Hi there! This is a one-shot or a possible multi-chapter story about the characters from our favourite fictional world and their mothers. I thought it would be an interesting aspect of their lives to explore since we hardly know much about them.
If you have any ideas or specific characters you want to see with their mothers let me know in the comments below!
I may have added a few extra characters to Oropher's family... I just thought that it's very much possible that Thranduil could have had a sibling.
Also my OC Lostoriel may be featuring in a few chapters later on...
I do not claim to own anything of J.R.R Tolkien's timeless works or of the movies by Peter Jackson and Co. This is a work of fanfiction.
(Sorry for the mistake earlier.. There was a mistake that needed fixing.)
Enjoy!
You brought me up to be a warrior.
To wage the war of life
without
you.
"Nana!"
The elf women tapped her right foot on the ground, her hands folded in fists and pressed into the loose white shirt she wore.
"Thranduil! For the last time I just want to oil your hair, not kill you! Winter is approaching and you know how much we both hate it when your hair falls." Her voice was considerably calmer since she bore his fiery temper down to a pile of smouldering ashes with that look.
The young elf's ears were tomato red, a testament to how frightening his mother was when she was angry.
"Fiiine." He moaned and threw himself into the chair on their balcony with a mighty huff. He'd much rather be down in the forest running wild with his friends and brother or hunting for game in the woods. Today the sun shone warmly, the breeze was cool and the sky was cloudless. The perfect day beckoned to him and the prospect of sitting in the house having his hair taken care of on such a fine summer's day did not bode well with the young elf. Alagos had had his turn yesterday, he had expected it to be him next, but had hoped his mother would forget.
Thranduil had come of age some years ago and was more than capable of doing this himself. But his naneth insisted on combing out his platinum blonde locks and massaging his sculp with her gentle hands. Thranduil had never been objected to that part of it. It was in fact the best part of spending the day with her.
This was their day. Mother and son.
Caladwen pulled the brush through her son's hair starting from the bottom and working out the knots going upwards. This way he had less to complain about when she tugged a little too hard at a knot that had unsurprisingly made itself comfortable. How he brushed out his hair on a daily basis befuddled her.
"So I hear you've been spending a lot more time around Luthein and Tarieth have you not?" Her dark eyebrow quirked upwards. "Perhaps one of them has caught your eye?"
Thranduil did not answer for a long while, "I have but not in that way Nana! We are all good friends. Luthien is much too old for me and Tarieth and Alagos cannot stop staring into each other's eyes." He finished with a hint of mild irritation, rolling his eyes. He at first thought that the budding romance between his younger brother and the daughter of the Captain of King Thingol's guard was amusing. That was until his brother had slipped into the river whilst his head was in the clouds thinking of the brown-haired Elleth. It had become hilarious from then onwards. Everyone knew Tarieth and Alagos were in love with each other, except Tareith and Alagos.
His mother merely smiled as she watched the tips of his ears redden. "If you say so my son."
"Nana! We are friends nothing more, nothing less."
"I was only joking with you! I know my son."
He did not believe her, "The friendship I have with her is more valuable than anything else. She is a sister to me."
Caladwen reached for the mixed oils on the table beside him. "I am happy that you have a friend who you can love and trust as such Thranduil."
Dividing his hair into two she tied the top half in a lose bun, "Fiercely hold onto that friendship. Such things only come once in a lifetime."
"I intend to nana." Came his soft reply as his eyes drifted closed as her fingers massaged his scalp in small circles the way she knew he had loved since he was a boy.
His eyes shot open when her hands stopped moving, "And do not sound so irritated with your brother and Tarieth." She lightly swotted his shoulder ," Perhaps they shall one day realise their affections for one another. One day…" she drifted into her thoughts once again. Thranduil was used to this, his mother's mind was like a butterfly, flying from on thought to the next.
Her sons were grown up now. And that terrified her.
Thranduil had been training with the guard for years. But now after seeing him returning home with stab wounds and scrapes all over his body, she wished to wrap him in a blanket and keep him where he could not get hurt. Even now she could see the bloodied bandage that covered his chest. He had been cut by an orc blade during a skirmish outside their borders.
Her Thranduil. Her boy.
It was during these times that she remembered when he was little and how he used to try and wriggle away from her touch when she did this. Her hands would tickle him along his neck and he'd break into fits of laughter. She remembered how his round face would wrinkle at his eyes and mouth when he laughed and how his beautiful blue eyes would twinkle.
Now that he was older his eyes twinkled less. He was a warrior, the best of his year from what she knew.
He merely sighed in contentment when she massaged his head, running her hands through his hair. She was sure he'd fall off to sleep.
His deep, calming voice softly singing brought her out of her nostalgia. She hadn't realised that she had been humming it until then.
By the time their song was over she had completed oiling the top of his scalp and had begun to brush the fragrant oils through his hair. The scent of almond, berries and mint greeted their nostrils with each breath.
Thranduil began to tell her about his constant training with Lord Raunein and how he made them exercise and do drills repeatedly until at least one of them keeled over and vomited even though they were qualified warriors. He told his dangerous adventures with Alagos, Tarieth and Luthien, but purposefully left out the dangerous parts of their adventures. Though he had a feeling that she knew everything that he and his brother got up to. He swore that she had eyes dotted around Menegroth.
She listened intently as her son spoke his busy life, as he and her nursed cups of tea and spoke about everything and nothing at all. Caladwen memorised the way his face relaxed when he began with his philosophies, talking about life and his purpose which he still did not know as yet. She never sought to bring him down or to judge, but only spoke when the need arose.
They sat like that on the balcony in the trees for hours. They laughed and cried and then laughed some more. After the sun had set and they had washed out their oily hair Thranduil stood behind the chair his mother was seated on.
He held the brush like it was his weapon, eyeing out the spot on his mother's hair with the least amount of knots to work through. He found none and just began to brush. Her wet hair chilled his fingers, but he did not mind. He stared at her head as her chestnut brown hair fell though his fingers. So different, yet so alike.
When he was done the stars were glittering in the sky. Caladwen gently pulled his arms around her neck and pushed his face towards hers. She gave him a big, wet kiss on his cheek as mothers do. He wrapped his tired arms around her resting his head on her shoulders.
"I love you nana."
"I love you too my little bird."
It was many years later when Thranduil found himself warming up very same mixture of oils again. This time in a different place, a world away from sunken Doriath. A world away from his mother.
He was now the Prince. Prince Thranduil of the Greenwood to be precise. Doriath had long ago been destroyed and his mother taken with it. He had his father and his brother. Or at least his father had them.
Thranduil had the day off from any duties, as a captain and as the prince. Which he was thankful for. Today was a day for him. And he intended to spend it in the quiet away from any council meetings or warriors for that matter.
He poured out the oil into a bowl and made his way up to his hiding spot. It was right at the top of the mountain fortress, a little ways to the left and tucked into an unknown corner. Here the sunlight greeted him happily at the top of the kingdom where none but a few knew he hid in.
He placed the oil on the table that he had left there some time ago and tugged it and the chair nearer to the balcony. From up here he saw the forest dancing in the wind. The shades of emerald green captivating his eyes. And the Anduin snaking away into the great lake and pooling at the feet of the Lonely Mountain.
He then sat in the padded chair and began the ritual of the one day of the year that he had his mother to himself. His hair was midway to his bottom by now and was getting more knotted by the day. Thranduil brushed it from the bottom going up before dividing it into a top and bottom half.
He took a good whiff of the oil before he dipped his fingers in. It smelt of almonds, berries and mint and the unmistakable smell of his mother.
With his hand poised to rub his roots Thranduil stopped. He remembered. He heard her singing, he felt her behind him telling him to sit down. He felt her hands going through his hair.
He could not do this.
Tears streamed freely down his face. Silent tears which turned into whining sobs when he wiped the oil off his hands and pulled his face between his knees. How was he supposed to do this without her? It had been two years. Two years and still, all he wanted was her. He could not bear to even run his hands through his hair.
He cried and cried. Feeling every emotion he had been forced to suppress as they rebuilt their kingdom. Ever since he had to become prince.
Thranduil choked back a sob that felt as if it would tear his chest apart. He remembered her soft face, dark hair, the way her grey eyes lit up under the starlight, the way her voice could soothe any creature into a calm sleep and the way her arms wrapped around him.
And so he sat there until Oropher found him in the oncoming darkness of the evening. A glowing light in the darkness. He had at first been furious with his eldest son after searching for him for over an hour. But that fury melted away when he saw Thranduil's tear stained face and the blank, haunting look in his eyes.
"Thranduil...Come let's go home." He gently pulled him out of the chair and out into the hallway. The king was surprised that his son complied without the usual complaining and annoyance when his father approached him.
As they strolled down the quieting halls of the Woodland Palace Oropher noticed the large, baggy white shirt that Thranduil wore and the black leggings. The sleeves were even rolled up to his elbows like hers were. His heart began to ache, Oropher blinked back the tears that clouded his vision.
He wondered how long his son had been sitting there for, grieving on his own. He hated that he could not always be there. He hated that he had been part of the reason that Thranduil had never properly grieved for his mother.
When they entered their quarters Oropher sat Thranduil down on the carpet by the fire. He placed the full teapot on a hook on the mantle before going to find the jar of oils his son had mixed the way Caladwen had taught him.
He returned when the kettle sang, Thranduil had not moved other than his closing his eyes. Once he had poured it into a bowl, Oropher did something he had not done in ages. He placed himself behind his son, the bowl of oil on the tea table, his son between his legs. He began to oil Thranduil's hair for him.
His fingers moving in circular patterns along Thranduil's sculp. Taking his time and humming the tune to the song Caladwen used to sing. Tears glistened on his cheeks as he remembered the words, "Here in the meadow is where I'll find you…"
His voice began as a whisper. A whisper that caused a change in his son. Oropher felt it in his stomach. He felt the grief welling up inside his son, the loss, the memory. "Dancing beneath the starlight, singing with the trees..."
Oropher managed to do Thranduil's entire mop of hair before he got to the second chorus of the song. Thranduil began to shake, or was that him? A deep, mournful sob broke from his son's lips, breaking his heart all over again.
"Little bird…" Oropher dropped to his knees beside Thranduil and wrapped him in his arms. His boy shook with sobs, Thranduil was surprised that he had more tears to shed. He buried his face in Oropher's shoulder, hands gripping his Ada's tunic.
Oropher himself let the tears fall freely down his fair face. He was unwilling to bite back his grief, no they needed to grieve together. His youngest son Alagos had always been open with him about their mother, but Thranduil seemed to have placed her in a box and buried her far away in his mind.
He rocked Thranduil back and forth, rubbing circles on his back as he did so. His silver tears bouncing and rolling off Thranduil's hair.
"Breathe little one... It is alright…I am here..."
Silence followed and settled around comfortably them save for the crackling of the fire.
"Ada." Began Thranduil when he had calmed down
His voice was hoarse and his skin around his eyes red. "I miss her." His face scrunched up, the emptiness in his chest all the more apparent. The young prince had no energy left within him, his body ached just as much as the unbearable weight settled on his chest once again.
"I...I miss her too Thranduil." He kissed the oily top of Thranduil's head. Before holding him at shoulder length and cupping his face in his hands.
"But she will always be with you my son. In here." He placed his large, scarred hand on Thranduil's chest, just above his heart. "Your mother will not leave you. As long as you live, so will she."
And so father and son sat like that. Oropher staring into the firelight and Thranduil lying his chest just like he would as a child. The two talking in hushed tones about a life long passed.