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Chapter 51: Tender
Two hundred and fifty years ago…
It was still early in the morning when Narylfiel found her sister hunched over in the sitting room of the Royal wing. A cup of tea sat untouched on the tray atop the ottoman, and so Narylfiel sat down beside her sister, tucking the loose end of the blanket she had wrapped over her shoulders back into place.
"Not sleeping well?" Narylfiel asked. It was an insipid question, of course, but what else could one say?
Thaliniel looked up with dark eyes, her skin pale. "No, not tonight," she said, and then looked back down. She picked up the cup of tea as an afterthought, but it merely stayed in her lap. She did not drink it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" asked the younger sister after a beat. Rarely had she ever seen her older sister so despondent.
Thaliniel shook her head dully and set the cup of tea back on the tray. "Not really."
Narylfiel thought for a moment. "Did Legolas do something?" she tried.
Thaliniel shook her head again. "No," she said, but her voice sounded funny, off key.
"Is it about Legolas though?" hedged Narylfiel. She put her arm around her sister, pulled her in closer. Although Narylfiel was the younger of the two, now that she had reached her majority, she passed her sister in height, so it was very easy for her to nudge Thaliniel in closer.
A sigh, and a swallow, and then Thaliniel swiped at her eyes. "I worry about him," she said. "I can't help it! When he's gone—" she sniffed and took a deep breath. "I dreamed orcs ambushed his patrol. I watched him die. I know it's only a dream, but—"
"Shh, now. I am so sorry, Thaliniel. I cannot even imagine how hard that must be," Narylfiel said lamely.
"No, I let myself get carried away. 'Tis just a dream," Thaliniel said firmly, more to herself than to her younger sister.
"What, a late night party and no one thought to invite me?" the Elvenking's voice sounded from the doorway.
Thaliniel looked up, her lovely eyes red from crying. "No, I—I just had an unpleasant dream. That's all. I am sorry if we disturbed you."
"Of course not, I was already up." Thranduil waved his hand as if late night excursions were a regular occurrence for him.
Narylfiel turned her head toward the king. "Bad dream," she mouthed. "Legolas."
The king's eyes softened then. He hesitated and then backed out of the room; surely Thaliniel would rather be alone with her sister for comfort. He suspected his daughter-in-law was still rather intimidated by him at times.
He stopped at the end of the hall where Elfir kept his nightly watch.
"King Thranduil," the guard said with a look down the hall, for he had heard the sisters earlier. "May I be of assistance?"
The king's eyes drifted toward the sitting room, where he could plainly hear Narylfiel tell her sister that Legolas was one of the finest warriors in the Forest Guard and not to worry.
"Yes, Elfir," the king said, his mind made up. "Send a messenger to the Rowan Talan, where the Prince is stationed."
Elfir nodded just once. "And the message, my lord?"
"Tell him," Thranduil paused, "Tell him the king requires his presence and he should return with haste, by the morning if possible."
Elfir smiled a little then at the thought of the usually stern Elvenking making arrangements to console his son's wife.
Thranduil saw it and frowned. "Don't say a word, Elfir," he warned him.
"I never do, your highness," he said and hurried down the hall. By morning, Legolas would arrive, and the lovely Princess Thaliniel would be smiling once more. Elfir knew enough of his king to know that neither prince nor princess would ever learn of the true reason for Legolas being suddenly recalled from duty; Thranduil would contrive some reason to cover his true motives. He always did, Elfir mused. It was perhaps the grandest secret kept by the members of the Royal Guard, by those who had faithfully served their king the longest—Beneath the stern facade and intimidating countenance, King Thranduil hid a deeply tender heart.
March 10th, 3019:
Smoke wreathed the battle field, but Thranduil charged relentlessly forward, the bright edge of his sword killing sharp, and his blood hummed in his veins for vengeance. Like a steady black tide ripping toward the rows of golden-armored elves, orcs and goblin men surged toward the tree line, but Thranduil only had particular target in sight, Maubûrz. The Elvenking's blade carved a deadly swathe as he crossed the plain toward the Easterling's red and purple pennant, and the pounding of his heart, pounding over and over again, called him to fight, to kill, to avenge.
Maubûrz saw him coming. He must have, for the Easterling prince picked up a fallen pikestaff and hoisted it high, a predatory gleam in his eye at the Elvenking's approach.
"Come, Elvenking!" he shouted above the orcs' roars and the shrill ringing of metal against metal. "I am Maubûrz, prince of the Fourth kingdom, Herald of Grief, and I will have my satisfaction."
When he was close enough, Thranduil slid from the side of the Giant Elk, whispered a final command, and watched Taurion bound away, even as he undid the clasps of his cloak, the dark gray fabric fluttering to the ground.
"You will have nothing, Maubûrz," Thranduil said coolly, unsheathing his sword. "You fancy yourself my opponent? That you will defeat me? You are less than the dirt in this field."
Maubûrz leaned against the pikestaff and grinned. "Perhaps," he drawled, "but even so, I was enough to take your queen from you. And even if you do win her back, you'll wonder about how many times, how many different ways I took her."
His words touched the raw edge of the Elvenking's heart, and without further thought, Thranduil lunged forward, his sword flashing in a silver arc toward the Easterling. Through the dust and the smoke, Maubûrz jabbed the pikestaff forward, aiming toward the elf's side, wanting to strike him, to rip through his elegant armor and tear his flesh, to prove that this god-like being bled as easily as a man. But Maubûrz had not counted on elven reflexes, and Thranduil easily deflected the lethal point, pushing the man stumbling back, his eyes dark with hate and bloodlust.
The Easterling dropped his voice. "She'll lie to you, Elvenking. She'll tell you nothing happened, because she knows it would destroy you."
Thranduil winced, and in that moment, agony ripped through his shoulder, and he turned swiftly to see a young Easterling warrior pull a long stiletto dagger dripping red from the narrow gap between his silver-patterned shoulder guards and back plate.
"Well done, Bôr." Maubûrz smirked. "Poisoned, I hope?"
Bôr flicked the blood from the tip of his blade. "Of, course, my lord. It's a wonder he's even still standing."
Thranduil's arm and shoulder felt numb; his whole side felt numb, and then the battlefield seemed to tilt on one end, the earth sliding away to the feel of a cold blade at his neck...and Narylfiel woke up breathless, feverish, calling out Thranduil's name. Her heart burned in her chest, and she searched for the feeling of her bond with him. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true!
Melui reached for her hand in the shadows and squeezed it. "Narylfiel, you are safe. You are with friends. You fell asleep. You've been dreaming." She patted her queen's forehead and cheeks dry with a long damp strip of cloth ripped from the hem of her tunic.
"I watched him die, Melui. I saw Maubûrz kill him," Narylfiel said in a horrified whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them more true somehow. Tears streamed from her eyes at the memory of the dream, still so vivid in her mind.
"It was only a bad dream," Melui told her soothingly, her hand in hers. "There is no way Maubûrz could have fought the king already. He probably still needs to move his camp after it caught on fire."
Narylfiel nodded and then squeezed her eyes shut. "It felt so real. I could feel him dying."
"Is she alright?" Bofur asked quietly through the darkness from further down in the dugout, where he and Dwalin stretched out, leaning their backs against the wall.
Melui nodded. "She will be. She is strong. I think the last of Wilem's nasty drug is leaving her system." On cue almost, Narylfiel turned and heaved into the dry pile of leaves beside her.
"She needs to drink," Dwalin observed. He tapped his waterskin. "I'll fetch us more water. Might help ease her symptoms." He stood abruptly and climbed out of their shelter.
"I am sorry, Melui," Narylfiel said, her eyes wet, and then before her friend could answer, she turned and threw up into the leaves again.
"It's good," Melui soothed. "Get the nasty stuff out of your system."
"I cannot stop thinking about it," Narylfiel murmured, using the edge of her stolen guard's tunic to wipe her mouth.
"Here," Dwalin said gruffly, for he had returned and pushed his water skin into Melui's hands. "You'll feel better if you can drink some water," he told Narylfiel.
Narylfiel nodded miserably and took the waterskin. Her hands were still a little unsteady as she lifted it to her lips to drink, and she wiped her mouth tiredly afterwards. "I can't stop seeing it," she whispered hoarsely. "Thranduil falling, the knife plunging into his back."
"It was not real, Narylfiel," said Melui again, taking the waterskin from her friend's hands to pass it back to Dwalin.
"But what if it is, or will be? If I stay here and could have stopped it from happening? I will never forgive myself, Melui." Narylfiel pressed her hand to her cheeks to cool them.
Across from her, Dwalin nodded. "Aye, I know what regret feels like, lassie. It's a bitter truth to live with, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
Melui gave Dwalin a dark look. "She is hardly in any shape to go to a battle! Please, do not encourage her."
"I am right here, Melui," Narylfiel murmured. "Maubûrz means to kill him. I have to go. I will rest tonight and tomorrow at first light, leave. I've made up my mind."
Bofur exchanged glances with Dwalin. "Your king has faced worse foes than this Maubûrz fellow, I'm sure. He wouldn't want you to worry like this on his account."
Dwalin was undeterred. "Still though, not a day goes by that I don't think about what happened on Ravenhill, Bofur, and she'll have to live with her choices much, much longer."
Narylfiel looked wearily toward Bofur, then Dwalin. "Ravenhill?"
"Aye," said Dwalin, looking older and more weary at that moment than she had ever seen him, "Ravenhill. My king and young cousins died there in the Battle of Five Armies, and I arrived too late to help them."
Narylfiel lifted her head, met his eyes. "I am sorry, Dwalin."
"If you feel you must go to your king, then you should go," he told her gravely, but across from him Melui palmed her face in frustration.
Narylfiel's eyes drifted upward to the thin patch of visible night sky through the trees. She had to believe that somewhere Thranduil was safe, waiting for her, planning and readying himself for battle. She knew his prowess on the battlefield, had witnessed his skill first hand, but even so, she would go to him, if only to assure him that Maubûrz had not harmed her. If their positions were reversed, she knew he would do the same, had done the same for her without a second thought! Had he not flown to her side when she left his halls to deliver the message to the dwarves?
"You are right, Dwalin," she said slowly, meeting his eyes and then Melui's. "I do not want to live with any regrets. I will rest tonight, and tomorrow, I will leave to find my husband."
Melui sighed crossly. "Oh, Narylfiel. You were hardly able to walk down here and now you want to go tearing off to battle? Promise me—if you do not feel strong enough at dawn, we will wait a little longer. You do not want to overdo things." She lowered her voice to a whisper between them. "Think of your baby, Narylfiel."
She did not answer right away. Instead her eyes drifted again to the thin sliver of sky overhead and thought of Thranduil, how he saved her, loved her, and now she carried his child, their child. She had to go to him, would go to him, when morning came.
Narylfiel woke again when the morning was dark, and the moon, veiled. Thankfully, she had slept a little. She was eager to test her strength before the others, particularly Melui, woke. She pushed herself up and away from her friend, stifling a groan as she did so, and now, with a much clearer head than the night before was able to clear the ravine easily. Narylfiel listened for the sound of water and found a small brook, where she eagerly splashed her face with its cold water, cupped her hands and drank. Now in solitude, she stood and stretched her muscles.
Narylfiel had endured much in her training to be a guard; sore muscles, blisters, bruises, cuts and scrapes, and then afterward, she made her fair share of trips to visit the healers for the odd injury during her time as a guard. Narylfiel had certainly experienced her fair share of injuries; she knew how to take a hit, and Maubûrz's mean backhand was hardly the worst blow she had ever been dealt. Still, it stung when Narylfiel tenderly prodded her jaw and lip.
She knelt over the brook again and rinsed out her mouth one more time, splashed her face again for good measure, and afterward patted herself dry with the edge of her shirt. Then she slowly turned, lifting her hands in the air as a show of surrender, for in the middle of her splashing and ablutions, someone approached, someone elf-kind with quiet steps, and not Melui, Narylfiel guessed, for her friend would have already started lecturing her for being up and out alone.
"Do not shoot," she said softly. "I may have on an Easterling tunic, but I am not one of them."
A sigh followed her words and then a few light steps from the thick copse of trees to her right. "Narylfiel!" exclaimed Elfir, hurrying over to pull the slightly stunned queen into an embrace, and then as if he remembered his position, not to mention her rank, he quickly pulled away and bowed. "Forgive me, my queen," he said, his voice all relief. "You cannot imagine my joy at seeing you now. Are you well? Unharmed?"
"A little shaken perhaps," admitted Narylfiel. "And I was very ill last night from a drug they forced on me, but other than that, both Melui and I escaped unscathed."
"Melui too?" Elfir's face lit up. "Praise the Valar. Dorwil has been beside himself over your disappearance and almost bereft over Melui's."
"Wait—" Narylfiel said, her eyes widening. "Dorwil is alive? Wilem told us he killed him."
"Dorwil?" Melui's voice rang out from behind them, just past the brook. She walked swiftly to Elfir and clasped him by the shoulder. "Did you say Dorwil lives?"
Elfir might have laughed if not for the serious expression in her eyes and the faint tremor to her lips. Instead, he pulled her into a quick embrace and then held her at arms' length so their eyes met. "Yes, Dorwil lives. He had lost a lot of blood when I found him, but he is strong and lives yet. And makes a most cantankerous patient too, I might add."
Melui breathed out, a long uneasy sigh and blinked a few times. "It's good to see you here, Elfir. Whatever took you so long?"
"I am here with a few others. We have been following every odd track through the woods, trust me," he said wryly, "but it was not until last evening when we saw the smoke that we changed course and headed this direction." He grinned a little. "That smoke, the burned out Easterling camp—that could not have been your doing, could it?"
Melui returned his grin. "I may have had some assistance. We had a pair of dwarves come to our aid, some of the same who were in our Halls. They traveled with the king when he learned of the queen being taken."
Elfir shook his head then. "Dwarves coming to an elf's aid!" he exclaimed, fixing his eyes upon Narylfiel. "I must thank them on behalf of our lord and realm."
Narylfiel and Melui led Elfir back to the ravine where the dwarves stood talking quietly. Both startled a little to see three return instead of two, but a quick introduction from Melui stalled Dwalin from pulling out his battle ax.
"Master Dwarves," said Elfir kindly, "thank you for your help and protection of these ladies. Both of whom are dearly loved in our realm."
Bofur doffed his hat and bowed handsomely. "We could not do less for a friend," he told Narylfiel. Dwalin was content to stand in silence, but his eyes crinkled in his own fashion of a smile when the elven queen abandoned propriety and pulled the pair of them into a hug.
"Thank you both," she said. "I know you must return to aid in the defense of your own king and kingdom," she said, meeting Bofur's eyes and then Dwalin's, "and it means the world to me that you delayed your return to help me."
Dwalin folded his arms. "Hmmph," he said, but his eyes crinkled again as he said it, and Narylfiel was sure that under his beard somewhere a smile accompanied it. "Well, next time you visit Erebor," he said, shouldering his pack and adjusting his ax.
"Where will you go now?" Bofur asked her.
Narylfiel looked from Melui to Elfir before answering. "I will travel to my king's side," she said carefully, "for I would have him know first hand of my escape."
"Then I will see you arrive safely," Elfir said.
"Elfir!" Melui exclaimed. "You cannot be serious! She needs to return to the protection of the Halls."
"It is not for me to question the queen's judgment," he told Melui, and with a half-glance at the dwarves, pulled her away from their hearing. "I have served our king for many years," he said quietly, "many, many years. And in those years of service, I have learned much of his ways, his heart. I think she should go to him." He would not say any more, to do so would be perhaps a violation of his king's privacy, and long had Elfir proudly kept his king's secrets.
"But what of her safety, Elfir? We would be escorting her into a battlefield."
Elfir's eyes went to the young queen, smiling at something the dwarves told her. 'We will keep her safe. We must."
The pair then returned to Narylfiel's side, and Elfir thanked the dwarves once more after Narylfiel said her final farewells. The elves and dwarves parted ways afterward, each heading to face the defense of their homeland. Elfir made arrangements with two of the other trackers who rode in his party to return to the king's halls on foot, so Melui and Narylfiel might use their horses. The other two guards would travel with them.
"Thank you, Elfir, for understanding," she told him softly as the guards brought the horses around.
He swung up on his horse and looked to the South before answering. "I could do no less for my queen or my king. We will need to ride swiftly if we wish to arrive before the Easterlings have time to attack, not to mention we will need to evade whatever comes from Dol Guldur."
Narylfiel patted her horse's neck, and then whispered a soft request for haste as she followed Elfir along the narrow forest path with Melui and the other guards following. Behind her, the column of smoke from Maubûrz's camp wavered in the morning breeze, and Narylfiel thanked the Valar for their grace and prayed a swift prayer that she might arrive in time to reassure her husband. She needed to see him, to let him know she was unharmed, to tell him the wondrous news which she still could hardly believe herself. Narylfiel took a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves erupting at the thought of telling Thranduil that she carried his child. She needed to get there first. She leaned into her horse and concentrated on the path ahead.
Author's Note: So I really intended for this chapter to be THE big climactic chapter, but as I wrote it, I knew that I needed to tie up some more loose ends first and before I knew it, I was 9 pages deep! Oh my. We already know from the previous chapter that Narylfiel does NOT reach Thranduil before the battle. Do you think she should make an appearance mid-battle? Please Review, Follow, and Favorite!
Elfir: When you discover that your boss is a big softie at heart #Shock #Awww
Thranduil: When you discover you may need to redirect certain employees #Dungeon
