AN: Sorry that this chapter took so long to write and that, yet again, there has been a great lag between updates. I can only apologise and blame work and social commitments.
That being said: Happy New Year! I was determined to get a new chapter up before the year was through and have succeeded in doing so by the skin of my teeth.
As always, I sincerely hope that you enjoy this latest installment. Any comments or reviews are always warmly received.
oOo
T.A 240, Eryn Galen, Lothron.
"Leave me."
King Thranduil did not wait to see that his wish was granted, instead taking the only seat at the bedside and gently lowering himself into it as he allowed the last remnants of his mask to fall away. Clasping one small hand within his own, head bowed in gratitude and relief, shoulders slumped in exhaustion he was a far cry from the fearless leader his subjects had come to know and love.
Looking into the sleeping face of his youngest son, he took a steadying breath as the horror of the events earlier that day washed over him. How could he have possibly come so close to ruin without having known? Should he not have been aware? Did he not have some connection; some innate fatherly intuition that would alert him should anything befall those he loves?
Fate had been kind to him this day, he knew. Sending another silent prayer of thanks to the valar he looked out of the window and across the gardens without, watching the retreating back of the elf who had helped to save his son. Perhaps it was good fortune alone, or perhaps something more, but never had he been more thankful for the lore-masters presence.
oOo
"It's Findecáno. There's been an accident. He's on his way to the palace now, Your Grace."
Time seemed to stand still. Thranduil stood, reeling, as his mind attempted to comprehend the incomprehensible. He watched as Elrond headed purposefully towards the door; his own limbs, suddenly heavy, were uncooperative. He stared down at his own renegade flesh, immobilized as he was by disbelief.
The opening of the door pulled his attention away from his own incredulous position. He locked eyes with Elrond, saw his hand upon the door handle, and wondered at his haste. Just moments before he had been adamant that he would not leave this room, somewhat brusque considering the law-masters usually patient nature.
And then the connection was lost. Elrond looked down, taking a small step towards the missive standing awkwardly between them. He noticed the doubtful look that had taken hold of the young elf's face; his discomfort. A few whispered words were spoken, though Thranduil knew not what the Noldo had said, and with the smallest of nods the door was closed behind the messenger as he left.
"Come, Thranduil, take a seat." Elrond was speaking softly, guiding him into a chair.
The law-master turned his back as he began to search through cabinets, Thranduil's own private cabinets, he thought to himself hazily.
"Drink this." Elrond must have found what he'd been looking for, thought Thranduil as he passively accepted the small vile handed to him.
Barely had the King looked at the bottle before he drank, compliant as he was.
A head appeared before the King, much closer than it had been. Elrond. His eyes were full of sympathy and concern, but something else lay there. Urgency.
"How do you feel?"
The question seemed odd, why would Elrond Half-Elven be asking such a thing of the woodland sovereign?
Something of his confusion must have made itself known upon the king's face, judging by the barely audible sigh that managed to escape Elrond's otherwise composed semblance.
"Your Majesty, it is important that I am delayed no further." Elrond seemed impatient.
"Findecáno requires my attention, now tell me: How do you feel?"
The question was more pressing this time, and at the mention of his youngest son Thranduil felt the mysterious liquid work to dissipate the lead that seemed to have taken hold of his limbs, sensed his mind begin to clear of the fog that had appeared so suddenly.
Findecáno. The accident. He had to go to him.
Elrond must have seen something satisfactory, for with a curt nod he offered his hand in assistance of the golden monarch and gently pulled him to his feet.
The walk towards the healing wing seemed interminable, and Thranduil could feel his heart beat in his throat. Having regained his senses, he strode proudly through the halls: shoulders square, chin high, glacial eyes as pervading as the frost itself; the only outward sign that something was amiss was the tightly clenched fists by his side.
Turning the corner he could see that the door was already open, and within he could see the hurry of healers as they were informed of the situation. Among the familiar faces of woodland elves he could see the raven tresses of two who did not belong there.
Anger flooded his veins: what part had the Peredhil played in Findecáno's current predicament? But upon seeing the pale body of his youngest son laying atop the crisp linen the King felt his passion evaporate, as a fire duly doused, replaced by concern and fear.
"Father."
It was Legolas. His usually shining hair clinging to his face, his lips naturally turned up in mirth instead looked strained, and his eyes normally brimming with merriment sparkled rather with restrained tears.
As Thranduil made his way to his son's side, arms wide to offer the solace they both so obviously needed, he was aware of Elrond taking control.
"What happened?" The lore-master addressed his sons.
"He fell into the river. Legolas followed after him, but by the time we had him on dry land he…" Elladan stopped mid-sentence, looking unsurely at the two royals.
"He had stopped breathing." Elrohir stepped in, one hand reaching up to comfort his brother and resting protectively on his shoulder.
"Only Elladan's tireless ministrations brought him back to us." Elrohir's eyes never left those of his twin, compassionate and succoring.
Thranduil felt the nausea take root in his stomach. Looking into the ashen face upon the bed he wished suddenly to open his eyes, to sweep him into a tight embrace, to feel his heart beat to ensure that he was still with them.
"You did well, both of you." Elrond's voice was deep with pride as he gazed lovingly at his offspring.
"We will speak more on this later, but for now I need to check that there is no lasting harm done."
And saying so, the renowned healer bent carefully to examine the elfling before him.
oOo
Touching one hand to his cheek, Thranduil was surprised to feel the wetness. Rubbing the salty emotion between his fingers he was unaware of the other presence entering the silent room.
"How do you fair, my King?"
Although caught unaware by the unexpected arrival of his councilor, Thranduil did not show any sign of surprise. Straightening in his chair he turned to address his most trusted advisor.
"I, myself, am well Iphannor. As is my son, if that was your intended query."
Bowing slightly, the lithe elf took a moment to recover his composure.
"It was indeed, Your Majesty. Forgive me, the shock of it all seems to have robbed me of my eloquence."
Meeting the eyes of the straightening elf before him, the king inclined his head slightly in acceptance of the apology, before turning once more to stare at his son.
Again silence descended upon the place of healing: a contemplative respite for the king however for Iphannor the pensive moments seemed to stretch into an uncomfortable quiet.
Clearing his throat, the advisor thought to break the spell that had descended upon them.
"I heard tell that the Peredhil twins were involved directly in your misfortune."
Truth be told, Iphannor was not exactly sure what the king's reaction would be to his barely veiled accusation, however his own discomfort and impatience had won over his reserve.
"So I have heard also. Although that part of the story has yet to be told in full."
Unsure as he had been as to Thranduil's reaction, he had not anticipated this seemingly unimpassioned response, and was rather taken aback by it; so unlike the mercurial nature of his leader as it was.
Recovering his composure, Iphannor swiftly countered:
"Of course. However we have to consider the possibility that their actions directly resulted in the occurrences of today…"
Ignoring the cold stare that had been directed towards him at this latest conjecture, the advisor quickly continued.
"Do you not find it alarming that they have been here less than a fortnight, and already their presence has brought harm upon your own son?" The advisor all but demanded, moving closer to his King. "I do not mean to rub salt into any wounds, my King, but I warned you that it was a mistake to invite…."
The councilor's outpouring was abruptly cut short as Thranduil stood to his full, impressive height; seeming to tower over the other elf.
"Enough." Icy blue eyes stared with a coldness that would surely be sufficient to undo any mortal.
"But, Your Highness…" Iphannor attempted unwisely to continue, the arrogant stridence in his voice now replaced with trepidation.
"You overstep." At this, the king moved away from his son's bed, taking hold of the advisor's arm and steering him, mouth agape, towards the door.
"I have yet to learn the full extent of our guests' doings in what occurred this day." At this, the newly unsure advisor once more took heart, his eyes regaining their gleam as he imagined the burden falling squarely upon Peredhil shoulders. "However, I do know that they were at least responsible for saving my son."
Iphannor blanched and looked for a moment as if he may argue against the validity of his king's claim, but soon as he came to his senses he decided against the wisdom in doing so, instead grinding his teeth.
"I see." The terse reply forced its way between his clenched jaws.
Thranduil examined his councilor closely. He noticed, not for the first time, the angular makeup of his face; the hawkish eyes; the severe nose. He would have been an attractive elf, thought the king, if not for the arrogance and acerbity written upon his features.
"I thank you for your visit, councilor. You are free to go."
There was no mistaking the dismissive tone to the king's voice, and with a begrudging bow the advisor finally took his leave.
oOo
Formal robes billowing behind him like a malign shadow, face drawn in anger, Iphannor stalked down the quiet corridors in solemn contemplation of this unforeseen turn: what had, at first, seemed to him to be a stroke of great fortune may very well prove to be his undoing.
Centuries uncounted he had been privy to the innermost thoughts and doings of not only this king, but the father before. Not a single council, nor hearing, nor negotiation had been taken without his esteemed presence. Never had a decision been made without his consultation. Wars had been declared, fought and won; treaties and alliances had been made and abolished; and the one constant through it all had been the advisor himself. Long had the King welcomed his council; trusted his apprehensions and followed his skeptical, distrustful nature. Iphannor was as close to reigning Taur Galen as any elf outside the noble bloodline could hope to be, and had been sure in that knowledge for as long as he could remember.
Yet here now was Elrond Peredhel: threatening the basis of that security; infiltrating the King's mind with a mantra of goodwill and trust; seeking the replace Iphannor himself as honoured confidant and, outrageous as it was, equal.
"Father!"
Hurried footsteps fast approached as the heavier figure made his way towards the councilor.
"Godon, what brings you to this part of the palace?" Iphannor inquired, extending his arm frigidly to welcome his son in a small embrace.
"News travels fast in this kingdom; are the rumours to be believed?" A smile broke out upon Godon's face.
The elder elf lowered his head and examined his only son. Though not as tall as his sire, Godon was unusually heavily set for an elf. He would never pass for a man, of course, but the muscled dexterity of his solid limbs leant him a more earthly appearance.
"I dare say that they are, in part, though I know not that this will be to our benefit." Iphannor spat, as he felt the anger he had been harbouring rise once more.
The confident grin was struck from the face of Godon, as his eyebrows pulled together in a sign of confusion.
"But, how can that be? If the tales are true than any involvement those Noldor had is grounds sufficient for the end of these preposterous negotiations!" He all but barked, indignation soon taking hold of the dark elf's face.
Smiling bitterly, Iphannor shook his head. "I fear that our great king has fallen under the Noldo's spell."
Wide eyes met his statement. The advisor held his gaze steady as his son searched his amber orbs, seeking his father's certainty to steady himself at this unexpected revelation. He did not have to wait long, within moments his son's own chestnut eyes hardened as he recovered his composure.
"That is troubling indeed."
Godon bowed his head slightly, arms crossed, as he brought one hand up unconsciously to gently stroke his chin as he so often did in concentration. He began to pace, the light footfalls sounding inaudibly upon the cold stone floors and carrying soundlessly through the halls.
Iphannor waited patiently once more, his urgency doused by his son's calming presence. Though his initial reaction had been made in haste, a mistake which he bitterly regretted for having failed to hide his tempestuous emotions from King Thranduil, he found that his resentment and loathing were beginning to take form within his mind; unfurling their tendrils as they took ravenous hold.
The pacing stopped.
"What do we do now, father?" Godon asked, as a warrior would seek instruction from his captain: shoulders unbowed, chin lifted in defiance, hands clenched by his sides.
Iphannor laid a conspiratorial hand upon his son's shoulder: "We do what we must. For the good of the realm."
Nodding in agreement, his son echoed his sentiments:
"For the good of the realm."
oOo
Glossary:
Eryn Galen – Green wood
Lothron – May (Sindarin)
