
"I won't- Oh!"
The blond child flinched and his eyes flew shut as his friend slipped. When he peered out from between his fingers a moment later, Veassen was clambering unsteadily onto a branch, a foolish smile painted upon his face. "No, I see that you are very safe up there. I have no worries for you. May I ask, though, if there is a point to any of this?"
"You may."
"And?"
"Up here," Veassen answered triumphantly, "I am the King of the Forest. And you, being so very far below me, are my subject. And subjects must bow to their rulers and obey every command, so I command you to get down and bow." His smile was gone in an instant, and he waved one hand as regally as any royal Elf could manage. "Bow, subject. Bow to me."
Thranduil flung a handful of snow in the other's direction, accompanied by a scornful look. "I have no intentions of lowering myself. I am not your subject, nor will I ever be. You are just foolish."
"Attack! Attack on the King!" Veassen cried dramatically. "Wait until I lay my hands on you, knave. You will spend eternity in the dungeons!"
"If you say so," Thranduil sighed. "Now how do you plan on getting down from there, King of the Forest?"
The question was met by only silence. After close on fifteen minutes and a great amount of encouragement, the King of the Forest had his feet safely on the ground and the children were able to continue their journey through the snowy woods. Veassen insisted quite adamantly that the pink flush to his cheeks was to be blamed on the wind and the chill in the air rather than embarrassment, though the fact that it deepened every time his small adventure was mentioned did not aid his case. It was not until genuine frustration laced his voice that his friend recognised his wish for discretion, and came to a halt in the middle of the path.
"All right, I swear that the incident in the tree will stay a secret between us and will never again be brought up," Thranduil promised contritely. Despite his voice, a hint of a smile touched his lips. "Now can we go to the lake? The ice will have thawed if we stand here all day."
"For your sake, I hope you keep that promise," Veassen muttered.
"What would you do? Have your tree friends attack me?"
As a handful of snow flew in his direction, Thranduil jumped out of its way and ran on ahead through the trees and brush. He could hear his friend's feet just paces behind him, and he put on an extra burst of speed to outdistance himself from the other boy. Barely breathing heavily, he dashed through a column of linden trees and immediately ground to a halt. A second later, Veassen arrived at his side, eyes wide as they gazed at the frozen lake and the children gathered around it. All were there expect shy Castien, although that was to be expected.
"You have finally arrived," Edhilwen berated. "Did you become lost?"
"We knew out way," Veassen retorted, cutting his eyes at his sister. "Didn't we?"
Thranduil started as he realised the words were meant for him. He gave nothing more than an absent nod as reply, for his attention was trained elsewhere. Within the group of children stood Linwë, coldly silent as he stared hard upon the newcomers, his expression suddenly a picture of arrogance and dislike. It was the first occasion on which the two feuding boys had been in each other's company without the warning presence of an adult to keep conflict at bay.
"Don't start anything," Soron sighed.
"Nothing has started, nor is it going to," Veassen said sharply. He glared at the older youth a moment before turning his back on the others to face his friend. "We don't have to stay. That hill will be in the same place if you want to go there instead."
"No. This is not a battle, but he will think he has won some victory if I let myself walk away," Thranduil answered, his voice soft. "I want to stay here. We can build a snow figure."
"Wait!"
The boys caught themselves just as they were about to leave for a spot further around the lake, and turned back to see that Linwë had taken a few steps towards them. He wore a smile upon his fair face, but there existed a strange glint in his green eyes which had not been there before. Held in his hands was a heavy lump of wood, and he threw it over his shoulder onto the lake. It hit the ice and bounced along a few times, but no cracks appeared in the crystalline sheet.
"Are you leaving without hearing our plans?" he asked quietly.
"Your plans," Edhilwen corrected in a murmur.
"The lake is solid. Only a Dwarven army could have a hope of breaking through, so I proposed that one of us walks across to the other side. The only flaw," Linwë explained, "is that we could not decide who should be the adventurer."
"You two agreed to this?" Veassen asked incredulously, alternating his gaze between the older children.
Soron released a hiss of irritation from between his teeth, and shook his dark head back and forth. "As your sister said, they are his plans. We are nothing to do with them."
"Listen, listen," Linwë broke in. "To decide who should cross, I thought it should be the youngest. Until you two arrived, that was me. Not any more. Tell me your age, Veassen."
The smaller Elf's eyes narrowed to slits. "No. I am not taking part."
"Fine. You?"
Thranduil almost winced at the venom in that single word, but he held his head high as he delivered a reply. "I am now the same age as Veassen, but you did know that even before asking. His Begetting Day is in Lothron. Mine is…this month, but I was born the year after him, so therein lies your answer. I am the youngest. But I will not do this."
"You said it yourself," Linwë snapped. "You are the youngest, and you will cross the lake as my rules dictate or else incur a worse forfeit."
"I will not," Thranduil reiterated calmly. "I did not agree to play your game. Nor did Veassen. That means you are the youngest participant and you will cross the lake."
The auburn haired boy's eyes darkened in anger, and at his sides, his hands clenched into fists. "You," he hissed, "are cowardly. I said it once before in jest, but now I mean it with all of my heart. You're a coward. You're a coward and I hate you. You think, deep inside yourself, that we can be friends again one day, but I hold so much contempt for you that it hurts. You need to understand that. You must! I hate you. And I hope that if any more of our number are taken, you are the next one to go."
"Linwë!"
Thranduil never knew whose shocked voice that was. He looked away quickly to blink back tears; when he turned again, all trace of them were vanquished. "If that is true," he said quietly, "I want you to tell me two things. Firstly, why it is so very important for me to know this. Secondly, why you hate me so much but cannot meet my gaze when you say so."
Dark green eyes widened for just a second before their owner spun on his heel and stalked back towards the iced lake, muttering furiously under his breath as he went. Thranduil watched him go, silent and unaware of all else around him, and only a touch upon his arm pulled him into the present. He looked up to see Soron and Edhilwen staring at him, unable to speak any words in spite of their seniority amongst the group. Veassen was at his side, and the other boy tugged urgently upon his hand.
"I am so sorry," he breathed. "We should never have come here."
"Don't apologise. I wanted to, so I don't blame you," Thranduil replied numbly. "I just… Perhaps we should leave now. We can still make our snow figure. Just not here. Somewhere else."
"You are not all right, are you?" Veassen's voice was one notch above a whisper. "I can feel you trembling."
The blond haired child just looked at his friend. He had accepted that Linwë would never be who he had been at the start of their journey; he had finally come to terms with the fact that Linwë dislike him, maybe even hated him for some unknown reason; he could even tell himself that Linwë wanted nothing more to do with him. But hearing the older boy wish him gone had struck him hard and reopened a slowly healing wound. No, he was not all right. He was a long, long way from all right, and he didn't-
"No!"
A girl's scream spun both Thranduil and Veassen around in unison, and the scene which their eyes fell upon made their hearts drum painfully hard and skip beats respectively. Linwë was nowhere to be seen on the white banks of the lake. But blindingly clear before the small group of children, some short distance out, was a jagged hole in the ice where a weak area had given way beneath the boy's light weight. Linwë was in the water.
"He will freeze!" Edhilwen cried. "Oh Valar, help us!"
"They won't help," Veassen breathed.
Thranduil looked at his friend and saw the panicked glint in wide eyes, and he wondered at the calmness which had suddenly descended upon him. In his peripheral vision he saw splashes of icy water as Linwë struggled, but he forced them from his line of thought. "Who has a knife?" His voice was soft, but he spoke with determined urgency. "Edhilwen? No? Soron? Right, take it and get to work cutting a strong branch. Edhilwen, go with him."
"Do you have the faintest idea what you are doing?" the maiden cried hysterically. "You are just an Elfling!"
"And do you want Linwë to die?" Thranduil snapped. "Then forget my age and do as I say! Veassen, come with me."
"What are we- ?"
"We are going onto the ice."
"Oh, sweet Elbereth."
Slamming a shield between his mind and his friend's panicked mutterings, Thranduil lowered himself onto his hands and knees in the snow, and slowly but surely moved towards the frozen lake. The first touch of ice upon bare skin elicited a sharp hiss, and as he began the crawl across the lake, evenly distributing his weight lest he touch a fragile pane in the crystalline sheet, he found himself rueing the lack of gloves. I knew I had forgotten something. They are fur-lined. I would be warm and- No! Concentrate!"
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pressed on, trying his hardest to ignore the stinging flames which burnt the tender skin of his hands. The hole caused by Linwë's fall was close – he could see the other boy's auburn head atop a wildly thrashing body – but the searing coldness made the distance appear leagues away; the monotonous blanket of sparkling white lent the impression that the lake was an ocean, its clearing a vast desert. No, nearly there. I am close now. So close…
Amid the cries of frightened children and the splashing of freezing water came a terrible creaking and groaning, and Thranduil became paralysed as the ice shifted beneath he and Veassen. If it broke, they were lost without hope along with Linwë. Edhilwen and Soron would stand no chance at rescuing them, even with the lightness of body given to all Elves. They were taller, heavier. The ice could not break. It could not. But, no. As suddenly as it had started, the formidable noise became silence once more, and Thranduil released a breath he had not known he held as he urged his fear frozen body onwards. The hole lay just feet away. Linwë was making attempts to escape the icy abyss, but they were no more than futile. His fingers slipped on the jagged slides of his trap, and every two inches gained were trampled on by an inch back down as he fell. As his eyes alighted upon his rescuers, they widened in surprise.
"You!"
"Yes. There are only two here who have any hope of saving your life, so you cannot afford to hate me now. Wait until we are back on the bank," Thranduil replied quickly. "Now take our hands. We will pull you out. Linwë, take them. Linwë!"
"Do you want to die?" Veassen snapped.
Linwë stared up at the two younger Elflings, his lips parted as he struggled for breath and an answer to the question. The green irises of his eyes were darkened by terror. It seemed a whole eternity passed before he threw his arms upwards, flailing desperately for something to hold onto, something that he could not seem to find. Even as fingers wrapped around his wrists, he continued to wildly flounder. Perhaps he did want to die. Perhaps it had been his intention all along, and he had known from his first step upon the ice that he would die and… As Thranduil watched those thoughts fly through his mind, his heart sank desperately. He would not let it happen.
"We have you," he ground out through gritted teeth. "Now we need your help. You must stop."
"You have me? But I feel…nothing. I am numb," Linwë whispered. Tears spilled down his cheeks, defying nature itself as they refused to freeze. "I am so very cold, and I hurt. I hurt all over."
Veassen stared as the older boy wept, sparing only a glance for his friend at his side. "If we don't get him out now, I hate to think of the state he will be in when he leaves that water. He will not survive the cold and-
"I know," Thranduil broke in. "So we pull. Now!"
Twenty fingers tightened around Linwë's wrists, and though the children slipped on the ice and felt themselves sliding closer and steadily closer to the freezing hole, neither allowed their grip to waver or lessen. Linwë himself helped as much as his paralysed body let him, but it was a hard struggle. His lips had a bluish tinge to them and tears had frozen around his eyes, making his dark lashes seem longer than ever. His throat hurt more than anything else. The water had numbed him on the outside, but breathing harshly in the cold air seemed to tear his insides to shreds. The pain made him want to scream out loud, but his protesting lungs would barely let him breathe, let alone vent his fear.
"Pull harder!" Veassen cried. "We are nearly there!"
Thranduil did not need the encouragement. Holding his breath as he made one final effort, he pulled as though all of their lives depended upon this rescue, as though he along with everyone else would be damned if it failed to be a success. Sudden droplets of water splashed upon his face like stinging rain from high above, and he knew in that moment that it was over. The icy trap had released Linwë from its clutches. All three children collapsed upon the almost transparent sheet covering the lake as the eldest was set loose, and they lay there for time uncountable before a husky voice broke the silence.
"You saved me."
Panting heavily, Thranduil swallowed down the breaths coming hard and fast, and shook his head wearily. "Never mind…that. We need to get you…" His own throat felt seared right through too, and he winced at the pain as he forced himself to speak more words. "You need warmth. Rest. We can't stay here."
"By Mordor!" If their resting place had been any stronger, Veassen would have leapt to his feet and returned to the banks at a solid run. "What are we thinking, lying on this death trap as though it is a mattress? Up! Get up! Linwë, I know that you are about as willing to move as a one-legged man after a night of wine and ale, but if you don't get up – that goes for you too, Thranduil – all three of us will be back in that water and-
"Veassen," Thranduil muttered. His head was pounding, and lights flickered before his eyes as a result of the sudden adrenaline, previously unknown to him. "Be quiet. We are up."
As he and the other boys reached the edge of the lake and set foot once more upon solid ground, the undergrowth rustled and parted to reveal Soron and Edhilwen returning at a run with an older immortal hot on their heels, bright Elven eyes wide with fear. Thranduil drifted away a few paces to watch the scene play out. He wanted nothing more to do with it. His part was over, and that was that. He pulled his damp cloak tighter around his body – he noticed absently that he was trembling – but it did not succeed in fighting off the chill.
"Linwë!" The newcomer was Veryatur. Now that he could see his brother and knew all was well, fear was swiftly replaced by raw anger. The fair Elf fell to his knees in the snow, pulling off his long cloak and wrapping it almost violently around the child. "You damned fool! What were you thinking? Is your wish to die?"
"I…I w-w-wasn't…thinking," Linwë shivered.
"You are right in that respect. Is it your ambition to slowly break me into pieces? Is that why you were put here? Is that why my mother and father died?" With each question, Veryatur's voice rose an extra notch. "If it is the reason behind your existence, you have my congratulations, for you have fulfilled it. Valar! Laire is sailing to Valinor, more than likely as we speak. Now you would take yourself – all I have left! – from me."
"P-please. I am s-s-sorry…"
At that word, Veryatur raised one hand high above his head. For an awful moment it seemed as though he would indeed strike the child, but he caught himself in time and tangled his fingers in his hair with a hissed oath. "Who put their life on the line to save yours? Whoever it was, your debt will not be repaid with a thousand thanks. Tell me. Who was it?"
"I saved him," Veassen interjected quietly. He glanced at the empty space beside him and the trees that Thranduil had vanished into after murmuring that he wished for no recognition; regret washed over him at the lie. "I went onto the ice and pulled him out."
"Then my family, such as we are, is in your debt," Veryatur said grimly. "What of the other boy?"
"He just pulled us onto the bank," Veassen muttered. He hated taking the credit, but he could not betray his friend's trust in him and not do as he had been asked.
"Is this true?"
Linwë started as his brother's voice penetrated his whirling and confused thoughts. "I…I think that…" Green eyes just a shade darker than his own narrowed, and he flinched underneath them. "I don't remember, Veryatur. All I knew was the coldness, and… I was frightened. Maybe I fell unconscious for a little while, because I don't know what happened. I'm sorry."
"Stop staying those words," the older sibling snapped. As his eyes wearily fluttered shut, he missed the look of reluctant understanding which passed between his charge and Veassen. "All right, we are returning to the camp without any arguments. Despite the overwhelming urge to punish your idiocy today, I will wait until you have recovered and instead make up a sleeping draught for you, and… Linwë? Linwë!" As the auburn haired child pitched forwards, Veryatur scooped him up into strong arms, holding him as though he were an infant. "Perhaps you will not need that sleeping draught."
Resting his head against the muscular chest, Linwë fought to stay awake, but it was a battle he was swiftly loosing. "It was the…the truth, Ve. I am. Really."
"I know you're sorry," Veryatur murmured. "You always are."
With a long sigh coloured with all the pains and frustrations of a lifetime, he carried his sleeping brother through the trees and along the path towards the camp. The other children followed a few paces away, silent, afraid to break it. Veassen kept his eyes fixed unwaveringly upon the snowy floor, but one hand snaked up to hold his sister's. He thought for a moment that she might pull away, but he received a reassuring squeeze from the maiden and a gentle smile caught in his peripheral vision. They walked quietly underneath the boughs of snow-laden trees; and in the large clearing they had left behind, a sheet of ice cracked with a horrible shriek and broke up amongst the water, the very place where three Elflings had lain not long ago.
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Well, I guess I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed with the amount of feedback I got for the last chapter. One review (thank you, Vanafindiel) isn't really incentive to keep on writing and posting, which is partly why this chapter is so much later than usual. I just haven't felt motivated because I know people are reading because I look at the stats, but I have no idea what you think because I'm not being told. One would assume you like it as otherwise you wouldn't still be reading, but I could be very wrong in that assumption. Now, I'm not one of those authors who begs on her hands and knees for reviews, but if I can get just a little more feedback than I have been getting so far, I'd be very happy. It doesn't take long to leave a review, so if you do have the time, I'd be grateful for anything you have to say.
See you next time,
Misto.
