A.N: Sorry that this chapter took so long to update! I have had an absolutely crazy Schedule this past month and haven't had time to put pen to paper (or hand to keyboard). But I sincerely hope that this latest chapter was worth the wait!
Also, a heart felt thank you to RoB and CocoaB who took the time to kindly review the story so far!
RoB: I really appreciate your encouragement, and hope that you enjoy this chapter! I'm sorry to have scared you in the previous one, but also I'm glad that I managed to evoke that response! I'm glad that you're invested in the story, sorry I took a while to update and I hope you like this new installment!
CocoaB: Thanks for the encouragement, it is really appreciated and I'm sorry that your "very important things" did not get done… I get that feeling a lot! Again, sorry that it took so long to update and I hope that you enjoy this newest chapter!
As always, reviews are hugely appreciated and will always be replied to, whether privately or via an AN in the next chapter. And thank you to those of you who added the story to your favourites / story alert lists! It means so much more than you can know!
oOo
T.A 240, Eryn Galen, Lothron.
Thranduil sat in silence upon the sumptuous wooden chair in his office, his elegant hand tracing the rim of his glass in what appeared to be idle movements. He stared intensly at the liquid within; his eyebrows knotted together in frustration, mouth downturned in disapproval. Yet he would not allow the proud line of his shoulders to slump, and held his regal head high with pride.
The setting sun cast its final rays through the open windows; a blaze of burnt orange and crimson that danced upon the head of the golden King of the woodland realm so that his hair seemed to glow in splendour as a glorious mane. The usually cool alabaster of his skin seemed instead to thaw, and the distant, cold eyes almost melted.
Thus it had always been with Órelindë. Without trying she had been able to penetrate his defenses, ground him in the present when his thoughts wandered distantly. As they did now. He allowed them to stray, allowed himself to sink into the past. Allowed himself a brief moment of respite that he would usually deny himself. And he thought of his late spouse. He remembered the luxurious feel of her burnished hair between his fingers; could almost smell the lavender. He remembered the musicality of her laugh; the daring green eyes so full of mirth that saw into his very soul. He could almost feel her still beside him, and closed his eyes as he clung to the memory. Until the moment passed and he was once more in his office, not with his beloved Órelindë but with Elrond Half-Elven.
The lore-master did not intrude upon Thranduil's reflections, did not ask of the momentary softening of his features nor comment upon the sudden tightening of the King's hand upon the arm of the chair as he came back to himself. Instead he waited patiently, taking a small draught of the beverage before him. Sat before Thranduil in a position not unlike the King´s, Elrond was also deep in thought.
Their meetings had been terse to say the least; progress had been slow and jilted and, despite his best efforts, their alliance was no more certain than it had been upon their arrival. While their immortality allowed them the leisure of lengthy discussions and slow considerations, Elrond could feel that the mercucial woodland realm was much more volatile. Were they to leave ere a strong allegiance had been formed, he doubted they would be welcomed back a second time to persue negociations. It all rested upon this visit.
"May we speak openly, King Thranduil?"
The golden haired ruler stirred at the somewhat unexpected petition. Locking eyes with the Peredhel, he inclined his head slowly to convey his consent.
"You do not trust us." Elrond raised his hand in signal that he did not wish to be interrupted, forestalling any objections that may have been raised.
"You do not trust us." - He repeated, a gentle smile upon his face to show that there was no malice in his words. – "Let us be honest with one another. Each proposal I put forward is swiftly dismissed upon the least significant of grounds. I wish only to know why."
Elrond reached out with his gaze, holding that of Thranduil. He crossed his legs and leaned back patiently in his chair, waiting, knotting his fings together upon his lap. This time he would not be ignored or side stepped, he wished for answers.
Sitting back in his chair, Thranduil took in the image before him. Though not as tall as he, the Noldo was slightly broader due to his human heritage. Pride was etched into the ageless face, the authority mingling with the serenity, kindness and wisdom he was famed for.
"It is nothing personal, Lord Elrond. In this Kingdom trust is earned, and we err on the side of caution." Came the reply.
"I see." Elrond smiled. "And what would you have us do to earn this trust?"
"I beg your pardon?" Thranduil questioned, his eyes becoming frosty once more.
"What would you have us do? Would you have us embark upon a quest?" The tone of Elrond was light and he inclined his head slightly to the side, as though discussing something of little import.
"A quest? To what would that serve?" Thranduil's tone became harsher.
"You said that your trust must be earned, and I would hope to earn it." Elrond replied swiftly. "Perhaps we may go in search of the last Silmaril? That we may present it to you in exchange for an alliance as Beren was once charged."*
Clasping the arm of his chair with such intensity that his knuckles turned white, Thranduil made no other outward sign to the ire that rose steadily within his chest.
"You speak of foolishness and mock our caution." The words were spoken in a low tone, and Thranduil's eyes seemed to blaze.
"I do not seek to mock you, and ask your pardon for any offense you feel." Elrond bowed his head. "But I do, indeed, speak of foolishness." He continued.
"We agreed to speak openly. The reason for your mistrust stems not from caution or wisdom, and anything that I may do will, I fear, be insufficient to earn your trust. This wariness does not stem from the present, but from the sins of our forebearers." Elrond paused to allow his words to take effect, locking eyes once more with the King.
"You blame Gil-Galad for the death of your father, and by extension, you blame me." Elrond's words were spoken softly, and once more he paused as his words were absorbed.
The silence hung between the two, heavy it seemed to cast a shadow over the dying blaze of the setting sun. Thranduil's features were drawn with barely contained rage, his eyes alight with a cold, indigo fire and mouth drawn.
"You dare to speak of such matters." Thranduil whispered, his eyes never leaving those of the lore-master before him.
"You dare to enter into our Kingdom as a guest, to open old wounds and spout new accusations?" The King raised his voice, incredulous.
"I do not seek to cause you any harm, Oropherion, nor to make idle accusations." Elrond maintained his calm demeanor.
"Yet that is exactly what you have done!" Thranduil hissed, leaping from his chair in one agile movement to stand beside the window, staring without.
Elrond remained still, aware of the pain he had inflicted. He allowed Thranduil time, once more, to process his words. He made no move to comfort the King, knowing that the other's pride would reject any such efforts. Instead he studied the figure before him, noted the strong shoulders that refused to bow under such painful memories as must have been taking hold of Thranduil.
The minutes passed. Thranduil saw before him the empty throne his father once sat upon, the black adornments that bedecked the throne room in remembered seeing the standard of his father, not lifted high in the wind as it should have been, flapping and crackling in the breeze as a sign of hope and pride. He remembered it as he last saw it. Trodden into the dirt, bespattered with crimson liquid, soaked in it. He closed his eyes.
oOo
"Legolas, you cannot ride with him!" Elladan tried unsuccessfully to pursuade his friend to give up his grip on Findecáno. "Look at you! You can barely stand upright."
Legolas grimaced as he was reminded of his bruised ribs, but he would not relinquish his hold upon the young elfling. Gritting his teeth, he whistled once more wondering where his horse had wandered that he had not returned yet.
"Elrohir, talk some sense into him!" Elladan turned to his younger sibling, exasperated, gripping him by the shoulders.
Looking into his brothers eyes, Elrohir nodded his consent, covering the hand upon his shoulder with his own in a show of affection. The stormy grey eyes cooled, and he half-smiled reassuringly at Elladan.
"Find the horses, tôr nín, I will speak with our friend."
With that, Elrohir felt one last reassuring grip upon his shoulder before Elladan was gone. He turned his attention towards their injured comrade. Though strong and resilient, the injury he had suffered, exacerbated by the current, was taking its toll. He felt a sense of pride in his friend as he admired the head held high and shoulders set square despite the discomfort he obviously felt. He noted, also, the way that Findecáno clung desperately to his brother, unsettled by the experience.
He felt a shudder pass through his as he thought on it. Findecáno was not the only one troubled by what had almost come to pass. It had been too close for any of them to feel any sense of comfort as yet, least of all the poor elfling.
"My friend, let me help you." Elrohir strode towards Legolas, aware of the instantaneous stiffening of his shoulders.
"I told Elladan, I am fine." The usually sweet tempered elf replied short temperedly, holding his brother closer to him.
"I merely wished to aid you with your possessions, or perhaps you are loath to relinquish them also?" Elrohir replied calmly, allowing a small smile to break upon his lips.
Legolas sighed and turned his head towards the younger twin. He studied Elrohir for a moment, allowing a small smile of gratitude to grace his features briefly before nodding his consent.
"Thank you, Elrohir. Forgive me, I…." Legolas began.
"There is no need, my friend." Elrohir kindly interjected before stooping to collect the various ítems.
"Come, why not rest awhile as we await Elladan's return?" Elrohir softly suggested, himself dropping gracefully down to sit upon the green floor of the forrest.
"I would rather we make to leave as soon as possible." Legolas looked tired, but he stood determined.
"We can go nowhere without the horses. Save your strength for the ride back, meldir." Elrohir saw the indecision in his friend's face give way to acceptance, and watched with satisfaction as he sat down less elegantly than was his wont.
"Lift up your shirt." Legolas looked puzzled by Elrohir's words and raised one eyebrow.
"I wish to examine your ribs. Please, lift up your shirt." Elrohir was already by his friends side, broking no protest.
The golden haired elf sighed, and lifting a slumbering Findecáno gently to rest the darkling head upon his outstretched legs, did as he was bid. Elrohir reached out tenderly to gently stroke his hand over the purple flesh, noticing the sharp intake of breath this slightest of movements portended.
"I am sorry." Elrohir apologised, but continued to examine the area. Legolas sucked in his breath as he awaited the pain, focusing upon Elrohir's face. He saw the mask of concentration that crept across the Peredhel´s face, so at odds with the cheerful expression he had become used to seeing. He studied the grey eyes, the elegant nose, the lips parted slightly as he carried out his examination. He became so focused upon his own examination that he barely noticed the discomfort caused by his battered ribs. This was a different side to Elrohir. He had seen his skills as a warrior and was accostomed to the merriment afforded his friends. Yet it seemed he had also inherited his father's touch as a healer, as had Elladan. He wondered that he had not seen it before: the quiet compassion, the relentlessness, the patience, the calm in the face of overwhelming odds.
His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the quiet hoof falls of their four legged companions. He looked up, and could see Elladan return with the four horses. He smiled as Nodhoron whinnied and tossed his head, while Coleth broke into a canter, concerned for her fallen rider.
Findecáno awoke to the sound, and lifted his hand to stroke the chestnut nose of his mare affectionately as she obligingly dipped her head to meet him. As she gently nudged his hand, Findecáno allowed a small smile to creep across his face.
"Are you ready?" Elladan asked Legolas gently, holding out his hand in an offering of help.
Legolas nodded his head, smiling sheepishly as he recalled his dismissive behaviour towards Elladan earlier, and accepted the hand outstretched to pull himself to his feet, his other arm secured possessively around his brother's fragile frame. A small, pained moan escaped his lips as he moved.
Elladan stared intently at the pained elf before him, pinching his lips together in disapproval. This time, however, he held his tongue. With such a stubborn willed Thranduilion before him, biding his time may be the easier route to take, he thought to himself.
Said stubborn elf had taken it upon himself to approach Nodhoron, stroking the palomino gently upon the neck and whispering soothingly into receptive ears. Understanding Legolas´request, the stallion gracefully bowed first his head, continuing to his knees so as to allow the injured elf to mount with ease.
A grateful smile broke out upon the porcelain face, as he firmly gripped the whithers with one hand and with the other laid Findecáno delicately upon the steed´s back, preparing to follow himself.
A hand upon his arm forestalled him. "Meldir." Legolas turned to see Elladan, concern and understanding etched upon his features. "You are injured. Allow us to help you with Findecáno."
The flaxen haired elf´s immediate reaction was to deny the accusation, to refuse his offer. He wished to hold his brother to him, to feel the reassuring rhythm of his still beating heart, the relief of every breath of life that he took. He continued to stare at Elladan, knowing that he spoke not only as a healer, but as one of his closest and most trusted friends. He spoke the truth.
Seeming to sense the doubt crossing the woodelf´s mind, Elrohir appeared at his brothers side. Mirroring the same look of unease that his twin wore, Legolas thought how alike they looked in this moment; how easy it must be for someone unfamiliar with the brethren to confuse them.
He tore his eyes away from the pair to look down into the green orbs of his younger brother. They returned the gaze wearily, half closed and bleary, far from the usually bright and unsurpressable joy that shone from them.
Stroking his brother's cheek gently, Legolas once more nodded his consent. He was in no fit state to support him, it would be selfish to insist on riding with him just to balm his own tense nerves.
"Be strong, beren nín, the worst has passed." Legolas planted a kiss upon the smooth forehead of Findecáno, breathing in the smell of him and offering up silent thanks yet again that he had not been taken from him. And with one more adoring look, he silently handed the young elfling over to Elladan´s waiting arms.
The obsidian-maned companion smiled compassionately down upon Thranduil's youngest, hoping to offer some comfort. Although he could see the green eyes dim somewhat at having being taken from his brother, he watched with admiration as the young elf managed to turn the corners of his mouth at the familiar face above him. Despite all that he had been through, the innocence and purity of so fair a spirit had not been taken.
Elladan held him close in his embrace, stroking his hair in the same manner he had seen Legolas use just moments earlier. Locking eyes with Elrohir, he watched as his younger twin effortlessly mounted his steed, and stretched out his welcoming arms to take the precious load into his care. With similar tenderness, he lifted up Findecáno to meet his brother, stepping back to assure that Legolas had been able to mount himself before following suite.
With the three mounted and ready, Findecáno safely encircled within Elrohir's strong lock, and Coleth silently nudging her fallen rider gently, Elladan signalled to his horse to move forward and begin the journey home.
oOo
"Leave me." Thranduil did not turn away from the window, nor face Elrond as he uttered the words softly.
"Leave me!" Thranduil roared through clenched teeth, turning to face the Half-Elf.
Elrond looked taken aback, his shock at so primitive a reaction from the ElvenKing momentarily breaking through his vaneer of calm and reserve. Given the fresh hurt that emenated from Thranduil´s eyes and unusual slumping of the proud shoulders, Elrond considered acquiescing to his request. It had never been his intension to cause any pain or suffering, and as a healer he did all he could to avoid inflicting such pain. But the wisdom of his years and the counsel of his heart told him that if progress were to be made, the wounds would have to be opened in order to heal properly. And so he took a deep breath, and stepped toward the furious King.
Thranduil stared in consternation as the Elvenlord slowly reached out his hands in a signal of peace, bowing his head slightly in penetance. His eyes dulled; his fury subsided a small degree and, taking a deep breath, he turned his head away once more toward the window.
And so they stood, unmoving, for the longest time. Thranduil, eyes darkened and mouth grim, contiuned to stare out towards the forrest beyond. Lost once more in memories that had been shut away for years uncounted, festering in the corners of his mind. His father´s death plagued him still, and the resentment he felt towards those he held responsible seemed to twist and curl around his neck; like smoke that seeps, unbidden, to suffocate.
Once more Lord Elrond held his peace, and waited. He made no sound, no movement. He stood perfectly still: pacient and wise as the stream that wanders and deviates along its course, breaking it only to avoid objections. But running true, never the less, to meet the final destination and join joyfully with the sea. Now was one such moment. He may need to pause momentarily, bend ever so slightly from his intended course; but he knew that he would eventually find his way back to an alliance.
Eventually Thranduil gathered his strength, and slowly but firmly closed the door to the tumultuous past that seemed poised to threaten the present. He shook his head to rid himself of the melancholic thoughts that would overtake him if given free reign, and turned again to face the problem at hand.
"You are right, son of Eärendil. I do hold you responsable." The admission was starkly said, and hung in the air between the two.
For once, Elrond did not know how to reply. He was aware that a great step had been taken in convincing the King of the woodland realm to admit his true feelings, but he was not sure as of yet as to the cost. Thranduil was a selfless ruler, and would never willingly allow his personal feelings to infringe upon what was best for his Kingdom. Of that Elrond was sure. But did he see this alliance as the best option for his Kingdom? He still seemed unconvinced, and mayhap this unfortunate turn of events would lead him to consider the opinion of his chief advisor Iphannor. What then? With the majority of his own folk seemingly taking heed of the malicious gossip perpetrated by Oropher's old advisor, would this animosity prove the fatal blow to any hopes of an alliance?
"Forgive me, Lord Elrond. The day is nearly spent, and I am afraid that I feel the same." Thranduil began, dismissing the Lord of Rivindell. "You are welcome to take your leave."
The dark haired Lord regained his mask of composure, bowing in respect. "As you wish, King Thranduil."
With that, he turned towards the door. He was just turning the handle when a young elf came bursting through: heavy breathing, eyes wide with consternation, all decorum and manners forgotten.
"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty." The young elf began nervously, bowing low as the words tripped over themselves in their haste to leave his mouth.
Thranduil looked tiredly at the dishevelled youth, motioning with his fingers that he rise.
"It's Findecáno. There's been an accident. He's on his way to the palace now, Your Grace."
oOo
Glossary:
tôr nín – Brother (Sindarin)
Meldir – Friend (Noldorin)
beren nín – my bold one (Sindarin)
A.N: *The story of Beren and Lúthien is cited, wherein the mortal Beren falls in love with Lúthien; the daughter of Melian the Maia and the Elven King Elu Thingol, ruler of Doriath. Upon asking her father for her hand in marriage, he is presented with the quest of stealing a Silmaril from Morgoth and bringing it to King Thingol in return for his daughter´s hand, believing as he did that Beren could not possibly succeed and would, therefore, never be able to claim his daughter as wife. It is a story Lord Elrond would know well, as Beren and Lúthien were his ancestors.