Keeper 9
A slightly-early update because I was so far behind last week. I hope you're enjoying everything so far!
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It's a warm spring day when Thranduil finds me among my hives, collecting the first of the season's honey. I lift up my veil to peer at him as he crosses the garden. Before he's near I've turned back to my hives, too focused on my work to pay my king much mind. "Careful," I say over my shoulder. "They're angry."
One buzzes past his ear. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Thranduil freeze. I giggle.
"Just stay there for a moment."
He patiently waits for me to finish gathering the honey, then follows me to the small table in back of my cottage, where I prepare the comb for separation. He sits on a rickety stool. I do not pay him much mind, though I do note his attire – simple blue tunic, plain brown leggings, and soft boots. He wears a sword, but nothing else beyond his father's white stone ring. It's a very plain outfit today, none of the usual pomp and circumstance. He's also being quite pensive – though it is not unusual for Thranduil to be silent.
"What brings you to me, my lord?"
At the formality, he frowns. "The palace felt stuffy. I longed for some air, a walk. My feet lead me here."
I do not quite believe him. Rearranging my jars, I tilt my head. "That seems to happen a lot, my friend. Does something trouble you?"
"I am well, Caladhiel," he assures me. "Simply a little tired of staying indoors. I'm king of this realm, I ought to be out in it. Among the people and the trees. I cannot be so disconnect from it…." He drifts off, gaze straying to my hands.
"No one doubts that you care for the Greenwood," I sooth. As I speak, a bee lands on my shoulder as if he, too, wishes to watch me work.
The king sighs. "I hope. Enough of me, Cala. How fare you? How fare your bees?"
"Oh, they are contented. Unhappy that there are not nearly so many flowers as last year, but we had a harsher winter, did we not?"
A few land upon the creeping ivy along the wall just before me. There are pink flowers, and they steadily collect pollen, going from blossom to blossom. I eye them for a moment, pausing in my work before turning back to the comb.
"They're doing well enough. If they keep populating at this rate, however, I may have to install another hive. Not that I mind. They're getting quite anxious for space, I think."
"You speak as if they can communicate with you," he remarks.
"Well, yes," I answer lamely. "They kind of can…in a manner of speaking. I suppose if you're around any kind of creature long enough you sort of pick up on their cues and moods…they may be insects, but they're just as tempered as any other kind of living thing. They're funny, really."
"How so?"
I shrug. "They're just very…aware. Sensitive, I guess. They know, by instinct, where in the forest to find flowers year after year. When a less-than-mild season is upon us, they've quite good at stocking up in advance. It's quite curious. They've got a certain level of awareness, I suppose."
Thranduil twists his lips. "You are quite enraptured with them."
"I cannot help but be so."
"It is no fault."
I smile into the comb I am currently cutting. "I am glad that you think so."
"You did not ask my first question; how do you fare?"
"I…" I hesitate for a moment. "I am doing well. Feeling a touch restless. I've been thinking, lately, of journeying to Lorien for a spell. The Wood is…calling me. I've felt unsettled here, lately."
The king frowns. "Lorien? By yourself?"
"I can quite manage, Thranduil," I reassure him. "'Tis nothing that a hundred elves before me have not managed. It isn't a terrible journey, by any means. I'll have to cross a lot of forest, yes, but it is your land. I have no fear."
"Which is perhaps foolish," he answers warily. "It is not an easy journey for one to make alone. Besides, what would you do there?"
Again, I shrug. "I know not. Only that I wish for a bit of distance. I've never traveled. I think, perhaps, that now is the time. Visiting Lorien would be a nice start. I have a few cousins there –"
"When would you do this? For how long?"
His demanding tone gives me pause. It is unlike him – at least, unlike him when it is just the two of us, and he is not acting as king.
"I don't know," I reply slowly, packing up my tools. I've got four good jars of clean, pure raw honey of a lovely sunny hue, the color of the dying rays of an evening sun. As I speak, I start for the cottage. "I was thinking perhaps leaving in autumn and staying through the winter. I'd need to be back in the spring – oh, do not frown so! It is only for a season."
"I do not like the thought of you out there alone," he murmurs, opening the door I cannot manage with my full arms. "Particularly among elves that are not of my house. They of Lothlorien are friends, make no mistake, but they could not protect you as – as I might."
Stunned, I turn to him after setting my jars and tools on my scrubbed table. "Protect me from what? I need no protection, you goose."
He hesitates. "Those who would look down upon you for your blood, Cala."
Now I am well and truly surprised. "Thranduil, if anything, those outside of these woods would be far more accepting of me. I mean, look at Celebrian and Lord Elrond! Celeborn allowed his daughter to marry a half-blooded elf with no hesitation, surely his kingdom would be more welcoming to those of my blood."
"Elrond," Thranduil gave a sudden sneer. "Gave Celeborn more than a few reservations, the least of which being his blood-status. Which did not help."
I recoil. "Thranduil," I say softly. "I've heard that the most blood-hating comes from your realm. Your people. I'm given to wonder if they do not take example from their leadership."
He reddens. "Of course not," he snaps. "I care not what's in your blood. You are you, not what runs through your veins."
"You may say that," I agree. "But what tolerance is shown?"
"Do you not recall how we met?" he asks, frowning. "I was defending you from that brute, at the festival –"
"There have been other brutes. You cannot protect me from them all. At least in Lorien, I doubt there will be nearly as many." I bite my lips. "Mayhaps I'll go on to Rivendell. It would be heartening to be in the house of another who shares my burden of being half-elven."
"One who allows his tainted blood to blind him? Man-and-dwarf-lover," the king hisses. "You will find little solace there, Caladhiel."
I stare. This venom is unlike my friend. My voice barely above a whisper, I ask, "Is this what you would see me protected from? Those who senselessly hate the half-elven? People like you?"
"I do not speak to hurt you," he replies calmly. "You must understand, Elrond, he's gotten a streak of something so purely human in him, it has ravaged his reasoning, his logic. He is soft for them –"
"The only crime he's committed in your eyes is being allowed the choice of immortal life or a mortal death." I turn from him, hands curling to fists, which rest against the surface of my table. I require some steadiness, stability. "I think you ought to go, my lord."
Silence falls between us. Then, Thranduil's hands fall to my shoulders, working to turn me to face him.
"Cala," he says, eyes flashing. "Have you made the choice? Have you decided which life you shall led?"
When I do not answer, his eyes grow wide.
"You haven't?" he whispers. Something like rage is bubbling in his chest. I have only seen him this upset once – in the camps at Dagorlad. "Why would you delay – surely you –"
"I do not yet know my answer," I finally reply, just to shut him off. "But it is my decision to make; I do not wish to answer lightly."
"It should not be a difficult choice!" he says fiercely, grip tightening on my shoulders. "Life, Cala, life!"
I reach up to remove his hands from my person. "I think you should leave, my lord. If you stay much longer, I fear one of us may say something they shall regret – though, you may have already beaten me to it."
"Not until you are fit to see reason –"
"You are not in control of my life or my decisions!" Rounding on him, I seethe. "You may be king of this forest and all who reside in it, but you are not such a monarch over my every choice. I will go to Lorien and Rivendell if I wish it, and I shall make my choice on the matter of my mortality when I feel secure in my choice. Now, please," I choke for a moment, tears welling up in my eyes and a sob in my throat. "Go, my lord."
He reaches for me for a moment, hand extended as it he wishes to stroke my hair. But he pulls back, eyes trained on my face with such a look of shock and disappointment that I am forced to look away, lest I burst into tears. It would not do to weep in front of him.
Without another word, he slips out the door. I do not wait to watch him disappear into the forest, but instead scramble up to the loft to throw myself upon my bed, where I weep freely and loudly into my pillow. To be faced with such blatant hate from some I considered friend…more than a friend, even….
I curl into myself, letting my pillow absorb the fat tears racing downing my cheeks with each shuddering sob. In no time, I've cried myself into an uneasy sleep.
-xxx-
Frustration wells in his throat as he tears through the trees mounted on Erphalagos, who is living up to his name. "Noble storm of wind."
He'd been waiting, curiously, just beyond the treeline past Cala's parcel. Thranduil, weary and a little shocked from his upset with his friend, was vaguely pleased to see the stag. Walking back would not be so terrible, but he feels strangely stiff after the encounter. A ride might be good for him. If anything, it would save him an even longer journey on foot. Or so he assumes.
They ride for what feels like an age. Thranduil suspects that the stag has independently decided that his master requires further air and rides on – they could have returned to the palace nearly an hour ago, but it appears they're taking a longer route. He is not paying much mind to steering, trusting the creature to get him home safely. Though, it now appears it shall be a more scenic journey. He cannot bring himself to mind.
Never before has he seen Cala so close to tears. She looked ready to collapse when she insisted he leave her cozy cottage. Thranduil, just as shocked, was not feeling particularly emotionally stable himself. He couldn't understand. How did they get so heated so quickly?
He had arrived with a short temper, true, after spending all morning in with his council. Not all of his advisors were necessarily of his choosing, which meant that Thranduil often found weary after several hours of incessant bickering. There was some kind of wall between himself and a faction of the council. They simply could not communicate effectively. On his ride to Cala's, he had been pondering this, so he arrived already unhappy. Then to hear of her ambition of leave the Greenwood…to go to Elrond's realm? For an entire season?
Hearing her admit to being undecided on the choice of her mortality had just been icing on the honeycake. "How can she not know?" he wonders. "Tis a simple choice. Life. Life."
But Cala didn't see it that way – she had an entirely different, seemingly illogical perspective on the matter. Some how, she reasoned that the option of passing on, dying willingly, leaving him, was not such a terrible notion. The mere thought cause Thranduil to ball his hands into fists so tight that, had he not been wearing gloves, he would have certainly broken through the skin with his nails.
"Foolish girl," he whispers.
Erphalagos snorts, tossing his head as though in agreement. The king stroked the grey-brown neck of his mount, feeling a little calmer as he took several deep, chest-aching breaths.
"She'll see," he reasons. "In time."
But even he, King of the Greenwood Realm, was not certain if he believed those words.
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Shorter chapter, but important! A little Thranduil to boot. Don't fret, things will come together….eventually.
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