Chapter 36: Support

A knock sounded on the door. Its music was unfamiliar to Caladhel, but it was clear Daerel knew who stood beyond in the hall, for she sprang to her feet and rushed to answer the call.

"Mother!" The word sprang from Daerel's lips as she swung open the door.

"Daerel." Lady Gwendeth wore a look of reproach, but before she said more to her daughter she greeted Caladhel with a small bow. "Lady Caladhel, forgive my intrusion."

"Please, Lady Gwendeth, come in," she gestured for the Lady to enter. "I hope you are well this day."

"I am, indeed," said Gwendeth mildly before returning her attention to her daughter. "You were meant to be home two hours ago, Daerel."

"I am sorry. I lost track of the time."

"You have left Onethron waiting. You know he dislikes it when you are late for your lessons."

"It will not happen again. I promise." The child turned apologetic eyes upon Caladhel, not wanting to appear rude for rushing out.

"Run along," Caladhel said, shooing her off with a wave of her hands.

Daerel bowed hastily and departed, leaving her mother behind shaking her head.

Caladhel had only spoken with Daerel's mother a handful of times before, but never privately. Lady Gwendeth was a high-ranking lady of Thranduil's court, a niece of Iordor on her father's side. She was also a quiet elleth, sparing with her words, unlike her daughter. Yet despite their differences, mother and daughter shared the same deep blue eyes, a lovely shade, or so Caladhel thought. While the color was the same, their expression was not, for age and wisdom lay behind the Lady's gaze, and a serenity young Daerel lacked.

"I do hope she is not overstaying her welcome," Gwendeth said.

"Not at all," Caladhel assured her. "She is a sweet child. I enjoy her company."

"She forgets her manners sometimes, despite all my efforts."

"She is still very young." A smile tugged at edges of Caladhel's lips. "I confess to hoping she does not soon outgrow her exuberance."

Gwendeth accepted Caladhel's kindness with a nod, and afterwards, her gaze swept over the Queen's quarters.

Caladhel followed Gwendeth's eyes around the room, recalling in that moment how long ago it must have been since she had last been invited inside. "Would you like to sit? I was about to have tea."

Gwendeth accepted Caladhel's offer graciously. "Thank you," she said, and followed her to the sitting room where a pot of tea awaited them both. "I have not set foot in these rooms since Queen Naerwen sailed."

Caladhel was not surprised. There would be no reason to enter these rooms with them vacant. On the matter of Naerwen, however, Caladhel could not quite contain her curiosity, having wished to learn more about Thranduil's mother since she first arrived.

"Did Queen Naerwen like to entertain?"

"Not really. She was a quiet soul, but she disliked being alone. These rooms were most often filled with other ladies' chatter."

"You are the first lady of Greenwood's court to call upon me in these rooms," Caladhel admitted, "other than Lady Beleth and your daughter, that is."

Gwendeth grew visibly uncomfortable at Caladhel's words, though it was clear she had not meant them as an accusation. "Several of the ladies have spoken of calling on you here," she said in way of apology, "but we were unsure if you would welcome the company."

Caladhel understood the ladies' hesitation, having herself hesitated to invite anyone to visit her here. "I should have extended an invitation sooner," said Caladhel in an attempt to reassure, "though I admit to feeling awkward inviting others to share Queen Naerwen's private chambers. I am a guest here, myself."

"More than a guest, I think," Gwendeth replied.

Caladhel answered Gwendeth's suggestion with a shy smile and a nod of her head. Silence fell between them, amid which they both took a sip of their tea. Gwendeth broke their silence with an offer. "Linnariel loves to play her harp for the court ladies, but she has not done so for many months. I can arrange for a performance here in your rooms if you like."

"That would be lovely."

"For us as well."

Caladhel took another sip of her tea before wading into a subject she had long wished to address. This seemed as appropriate a time as any. "If you don't mind my asking, whom would you invite?"

"Why? Are there some ladies you would not wish to attend?"

"Quite the opposite," said Caladhel. "I have noticed that Lord Iordor's wife does not attend the sewing circle. Nor do the other Silvan wives of your Sindarin lords. I have met them only when accompanied by their spouses. I wondered if there was a reason, aside from chance, to explain their absence."

Gwendeth's gaze fell to her teacup. She took a sip, then another, buying time to gather her thoughts.

Caladhel read her discomfort easily. "If you find the question too uncomfortable, I will ask Beleth."

"No…I… it is only that I consider Queen Naerwen a friend."

The apology in Gwendeth's voice was unmistakable, but unnecessary. Caladhel understood the Lady's reluctance to speak ill of her friend, so she ventured to share what she already knew in hopes it might lighten Gwendeth's burden. "I have heard it said she did not care much for the company of Silvan elves."

"That is true, my lady. She tried so very hard to forget all our people had lost in Beleriand, but the Silvan were a constant reminder. I never heard her speak a cruel word to Amariel or any of the Silvan ladies, but nor did she invite them to attend her private gatherings. I do not know why Beleth has not extended an invitation. I doubt it malice on her part. I suspect it simply never crossed her mind."

"Well, I should like to invite them," said Caladhel, "though I suspect the invitation would be best received coming from me."

Gwendeth nodded her agreement. "I will let you know the details by tomorrow." She took another sip of her tea, and as she did a curious expression spread across her face. It bore a familiar air of mischief Caladhel recognized from her time spent with Daerel.

"What is it?" Caladhel asked.

"I hope you will not think me too forward."

"I can make you no promises of that. I can tell you I have been chided more than once for being too bold. No scolding ever stopped me."

Any reservation Gwendeth might have had in speaking was banished by Caladhel's jest. "I wished for you to know, the court is delighted by our king's delight."

Caladhel read the truth of it in Gwendeth's eyes, but still she wondered if that were not the whole of the court's opinion. "Are there no dissenters?" she asked.

"If you had come to Greenwood in an earlier age, there might have been. Once there were many who had hoped they or their daughters would prove a match for our king. There was a time my father wished that I would marry him."

"Was that your wish as well?" Caladhel asked.

Gwendeth shook her head. "Pardon, my lady. I do not wish to offend."

"I am not easily offended," Caladhel assured her. "Speak as you will."

Despite Caladhel's assurance, Gwendeth was careful with her words. "For as long as I have known him, I have found Thranduil cold, unnerving. I was relieved he showed no interest in me."

"I understand," said Caladhel.

"He is different with you, changed even from when you first came to our halls. His transformation is nothing short of miraculous."

Caladhel bristled at the Lady's reference to the unnatural. It was a reminder of Túven's prior accusation. "I have cast no spell on him, if that is what your people fear."

"Apologies, my lady. That was not what I meant." Gwendeth shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of Caladhel's gaze. She sought for other words to better explain her meaning. "We do but wonder how so great a change in him was wrought in so short a time."

Caladhel understood well the court's curiosity. She was as surprised as they by Thranduil's change of heart. And while Caladhel knew the secret behind the King's transformation, she would not betray him by revealing too much. She did, however, wish to allay his court's concerns.

"Thranduil was in great pain from the injury he sustained upon my failed attempt to escape him. His guard was down and so was mine. We met each other again, as if for the first time. We spoke truthfully to one another, as an ellon and an elleth, not as a captive and a king. That was the beginning."

Gwendeth was unsurprised by Caladhel's revelation, for it was no less than she had suspected all along. "I told my cousin it was the arrow. Haldor claimed it struck Thranduil's shoulder, but I suspected it nicked his heart."

Caladhel laughed lightly at Gwendeth's all too accurate guess. She would have said more, but an urgent knocking at the door interrupted their conversation.

Caladhel rose to answer the call, and when she drew open the door an unfamiliar face awaited her in the hall. "Warden?"

The ellon greeted Caladhel with a bow. "My lady, I bring word. Your uncle is returned to Greenwood. Our scouts report he will arrive by nightfall with the King of Lothlórien."

"Amroth is with him?"

"So the message from Lord Iordor claimed."

"Where is the King?"

"He called a meeting of his council. He will come find you after."

"Thank you."

The warden bowed once again before he hurried off down the hall. Gwendeth had already joined Caladhel at the door, having heard the warden's announcement from the parlor.

"I do not recall when King Amroth last visited Greenwood," said Gwendeth. "Perhaps eight hundred years past. His coming suggests an urgent matter."

"So it does."

"I will find Lady Beleth. She will surely require assistance preparing a welcome."

"I will come with you," said Caladhel, and together they hurried out the door.

Thranduil dismissed his lords and they each left to fulfill their assigned task. Túven was at the door when Thranduil beckoned him to remain behind.

"Lord Túven, stay a moment."

It had been weeks since Thranduil had last seen his uncle. Túven had taken to sending messengers to carry out their daily correspondence. Thranduil allowed his uncle the time he needed to nurse his wounded pride, but there was no room for such gestures now, given the company that was soon to arrive.

When the room was empty of all but Túven and his king, Túven shut the door. "My king," he said, addressing his nephew with all due formality.

"You have been avoiding me these last few weeks," said Thranduil, who chose to speak directly to the point.

"You made it clear that I am no longer welcome in your sight."

Thranduil could not quite hide his surprise at his uncle's misjudgment. "If I wanted you banished, I would have banished you."

Túven weighed his nephew's rebuttal. He conceded it true, or, at least, true enough to concede the argument. "What can I do for you, then, my lord?"

"You can share your thoughts with me, as you have before."

"The last time I shared my thoughts, you did not care to heed them."

"And I may not heed them now, but I would hear them just the same." Thranduil poured a glass of wine for himself as he said this, and held a second out for his uncle.

Túven took the offering from his nephew's hand. He swirled the liquid around the walls of the glass, it clung to the sides of the goblet, thick and red. He did not drink, for the sight soured his stomach. "I am… surprised Amroth would come himself to answer our request."

"Surprised? Why?"

"He could have sent Celeborn alone, or another of his generals. I do not know what he gains from coming himself."

"Perhaps he gains nothing."

Túven shifted his attention from his goblet to his nephew. He had been watching Thranduil closely during the council meeting and one thing had been clear to Túven from the start. "You were not surprised by word of his coming."

"No, I was not."

"Why?"

Thranduil took a sip of his wine while gathering his thoughts, which he knew would displease Túven greatly. "I would name Amroth a friend," he said at last. "And even if the King of Lórien did not hold me in like regard, he loves Caladhel as a sister. He would see our forest made safe for her, if for no other cause."

"And you?" Túven asked.

"And me, what?"

"Do you choose this path for the sake of your people… or for her?"

It was a fair question, so Thranduil thought, and he had but one answer. "In my heart, they are the same."

Túven's expression darkened measurably, but he remained silent until whatever unpleasant rebuttal had sprung to mind was suppressed. At last, he muttered, "I pray you are right about Amroth."

"We will soon find out."

Thranduil could see his uncle struggled with something else, something more he wished to say. He was feeling surprisingly generous at the moment, and given his uncle's unexpectedly reasonable behavior, he offered him the chance to speak his piece. "Have you something more to add?"

Túven stood with pursed lips while he turned the question over in his mind. "I cannot…" he began, but stopped short to change course. He exhaled deeply. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly in defeat. "I find myself in the minority with regards to your decision. The court is pleased by your choice of Caladhel."

"I am glad to hear it." It was no less than Thranduil already knew, but hearing his uncle acknowledge the court's opinion was a surprise all its own.

"They wish you joy," said Túven, "as I do, as I always have…" here Túven paused, unsure how his final thoughts would be taken, "but your happiness, alone, is not enough to erase my concerns."

"I understand," said Thranduil.

Túven accepted his nephew's understanding with a nod of his head. It was, honestly, more than he had expected. "Well then, if there is nothing else you require of me, I will see the final arrangements are made."

"Thank you, Uncle," said Thranduil, and he dismissed Túven with a wave of his hand.

Caladhel and Gwendeth arrived at the Great Hall where the pair was informed Beleth could be found. They spied her upon entering, and heard her before, barking orders.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Caladhel asked upon reaching her side.

Beleth held out her hand, extending each finger as she spoke as if ticking off a list. "Galion has already begun arranging accommodations for our guests. The kitchen staff has been informed of the impromptu feast." At the third, she turned to Gwendeth. "I would appreciate it if you could see the court is assembled in the hall before sundown. Word of our guests will have spread by now, but it will be good to inform them officially."

"I will see to it, my lady," said Gwendeth.

"Is there anything I can do?" Caladhel asked after Gwendeth departed to complete her task.

"The situation is well in hand, I think," Beleth replied. She took Caladhel's arm in hers and patted her hand. "Your uncle must be a persuasive ellon. I had not expected so swift a response."

"I am certain Iordor did his part."

Caladhel's expression had turned unexpectedly grim while they spoke. The news of Celeborn's return was clearly not as well received by Caladhel as Beleth expected. "What is wrong? I would have thought you to be heartened by your uncle's return."

"I am – for Greenwood's sake – and Lórien's."

"But?"

"Thranduil and my uncle did not part well. Celeborn was angry with Thranduil for failing to send me home from the border. I hope his upset has abated."

Beleth stroked Caladhel's hand in an attempt at comfort. "I am sure he will have other matters to occupy his mind."

"I hope so," said Caladhel.

"I can guarantee it," a familiar voice assured.

Both ladies turned on their heels to greet the King who had come upon them silently.

"Thranduil."

"My king," Beleth nodded to her nephew in greeting before dismissing herself. "If you will excuse me, I have much to do." With a nod from her nephew, she hurried out of the hall towards the kitchens.

When they were finally alone, Thranduil took up Caladhel's hands and set a kiss upon each of them. "Your uncle delivers on his word," he said.

"You do not sound surprised."

"His want to keep you safe is as great as mine."

"He would see the people of Greenwood safe as well."

"Of course," said Thranduil, for in truth, he did not believe the Lord of Lórien's actions to be entirely selfish, "but the possibility that you might choose to dwell within my wood is surely an added incentive."

"You are likely right," said Caladhel, conceding the argument.

Thranduil cradled her hands against his heart, smiling roguishly. "Have I told you how much I enjoy it when you agree with me?"

"You should not expect it to become a habit," she warned from beneath her own impish grin.

"Of course not," Thranduil agreed, "that is why I must cherish every instance." He freed her hands before offering her his arm. "Come, we must prepare for our guests."

A/N: I'd like to dedicate this fic to my former postdoc adviser – a great mentor, friend and world renowned scientist. To the man who taught me that the largest peak is rarely the most important and that one can build a successful career on any passion – even bug blood, poop and spit. I'll miss you, Peter. RIP.