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Chapter 13: Impulsive
Not long after having moved into the palace, Narylfiel made it her business to explore the Elvenking's halls. Of course, she had been taken on a tour of sorts by Galadhor, the king's chief of staff, which was all very well if you only wanted to know where the grand dining hall and throne room were. Needless to say, the young elleth spent days upon days canvasing the winding paths of Thranduil's halls; it became one of her chief delights and greatest pleasures, only to be exceeded by the time she spent in the king's own company, in which many occasions she would report back to him all that she had seen. He knew all of which she had to say, naturally—it was his own home after all—but her excitement to share her discoveries soon became the highlight of the king's tea time.
On one such outing Narylfiel came upon a closed set of tall doors at the far end of a long hall on the southern side of the palace. The elf maiden looked around and behind her and then carefully tried the overly large door handle. It was not locked, so she nudged it open, just enough to let a beam of light from the hall strike across the dark room. What she saw inside stole her breath away.
A bevy of portraits twice her height gleamed rich with color and detail on the walls. Narylfiel cautiously crept inside for a closer look. At first she mistook the largest one on the opposite end of the hall for King Thranduil—the elf in the picture looked so similar, with the same golden-white hair, the shape of the eyes, and yes, even the eyebrows—but little differences made Narylfiel guess that the elf in the picture must be the former king, Oropher. The painting was so artfully done that Narylfiel wondered why such beautiful pictures would be hidden away. Then she saw another painting across the room, only someone had draped a cloth over it, which had partially slid off.
Ever the inquisitive elf, Narylfiel immediately went to it, peeked under the cloth, gasped, and then pulled the cover completely off. Now this was undoubtedly a portrait of the Elvenking, and Narylfiel marveled at how lifelike—how real he seemed—as if the elf in the picture might turn and look at her any second. The painting Thranduil, however, was not looking directly out from the picture. No, his gaze was drawn to another figure in the painting, an elleth so achingly lovely, so exquisite in feature and form that Narylfiel found herself staring. She was Thranduil's queen, Legolas' mother. Narylfiel thought she had never seen any elf so beautiful, but even so, she found her eyes drawn back to the king and the look in his eyes. It was clear that he absolutely adored her.
"Narylfiel." A voice from the door made her turn, and she sheepishly met the friendly eyes of Galadhor.
He came into the room, shook the dust from the cover and replaced the cloth back over the portrait. His eyes briefly scanned the portraits in the hall as if reminding himself, and when he turned to address Narylfiel, she thought he looked a little sad.
"Narylfiel, you are a member of the king's household now. He would want you to feel welcome anywhere in his home, but the Hall of Portraits has been closed away for now," Galadhor said. His eyes were kind, but firm.
"Is it okay to ask why?" she inquired in a small voice, taking the hand that Galadhor offered to lead her from the room.
"Our king has lost much…" his voice trailed away as he pulled the door shut, and this time, produced a key and locked it. "This room held too many memories. King Thranduil did not like to be reminded."
Narylfiel sucked in her lower lip. Poor King Thranduil! He was too good, too wonderful to be unhappy. She vowed right away to cheer him up. Then casting her long-fringed brown eyes back up to Galadhor, she asked "But what about the queen? What happened to her? She is so beautiful!"
Galadhor only shook his head and countered, "I would ask you not to speak of her, Narylfiel. Especially do not mention her to the king. There are some things which are better off forgotten."
And that was how Narylfiel learned not to speak of the queen. When she later joined her king for tea, and Thranduil inquired if her explorations turned up anything remarkable, she only shook her head 'no.' It was the first time she willfully kept something from him.
But not the last.
November, 3018:
Thranduil swung open the door, eyes glittering coolly. "Could you knock louder, dwarf? I do not believe they could hear you in Gondor yet."
The dwarf, wearing a very silly hat, took a step back and then narrowed his eyes at the Elvenking. Thranduil was almost sure it was the same impertinent one from yesterday. If only all dwarves did not look the same!
"King Dain requests the honor of your presence in the Council Chamber," the dwarf announced.
A muscle ticked in Thranduil's jaw. He would much rather not go, thinking of Narylfiel warm and blushing by the fire, but alas, the sooner he met with Dain, then the sooner they could be on their way.
"Lead the way then," the Elvenking said austerely. Even in his plain traveling clothes, he could still intimidate and if last night's interview with the dwarf king had ended embarrassingly thanks to Narylfiel's interruption, Thranduil could take control of the situation today. His relationship with the dwarf king had dramatically improved since the days of the Battle of the Five Armies, but it would never hurt to remind the dwarves how dangerous wood elves could be…diplomatically, of course.
Bofur and Thranduil turned the corner in the wide stone hallway and were intercepted by another dwarf with a strangely marked bald head, who stood taller than Bofur.
"Well met, Dwalin," Bofur greeted him merrily, and Thranduil barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at the pair's enthusiastic greeting which included an over-abundance of uncouth pounding on each other's backs. "We are just on our way to the Council Chamber."
"Where is the she-elf?" Dwalin inquired stonily. "Dain expressly asked that she attend as well." Both of the dwarves turned and looked expectantly at the Elvenking.
Thranduil swallowed a groan. Of course, Dain would want her there. Narylfiel had already proved herself most entertaining at their last encounter. "She rests and should not be disturbed," he told them firmly.
"Our lord commands it," Dwalin said. He had the nerve to turn and go back down the hall toward the elves' rooms.
Thranduil reminded himself that these dwarves were beneath his notice; he refused to let himself become upset at their insolence. The dwarves stopped at the room, the one arranged for Narylfiel, across the hall from the Elvenking's and pounded at the door. Thranduil smirked. Now if only Narylfiel would not open the door from his room to see what all the commotion was about.
"As I said," Thranduil told them. "She rests. She was very ill from the poison."
Of course, Narylfiel chose that exact moment to poke her head out the door from Thranduil's room.
"Oh!" she exclaimed to see the dwarves' surprised faces and Thranduil's less-than-pleased one. "Hello again!" she greeted Bofur, stepping out into the hall. The open door revealed an obviously slept-in bed.
Both the dwarves exchanged glances. Bofur's eyes darted to Thranduil and then back to Narylfiel, taking in her rosy cheeks and tousled hair. The dwarf frowned at the Elvenking. "Are you feeling better, my lady?" he asked politely.
Narylfiel smiled and shyly glanced at her Elvenking. "Yes, thank you."
"King Dain requests that both of his elven guests attend his Council Chamber," Dwalin said, his posture rigid, glaring up at the Elvenking through his bushy eyebrows.
"How delightful," Narylfiel said, but her enthusiasm faded as soon as she glimpsed the firm set of her king's mouth and his cold eyes.
The king's Council Chamber was grandly appointed in a hall of immense stone columns and flying arches. A cluster of dwarves all flocked around one end of an enormous table with tall angular chairs that gleamed with gold accents. They all straightened and returned to their seats upon the entrance of the elves into the room, and Dain sat imposingly at the end of the table. His hooded eyes gleamed when they caught sight of Narylfiel coming in behind Thranduil.
"Ah, lassie!" he crowed and beckoned for her to come forward to him. "Are you feeling much repaired now?"
Unsure, Narylfiel met Thranduil's eyes, and he gave a small nod. She moved from his side and when she came to stand next to Dain's opulent seat, Narylfiel informed him that the blood grass medicine left her feeling quite improved and she was so very grateful for his majesty's hospitality.
Dain nodded, his bearded mouth curving into a smile. "Glad to hear it!" he told her, his voice warm, but his eyes hardened when they looked upon the Elvenking. "Now to business," he instructed, motioning for his guests to take a seat at the far end of the table on the opposite end from his advisors. "Let us speak candidly, King Thranduil."
Thranduil waved his hand dismissively. "By all means, please do so."
Dain continued. "Several months ago, some of our people left for Rivendell. Lord Elrond had called for a council."
Thranduil nodded. "My son also attended that meeting," he said.
"Even so," Dain allowed, "we had a curious visitor this summer, before the meeting—a shrouded figure in a black cloak. He offered peaceful terms from Sauron himself; if we could give him information about the hobbit that once travelled with Thorin's company, then we would receive his lord's favor."
Thranduil arched an eyebrow. This was news to him and boded ill for the hobbit, whom the elf remembered quite fondly, even if he had helped his prisoners escape! The little fellow had a good heart, better than most in these dark times.
"Lord Elrond believes war is upon us," he told Dain, standing to reach toward the map spread across the table. "We have already been attacked on our southern border." He languidly pointed to the locations of the most recent attacks.
Dain frowned, his dark eyes meeting Thranduil's. "Lord Elrond believes…but what do you believe?"
Thranduil sighed, his fair face troubled. He was immensely fond of clever speeches, but in this moment, he could only speak plainly. Sauron, rising again to power—the memory of his father, slain in the mud of Dagorlad, and for what end?—no, for once Thranduil abandoned all pretense in the company of dwarves, and his usually melodic voice was not so melodic.
"Even now the enemy tests the strength of our borders. Someone, also a cloaked figure, has been buying large quantities of poison in Dale, poison that has been tested on both our peoples." His eyes drifted to Narylfiel and softened, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Dain. "Yes, it is only a matter of time." He looked up resolutely. "But the Woodland Realm will be prepared, and our defenses will not fail. The elves will hold the South, if Erebor will defend against the East."
Dain nodded thoughtfully as his advisors burst into noisy conversation about the Elvenking's proposal. The East was a dry and forbidding land, and its people, fierce warriors. Yes, it could be a distinct possibility that the Easterners could ally with the forces of Mordor.
In the midst of all the discussion between the advisors, Dwalin, to Dain's left, gestured angrily to the Elvenking. "He cannot be trusted to keep his word, King Dain! He has no honor!"
Down the table, Narylfiel heard Dwalin's loud whisper and gasped. "You know him not," she declared fiercely, her brown eyes widening at the insult.
"I know enough," declared Dwalin to the table. "Any man or elf that would take advantage of a young female in his charge is without honor!" Beside him, Bofur nodded darkly.
"I hardly need to explain myself to you, dwarf," Thranduil answered coldly, his posture going rigid.
"She was in his room. Slept in his bed!" Dwalin hotly informed the council, and Thranduil stood, ready to leave. He would not stay to be insulted by ill-bred dwarves.
Narylfiel, however, was livid. "Take advantage!" she scoffed. "Of course I slept in his bed, but only so he could perform a healing trance with my feä."
The dwarves were collectively horrified. "You've got no business touching her feä!" Dwalin shouted at Thranduil, jumping from his chair to point a meaty fist at the elf.
Dain barked out a command in dwarvish, effectively silencing the room, and the other dwarves returned to their seats. He repeated it directly to Dwalin, who glared at Thranduil and huffily sat back down.
"Your business is your own, Elvenking," Dain said, "however…inappropriate. We can still be allies. Erebor will hold against the East."
Thranduil could not leave fast enough. He gave King Dain a brief version of an elven bow. "Come, Narylfiel," Thranduil said, glad that his hair covered his ears and neck, both of which were probably bright red. Mortified, in this case, would not be strong enough of a word.
Moments later in the stables, Narylfiel voiced her surprise at the confusion in the Council Chamber. "I don't suppose they understood what feä meant, Thranduil," she said meekly after the king lifted her onto the back of his horse.
"No, I do not suppose they did," Thranduil agreed amusedly as he checked the horse's tack. At least now he could see the humor in the situation, now that some fourteen dwarves were not staring him down like a debaucher of young innocent women.
"What did they think I meant?..." Narylfiel wondered under her breath, and Thranduil heard her and laughed, and the dwarves in the stables all halted their business at the sound of it—laughter, from the Elvenking—rich and merry, and so unlike anything they had ever heard or known of him. From the main door, Bofur heard his laughter and smiled a little, as if a question he'd been wondering about had just been answered.
The ride from Erebor to the Elvenking's halls could not be easily made in a single day's journey, and Narylfiel was secretly glad. She liked having him all to herself and feared that she might lose whatever ground she had gained with him during their trip, but those fears were slightly assuaged when they stopped and he helped her dismount from the horse into his arms. Of course she was completely capable of dismounting on her own, but she certainly was not opposed to him helping her, especially if such help ended in his embrace. He held her to him for a minute before pressing a kiss to the top of her hair and slowly letting go.
"Narylfiel, what am I going to do with you?" he wondered aloud.
"I can think of a few suggestions," she teased, and he shook his head at her as he left to collect enough tinder for a small fire. Narylfiel enjoyed watching him. For a king, he was surprisingly handy at living off the trail. When she mentioned this to him, he reminded her that he had not always been king of the Woodland Realm. Once upon a time, he had enjoyed other pursuits like traveling and hunting. In fact, he immensely preferred those happy occupations over stuffy councils.
"I still cannot think of the dwarven war meeting without shuddering," he admitted as he pulled a bedroll and a blanket from their bag. "You cannot just blurt out whatever wild thing pops into your head, Narylfiel."
"I know," she said, chagrined, "but I could not stand to hear them malign you like that." Narylfiel took the items from him and spread them out on the ground. They had found a relatively dry patch beneath the trees to rest that was relatively sheltered from the wind gusting down off the mountains.
Thranduil sat down with his back resting against the tree and stretched his long legs out across the blanket. He then patted the spot next to him for his lady to join him. "It just takes practice, Narylfiel," he assured her, putting his arm around her so she might lean into his shoulder. "If you are going to be queen one day—"
Narylfiel stiffened immediately and cut him off. "What? No!" she said automatically.
Thranduil regarded her carefully, the glow from the fire bathing her face golden and warm against the cold night air. "My little spark," he said, "ever impulsive… Have you not considered what bonding with me would mean?"
"Well…" her voice trailed away, as her eyes darted up to see him studying her, the faintest amusement curling up the corners of his mouth.
"I am the king, Narylfiel," he reminded her.
"I know that—it's just not the first thing I think about when I'm with you." she told him. She stretched her hands out in front of her and studied them, how plain they were—showing the beginnings of calluses from her time in the guard—certainly nothing like queen's hands should be.
Thranduil saw her look at them and frown, and suddenly he remembered her ring, the one he had given her so long ago. He had found it on her dresser after she had run away, and now he pulled it from his pocket. Taking her hand in his, he slid the ring onto her finger and met her eyes. "I could guess what you are thinking right now, Narylfiel, but I would rather you tell me."
She drew in her breath at his gesture, and the pink returned to her cheeks. Still, she did not speak at first and instead looked away. Thranduil could tell she was thinking, even if he hardly knew of what; he could tell by the way she worried her lower lip. He had seen her do it before many times over and knew better than to press her for an answer.
She lifted her eyes to his and said: "Don't I always tell you what I'm thinking and probably too often at that? But right now, I hardly know what to think—I'm a jumble of thoughts, not least of all that I am not exactly queen material." She admired her ring for a second, wondering how it had come to be in his possession. He always surprised her, and it was usually his attention to the little things that she appreciated about him most. "I—" she hesitated, bit her lip again—"I just want to be with you."
"I want that too," Thranduil's reply was automatic and a little grave, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "But it comes with choices, choices you may not wish to make. We would marry. You would be my queen, and that is not an easy decision, certainly not one you should rush into making."
Narylfiel shook her head, wanting to reassure him. "I do not care about any of that, Thranduil, not if it means—"
He cut her off. "You say that now, but I would not have you walk into this blindly, not understanding the full cost to you personally."
Her king was so very serious, and a little dejected too, as if he thought she might change her mind once she weighed the issues. Narylfiel thought better of joking about having nothing to lose, since he already fired her from the guard. Instead, she reached for his hand, pulled it to her lips and kissed the tips of his fingers.
"As you said then," she consented, even though she hardly meant it. "I will do some serious thinking first."
Thranduil nodded, pleased that she agreed so easily. His little spark was known to be stubborn from time to time. "When we return to my halls, I will convene the elder council. I will let them know my intentions, that I plan to court you, that I plan to remarry."
Narylfiel groaned a little. "The Elder Council?" They were only the oldest, driest, stuffiest elves in Middle Earth.
Thranduil tilted his head as he regarded her, his dark blue eyes catching the firelight. "They are very wise, Narylfiel. They will not begrudge me this happiness," he said softly and added, "not that I need their permission."
"Rivenion once told me if I kept eating so much jam on my toast that I would be hard-pressed to find a 'willing bridegroom to raise me,'" Narylfiel said drily of one of the council members. "His words exactly."
Thranduil covered his smile with his hand a fraction too late.
Narylfiel punched him in the arm. "It's not funny at all!" she cried. "He does not like me. Not even a little bit."
Rubbing his arm with mock-indignation, the Elvenking adopted a more serious expression. "Now, Narylfiel, I'm sure that he only told you that when you were very young."
She folded her arms. "That was last month."
"Well, you do eat a worrisome amount of jam," he teased, "but I'll be sure to let him know that jam happens to be one of our shared passions."
She arched an eyebrow. "One of our shared passions? And what might the others be?" She leaned a little closer.
Thranduil smiled broadly, a rare thing in its brightness; it was almost dazzling. "I have a few ideas," he said, his voice softening as he drew a long shining strand of her hair between his fingers and pressed it to his lips. He gave her a wicked look. "But I can't have my dwarven critics thinking I'm corrupting you."
She blushed at the reminder but recovered enough to quip, "Ooh, if only they knew that I dream-kissed you first."
"I thought you said dream-kisses do not count," Thranduil reminded her as he wound the thick silk of her hair around his finger and tugged her closer, and then a little closer.
In their shared space, she suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to think at all.
"I noticed something," he whispered next to her mouth.
"What?" Her heart pounded so loudly she thought she said the word aloud, later she would not be sure.
"There's mistletoe growing in the branches of this tree," he said, his eyes leading hers up to the branch hanging above them.
Narylfiel only had enough time to remember how much she had wanted to kiss him under the mistletoe last Yule, because in the next moment, Thranduil pressed his lips to hers, warm and gentle. After a beat, he pulled away and tenderly grazed his thumb across her cheek as his eyes searched hers, for what she did not know. He opened his mouth as if to tell her something and then thought better of it and kissed her again, hesitantly, carefully moving his lips against her own. He was a king and conqueror, but there was nothing forceful about this—it was a slow burn, controlled, and a little part of her wondered what would happen when he lost control. Even so, fire thundered in her chest and then burned straight down through her hroä. Thranduil just kissed her. He was kissing her right now and holding her in his arms, and Narylfiel thought she might just fall apart into a thousand little pieces, but for the warmth of his embrace and the way his mouth felt on hers, his breath, his lips, his hands.
When he finally pulled away, Thranduil's eyes were dark with something undecipherable and ancient as he regarded her, smoothed her hair away from her face with a little bit of an unsteady hand.
"Kissing you," he said, finding his voice, "I still feel our bond, and I know I ended it, but it's there as plain as anything." He laced his fingers through hers and held onto her hand tightly.
"Perhaps you should kiss me a few more times to be sure," Narylfiel said, not even sure how she managed to speak at all.
"Perhaps I should," Thranduil agreed, and he did.
Then he settled his arm around her and held onto her until the fire burned low and the snow continued to fall.
Author's Note: Well... no interruptions this time! Happy Holidays! (and give the gift that keeps on giving- Please Review, Follow, and Favorite!) ;)
Thranduil: #LuckyMistletoeSmooches
Narylfiel: #Finally
Oh! and on a side note, please go check out my new one-shot "Because It Was Real"! I wrote it after watching The Battle of Five Armies as a coping mechanism! Legolas leaves to find this mysterious Strider character his father mentioned. Go read!