With Isen's Flow
Disclaimer: I only borrow the characters. I don't own them.
AN: One more chapter to go...and then the epilogue.
Chapter 12
The guards paused and stood at the middle of the throne room, keeping their grip absolute on Thranduil's arm, making him flinch a little. He had stopped resisting, knowing that he would only exhaust himself to achieve something he knew would not happen. The guards would not obey him—not since he was a traitor in their eyes—and his father, the king, would definitely want him before his eyes especially after his little stunt.
He glared at one of the guards holding him, demand burning in his eyes. He demanded to know where Thorin was; he had to see the dwarf for himself. He had to see him unharmed and the very prospect of anyone ever laying a finger on Thorin made his heart pound and churn with tremendous rage. The guard seemed unmoved.
All of a sudden, Thranduil's eyes widened with surprise when both released him. He twitched slightly, even opening his mouth to start asking for answers but before he could even do so, the guards swiftly turned on their heels and left, leaving Thranduil baffled.
Confusion swam in his orbs.
Was that ever so easy, he wondered, to be left unpunished after his heretic act? Surely he wouldn't be left standing alone to repent in his own guilt and shame?
The very thought suddenly made something to dawn upon him, freezing his heart with terror in his purest form.
Thorin! Were they headed for Thorin? Would he be kept alive just to witness his love being murdered?
Fear shone through his orbs, making them grow extremely small and dance in an erratic rhythm while his heart pounded ruthlessly against his chest. His hands trembled and his knees screamed, wanting to give up his entire weight.
At his left, a small sound was made, causing Thranduil to immediately snap his head at that direction. Once he did, the terror in his eyes melted into agony and his lips quivered screaming unspoken pleads to one he knew could avert everything should he wished to.
His father. The king.
Without any further delay, he scampered towards Oropher . The king's eyes flashed with a mix of emotions, all leading to some kind of rage or disappointment—Thranduil didn't know. He didn't want to at that moment. It didn't matter.
Oropher slowly lowered his arm which he had been keeping up in the air and Thranduil realized now why the guards had suddenly left. His father ordered them to.
"Adar, I beg of you!" He cried out, desperation unhidden and intense in his voice as he spoke. "I shall accept whatever fate awaits me but please let him go!"
After all, if his father had not have Thorin executed on spot when he had the chance, Thranduil could hope for some form of mercy, couldn't he?
He searched his father's face for some form of leniency. However, when Oropher's intense gaze fell upon him, Thranduil felt his blood curdling and freezing once more as his heart felt like being gripped by something strong and unrelenting.
"Listen to me Adar."
Yet he tried. Yet, he refused to give up. He refused to resign. He had done so once. Not anymore.
"It was I who had approached him. You have no cause to retain him. Let him go. I shall take his place as it should be."
He was quite astonished to find strength behind his voice—the same he had bore once when he was a prince and not some fragile glass doll. Oropher noticed it too for his stern gaze wavered for the briefest of moments before settling back to the unreadable mask he had on him in front of his subjects.
Thranduil felt a sharp pang in his chest.
Subject. He was now a subject and not a son. However, he shrugged it off for his mind was not accommodating any distractions. Thorin was his priority at the moment. Thorin was his concern.
He took a step and ascended up the stairs to the base of the throne where his father stood. Oropher's face flashed with indignation but he said nothing. He followed Thranduil's moves, eyes affixed on his son—intense and strong—determined to end whatever was started once and for all.
Thranduil came to a halt before his father. Suddenly, without any warning, his face twisted and he crumpled on to the floor, hugging Oropher's leg and shaking rampantly as wild sobs wrenched out of him.
"Please," he wheezed, "You were never so heartless. Never so cold. You always fought for what is right. Why change now?"
His sobs became more guttural and drenched with pain, echoing throughout the halls. It was as if decades of grief broke through the dam he had carefully crafted around his well of emotion after the demise of his wife.
Had he looked up, he would see a frown on his father's face and water in those emerald eyes but even so, Oropher spoke nothing. Not for a while.
Slowly, Thranduil's sobs died down. Quietened whimpers filled the hall, overridden by a dreadful silence which soon took hold of the entire chamber. Then all went still.
"Because this was never right," spoke a solemn voice at which Thranduil looked up trembling once more.
"But why!" At last frustration took hold of Thranduil as he released Oropher and stood once more, staring right at the other.
"Because it is not natural!" Oropher said, raising his voice before lowering it down seeing the startled look on his son's face.
"What? Love is not natural?" Thranduil countered, his eyes dancing with a flame he had long been keeping under cinders. At his brazenness, surprise and awe shadowed the face of his father.
Seeing his opportunity, Thranduil pressed on, "I have been devoted to my wife. I have forsaken my life after Fate had done hers and I have obeyed every single custom that I am to obey. But what custom is that which tells you to close your heart and keep love away? What custom is that which demands you to banish every chance of freedom or free will?"
"One that respects your better half!" Oropher shouted at last, stunning Thranduil to an astounding silence. "One that asks you to sacrifice and respect the purity you have been bestowed upon rather than putting forward your own selfish needs! A CUSTOM THAT DEMANDS YOUR LATE WIFE'S HAPPINESS!"
With those words, Oropher gasped out immediately and his eyes went wide as he realised the full extent of his comment. He said nothing more and simply stared at his son with a fearful gaze, wishing to take all that had escaped his mouth.
Thranduil for his part felt absolutely cold. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe and couldn't even comprehend what his own father had asked of him while he stared at the other with a scandalous look about his face. His lips trembled, his orbs danced and his knees once more felt so weakened that they almost threatened to make him drop indignantly before the king as he had done so before his own father.
"Thranduil," Oropher's voice was no more than a whisper—apologetic, ashamed and yet astute. He even took a step forward, reaching out to soothe his son. However, Thranduil flinched away as if he had touched something extremely hot and took a step back, shaking his head with disbelief and shock.
His father frowned in distress and tried very hard to undo whatever had been said. But it was too late. The damage had already been done.
"And what about mine?" Thranduil asked, barely managing to rasp out those words.
Oropher's frown deepened and his anguish was clearly written on his face—evidence of his shattering heart and unguarded shame of uttering things which no father ever should.
"It is against what we believe and abide by. It is unforgivable by the Valar. It is unconventional." Even though his father's voice was soft and more understanding, still it ached Thranduil's heart to know that even after everything, Oropher still took the side of his people rather than standing alongside his own blood.
His father reached out again but this time, Thranduil made sure to put greater distance between them— something he had never dreamt of doing in his entire life.
Oropher's face fell at the very gesture; his eyes shone with unshed tears but now Thranduil did not care.
"We make conventions," he responded in a dangerous calmness, "Not the Valar."
Then he turned on his heels and started walking away towards the only place he knew he would find his peace.
He did not once look back. He did not once take in sharp pain his father felt as embarrassment burned in his orbs of forest green.
It did not matter. Thorin mattered.
His father had made his decision. And Thranduil had made his.
AN: It is unbelievably short. D: Gahh. But it seemed like a good place to stop. Anyway, I will totally make up for it in the next chapter. Totally!