This alternate ending was written in response to Spellweaver10's comment that the original ending seemed rushed. I wondered, as per their comments, if the story would work better with a longer ending? After writing this ending, I admit that I prefer the shorter one, although perhaps this version ties up some loose ends you may have been wondering about. Really just emotional background which, sometimes, a story can do without and not suffer all that much for the loss. Let me know which ending you prefer? Its' a useful little experiment! Thanks dear readers :)
-QBS
18 Months Later
Isobel adored springtime in Fangorn. The forest floor was blanketed in white and blue flowers. Clean cool water flowed from the mountains creating delicate silvery streams that nourished the trees and medicine life. The animals around her shook off their winter malaise and hungrily feasted on the new grass and leaves.
Everywhere she looked she saw the beating heart of Yavanna. Insects chased each other with sensual choreography and birds sang to their partners and babies. It seemed that Isobel was the only creature in the forest without a mate, but she was far from melancholy.
She could look back at the autumn she'd spent north with newfound perspective. She had loved both elves honestly, but had treated each carelessly. She knew that now. But she neither berated nor lamented her actions. She had been taken far from the life she'd known and done her best to adapt to a new environment. While she was not without regret, particularly in terms of the pain she'd inflicted, she respected the desires of both partners to live without her.
She had struggled with the black reputation of her family and even now she wondered about her uncle from time to time. But Haldir had helped her to see that it was natural to wonder about her family and that it did not mean her own heart was malicious. She was grateful to him for freeing her mind of this worry, and for teaching her that she was worthy of love.
And finally, despite her distance from Lorien, she felt a sense of belonging. Galadriel's smile had warmed her soul and awakened a sense of power within her. Power to live her life without worrying what others thought and to simply feel a part of life both in Fangorn and in the elven realms. For the first time in her life, she felt that she was enough.
She knew she wouldn't stay in Fangorn forever, but for now, she was happy to just BE, and to exist alongside the other forest creatures, the trees and the waterfalls.
She walked along a deer path that led over a ridge of trees. It had rained and the forest was shrouded in a soft mist that sparkled like diamonds in the rare sunbeams that penetrated the tree tops. She carried an armful of fresh watercress, dripping down her dress.
She had used the cottage throughout her first winter after returning from Lorien and found that after her stay in Mirkwood, she liked the security of four walls, and so she remained there throughout the seasons, although on particularly hot nights, she still took to the ancient flets to sleep naked among the cool green of the upper canopy.
But the truly hot days of summer were at least another month away and there was a slight chill in the air. As she walked she hummed a pretty elven song that the Mirkwood soldiers had taught her on their march from Dol Guldur to Lorien. It reminded her of something her mother used to sing when she was an elfling.
She happily threaded her way down rocks made slippery by the rain, and softly leapt onto the cottage path below. Suddenly a flock of birds ascended from the trees nearby and she froze, listening carefully, straining her eyes to detect movement.
She crept off the path and up another slight ridge that overlooked her home. Keeping low, she crawled up the embankment and peered over. Had it been later in the season, the thick brush would have obscured her view, but the trees had not yet filled in and she had a clear view of the front of her cottage.
There he rested, on a large rock about 30 feet from the front entrance.
Dressed in green and grey hunting clothes, he sat casually with one knee to his chest and the other dangled down. He leaned back into the sun with a smile and his silver blonde braids shone. He had placed his bow on the ground and the sun caught on the metal sword around his waist.
Her breath caught as he removed his boots and sword, and wiggled his long toes, clearly enjoying the feel of the cool stone under them. She smiled. So he planned to stay awhile. She tilted her head to the side as she studied him. He looked so young, so happy – his face free of worry. The time apart had done him well, as it had her.
She stood up and began to make her way down the hill towards him. Alerted by the sound of her footsteps, he turned around and his face broke into a wide smile.
They stood staring at each other, drinking the other in.
"I see you've brought lunch," he said, his eyes taking in her wild hair and short white chiton, and finally resting on the dripping watercress in her arms.
"I thought you'd be hungry," she returned as though she had seen him every day of the last 18 months. But her glistening eyes gave her away.
He bit his lip. Was he trying to hold something inside? Then he shook his head - it was no use- and finally opened up. "I couldn't do it, Isobel. Nothing has felt right since you left. You brought a light into my life, and since you've been gone, the days have been long and grey." Here he paused to take a ragged breath and run his hand through his hair. "I was unforgivably cruel to you when you needed me most, and I am so sorry." He bowed his head then looked up at her through thick lashes, his eyes earnestly pleading with her to accept him.
She stepped forward, wanting to comfort him but feeling suddenly shy and uncertain of what to do. "No," she shook her head, smiling despite his intensity. "I needed to hear it, all of it. You were right about everything. It is I who am sorry for hurting you as I did."
They looked at each other awkwardly and there was an air of embarrassment between them until finally he spoke. "Well, that is a great relief," he gave her an almost shy smile. "I had worried about coming here alone - leaving my host behind – in case you were still mad at me."
She broke out into relieved laughter.
He took a step forward, his chiseled mouth taking up the humour in his eyes. "Permission to approach the enemy please my lady?"
Happy tears stood on her lashes. Without another thought she dropped the watercress and stepped forward into Thranduil's waiting arms.
"I think we have a lot talk about," he murmured into her hair, his arms tightening around her. She smiled in response, rubbing her cheek against his tunic and inhaling his scent deeply. Nothing felt as good as being in his embrace. Nothing felt more natural. How she had missed him! His hand pressed softly on her lower back, almost tentatively, pulling her hips into him and a fierce longing rose in her belly. Her heart began to race. Not yet, she told herself. Take your time. With a deep breath, she stepped back and looked up at him, taking in impossibly blue eyes framed with dark brows. He looked down at her with such desire that it was all she could do to not rub herself against the length of his warm body like a cat, but she ignored the urge and instead offered him a wry smile.
"Yes, I suppose we do. Come inside."
The King was still for a moment, his eyes languidly traveled down the length of her body and back up finally meeting her gaze with a quirk of a smile that sent a shiver down Isobel's back. A single eyebrow slightly raised, he nodded. "After you."
They passed through to the small cottage and Thranduil sat down gracefully at the small wooden table while Isobel dropped a handful of dried flowers in a kettle of water and placed it in the fireplace to boil.
The silver haired king looked around with an amused smile.
"It's not a palace," Isobel said wryly and sat down on the other side of the table.
"No, it not," he agreed, "but it suits you. Your rusticity."
She chuckled softly and nodded, her gaze taking in the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, the mess of sketches and paintings strewn around, and the white cotton sheeted cot in the corner with its gauzy netting and soft pillows. She tried to see it from his perspective. Compared to the glamour of Thranduil's Halls, it was rustic indeed, and she was suddenly embarrassed.
"If I were free to do as I pleased I would live just like this," he said suddenly and she stilled, smiling quietly as she gazed outside the cottage window. Leave it to Thranduil to know exactly how she was feeling.
Feeling more relaxed, she returned to the table and sat down. Her eyes met his and the two elves grew quiet as the time spent apart began to reassert itself. Finally, Isobel looked away and Thranduil cleared his throat. Then he leaned forward and rested his strong hand over her own, bridging some of the emotional distance.
"I have come to see how you are and to ask you some questions."
She inhaled deeply, at first trying ignore the warm energy that flowed from his hand through to hers, but realizing with a small smile that perhaps she didn't need to ignore it at all. Why else would he be here if not to declare himself? Perhaps she could embrace it, embrace him as a partner and a lover, just as he had said the night of her escape...
Stop it, Isobel, you are way ahead of yourself here, she thought. Focus on what's happening and assume nothing. It had, after all, been a long time.
He watched her patiently until finally she spoke.
"I am well, thank you."
He raised a disbelieving brow.
She blinked and offered a small smile. "Well, I am well now. At first it was very hard. I missed Lothlorien and Mirkwood. I was angry, and ashamed, and lonely. I would have given anything to be welcomed back." She noted the hard set of his jaw and recognized it for what it was: a rare exhibit of guilt. Although she now understood that it wasn't the guilt that was rare, merely Thranduil's revealing it. She leaned forward. "No, Thranduil, do not feel badly – you did the right thing. It was hard, my coming back alone, but the peace of the forest soothed me and helped me to sort through that strange autumn. I was very confused and very foolish. I acted like a child towards all of you. I couldn't see it then, but I see it now."
He smiled sympathetically. "Do not let your thoughts linger on hindsight, Isobel. You have suffered once already. No need to suffer twice. I think that, had I been more detached, I could have recognized your behaviour for what it was: naivety and culture shock at being thrown into life at court, and rebellion at going from a life under the canopy of trees to a confined cell. But it would seem that, with you, I am utterly incapable of detachment."
He held her gaze for a long moment and he did not look away until the kettle began to sing. Isobel rose quickly to pour the tea.
"Isobel, would you happen to have anything stronger?"
She lifted the kettle from the fire and placed it on the counter to cool. Then she quirked a smile in his direction and reached for the flagon of wine in the corner, poured two glasses, and returned to the table.
"Perhaps not the quality you're used to."
"It's all in the company, my dear." He swirled the glass and took a long sip. "And Haldir?"
Her head shot up. "I have not seen him," she said quickly.
He cocked his head and regarded her carefully. "I know that. I wondered how you feel about him now."
She looked away, her cheeks colouring slightly. "I feel regret for mistreating him, for misunderstanding my own feelings towards him. I don't think I will ever stop regretting that. I did love him, and perhaps had things been different, had I not met you... but I did meet you, and I do not wish there had been another outcome, if that's what you wonder."
He snorted quietly and looked away with a wry smile. "I suppose it is," he admitted. He swirled the ruby liquid in his glass and let out a heavy breath. "I am glad that you do not pine for him. However right his justification, I cannot forgive his hurting you." His voice took on a steely edge.
"That sounds almost irrational," she said with a serious face although her stomach jumped with an unbearable lightness at his protectiveness.
His face broke into a grin and he shook his head. "Indeed, I blame your influence, Mistress Fangorn."
She returned his smile and to her surprise, he began to look nervous. His fingers mindlessly traced the scar on his cheek, and he glanced back down to his wine, taking a deep breath before speaking.
She understood that this was a vulnerable side of the King few had ever seen. Perhaps his son had, perhaps Tira, but she was certain none else. Her heart swelled with love for him and a feminine desire to comfort him and soothe the raw edges of his loneliness. She placed her free hand in lap to remind herself to stay seated, quiet, and to hear him out. He looked up at her with a heartbreakingly sad smile.
"I too have regrets, Isobel. When you left Lothlorien, you had wanted to return to Mirkwood and I ungraciously refused you. I was angry, bitterly angry, at your relationship with Haldir, and that, despite it, I could not let you go. We left Lothlorien only a few days after your departure. Once back in the Kingdom, I tried to forget you, but everything reminded me of you. I knew that my son was upset you had not returned with us – that I had refused your request - and his upset cut deeply for it was the other edge of a knife I myself had sharpened. Then one day, I was walking down the hall from the stables - you will recall there is a row of paintings, I remember you admiring them on your return to Mirkwood that night." She nodded. "On the wall was a new painting, a great white stag. It was the one you had been working on that day. The day you escaped like a wild animal and I had to retrieve you. After that, I began to see your paintings everywhere. It seems that my son was determined that I not forget my rashness. But it was a point well-taken. I had been home but a month and I knew I had to return for you."
She furrowed her brow. "But that was...how long ago?"
"16 months and one week past,"
She shook her head slowly. "But why wait so long? I would have received you…"
He leaned forward. "I knew you needed time to heal and work through your experiences, Isobel. Face your family history, work through the horrible death of your uncle-" she winced slightly and he touched her hand. "I am sorry to raise it. I knew you needed time to think about what you really wanted, my giving you that time was the only way I could be sure of your answer."
Hope surged in her chest. "Answer to what?"
He took a deep breath. "What I really came all this way to ask you is if you'd still like to return to Mirkwood. I know much time has passed, and I cannot assume that—"
"Yes! Yes of course Thanduil! And I shall have your friendship again?"
He chucked and shook his head. Then he sat back in his chair and took a long drink of wine. Isobel noticed a slight tremble in his hand. He abruptly rose and walked across the room to look at a painting on the wall. He smiled, recognizing the scene as the front entrance to his halls. Then turned back to the table, his face deceptively calm, although Isobel sensed a current of emotion under the façade. He remained standing and tilted his chin a fraction, his kingly countenance fully intact.
She looked up at him and was reminded of the first time she had met him on the dias. Even in a tiny cottage, Thranduil's presence was profound.
"Isobel, I forget how little you know of society. I am a King, and I have no need to travel this far to secure a mere friendship. My interests here go much deeper.
She rose. The scrappy fighter within her needed to meet him on equal ground. "Your "interests"?"
His face softened and his chin lowered. He extended his hand and, when she took it, her drew her close to him.
"Come back to Mirkwood," he said, searching her face. "Be my wife, my queen, I swear to you Isobel, I have such feeling within me, if you would only let me show you…" To her astonishment, he lifted her hand to his heart. "Marry me, meleth nin."
She pulled away. "But… you said you cannot remarry."
He pulled her back to him. "I can do whatever I want, and I want this. Marry me."
Tears stood on her lashes as his words sunk in and she looked into his earnest face. Suppressing a combination of laughter and tears, she nodded and he embraced her joyfully, his own eyes brimming.
"Of course I will return with you," she replied through tears and kisses. "I will always return to you, Thranduil, for so long as you want me…" She laughed again, nestling her forehead in the curve of his neck and he chuckled softly, wiping her tears away with his hand.
"And marry me?" he clarified, taking nothing for granted.
She grinned and kissed him. "How about one step at a time?"
"No Isobel, daughter of Halir from the House of Eol. We have each waited long enough. It is time for you to surrender to what is being offered. Let me be your friend," he kissed her jaw, "your partner," his lips moved up to her temple, "your lover," he kissed her forehead, "and your husband," his tongue traced her bottom lip coaxing a sigh from her. "Surrender to me, meleth-nin. Be my wife. Say it now."
She paused, her mind spinning from the touch of his lips and the proximity of his warm body. Was she still fighting the big fight? Battling attachment at every turn? Her actions and words may be more gentile than they'd been two years ago, but he was right. He had come back for her twice now, he may not do so again. If anyone was most deserving of her surrender, it was this beautiful warrior king standing in front of her. All she had to do was find the courage to take the risk. She took a deep, stabilizing breath, then looked up him, her gaze open and unwavering. Leaving her past fully behind, she smiled and said 'yes'.
Within moments, Thranduil was embracing her, showering her face and neck with passionate kisses that she joyfully returned. "I have missed you Dark Elf of Fangorn. As of this moment, you are my Dark Elf of Greenwood. Live as you wish, provided you live by my side."
She silenced him with another kiss.