Chapter Ten
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SUMMARY: Elrond has given Legolas six months to settle into life in Rivendell, but he is disappointed to see that the young Prince is still not willing to face up to his problems. A new approach is needed.
It's the one-year anniversary of the attack on the Kings' children, and Bard notices Thranduil is not sleeping well.
Turamarth was thrilled to meet the Galadhrim at Daeron's wedding – particularly Evranin, the sister of one of his husband's colleagues, but he's barely had a chance to talk to her. There is more to this Elleth than shyness; what's going on?
Luckily Daeron went behind his back and made some arrangements…
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You were blind
And now you regret it
'Cause I can't forget it
It's locked in my mind...
-From "Get Closer" by Seals and Crofts
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Rivendell, 20th of May 2944 T.A.
"You wanted to see me, My Lord?" Legolas was in the doorway of Elrond's rooms.
"I did. We have not had a private dinner together since you first arrived, and I thought it might be nice to spend some time talking." He gestured to the spread on the table. "Please; come in and join me?"
The Elven Prince shut the door behind him and sat at the table. "Thank you, My Lord."
"Just 'Elrond,'" he reminded him. "I prefer to leave my titles at the door at night."
"My father used to say that, too." He mused.
"Well, he learned it from me, if you must know. To be specific, your mother learned it from me, and she in turn continued that policy in your home." He picked up a bowl of vegetables and after helping himself, handed it to Legolas. "Mellon nîn: you have been with us for six months, now. Glorfindel tells me your work with the Guards has been exemplary, which is no surprise – you are an excellent soldier. He is impressed with your skills, Legolas; and that is high praise indeed."
The young Elf looked at him with surprise. "He is?"
"Glorfindel and your father are two of the best Elven fighters alive, and while no one is surprised you have inherited such talent, you deserve a great deal of credit for its development. To display such speed and accuracy at your young age makes one think you may grow to exceed them both."
"I… do not know what to say, besides thank you," he smiled.
They continued with their meal, and as before, the Elf-Lord was amused to see the amount his friend could consume.
"Estel looks up to you a great deal," Elrond smiled. "He talks about you non-stop, and I suspect that Glorfindel is a bit jealous; his status as hero has been usurped."
"I am not sure what you mean," the young Elf modestly responded, as he took a bite of his fish.
"Are you not?" he laughed. "What do you think of the boy?"
"He is well-mannered, and polite, yet he has a mischievous sense of adventure. I had thought at first that he would feel lonely with no other human children here, but it does not seem to bother him a great deal. He is very intelligent and gets on well with the Elven children who are at his level of maturity."
"Erestor tells me you sit with him in the libraries and explore our collection of maps."
"We both enjoy it. I confess I did not pay a great deal of attention to Galion as a child, and now that I have done some traveling, my curiosity has grown a great deal. I have discovered a real interest in geography and history, particularly the First Age."
"You were not a good student?"
"Not as well as I could have been. I was impatient to be outdoors, riding or playing with my friends." Legolas said, as he grabbed a roll and started to butter it.
"Friends like Meldon?"
Elrond saw the knife with the butter freeze in the air, and the young Elf did not say anything for several moments. Slowly and deliberately, he finished his task, but then set the roll on his plate.
"Legolas," Elrond gently prodded. "I have sent several boxes to the Woodland Realm, and I could not help but notice you did not send any letters of your own. I understand if you do not wish to communicate with your father, but I am surprised you have not sent anything to Galion or Tauriel. You have not even sent any condolences to Meldon's family." The Elf's shoulders stiffened, and Elrond sought to calm him. "I know you love them; yet you have not written. Why is that?"
Legolas's face grew red. "I… do not know what to say to Meldon's family."
"You could tell them what he meant to you. You could tell them how sorry you are, and that you share in their grief. I am told Meldon had a sister?"
"Yes. She was much older and married an Elf who lived in a small village south of the Palace."
"In Thranduil's last letter, he wrote that she gave birth to an Ellon, and they decided to name him after his late uncle." Elrond's eyes narrowed. "Does this not bring you comfort?"
The young Prince looked down at his plate, his food forgotten. "Why does my Adar tell you these things?"
"Because he knows I will tell you, I suppose."
"Does he not say it outright?"
"If you think I am some sort of…liaison, between your father and yourself, you would be wrong. I will be frank and say he asked me to look after you, as much as you might let me, but Thranduil does not try to use me in that fashion. I would refuse, in any case, but you need to know he does not expect anything from you." Then he added. "Others expect more, including me, but not Thranduil."
Elrond returned to the subject. "Legolas, you feel guilt at the manner with which you and your friend parted, yes? You feel guilt that you did not send Meldon any word or apology, and now it is too late. Yet it would bring his family a great deal of comfort to know you have not abandoned his memory, do you not agree?"
"I suppose it would. What if he told them of our last conversation?"
Elrond rested his hands on the arms of his chair. "Would you tell me of it? What was said between you that is so difficult to think about?"
"I had become infatuated with Tauriel, and he tried to protect me." He looked at Elrond, with accusation in his eyes. "You know this?"
"I know about Tauriel, but I would like to hear more from you. I think it is important that you speak of it."
"…I was embarrassed, and pushed him away, made him think I turned my back on our friendship."
"Were you embarrassed? Or were you angry with him for speaking the truth?"
"Maybe both," the blonde Elf whispered to his plate.
"So, you did not offer Meldon's family any sort of condolence because of your own feelings? You are being selfish, Legolas."
"It was not like that!" the Prince met Elrond's eyes with a scowl. "You do not understand."
"I understand more than you think, Mellon. You made a terrible mistake, and rather than find the nerve to turn and face it, you ran away and buried yourself in your duties. Yet you still nurse resentment toward your father for doing the same thing."
"That is different!"
"Is it?" Elrond quirked his eyebrow and pursed his lips. "From where I am sitting, it is not. In the six months you have resided in my halls, you have not once approached anyone to inquire about your mother. Why is that? Do you care nothing for her?"
The Elf's mouth formed a thin line, and he looked off toward the fireplace.
"Legolas, nothing can make up for the time you lost with your parents. Why do you hesitate to look beyond what is past, and seek a new understanding with your family?"
"I do not know!" Legolas threw his napkin down and jumped to his feet. "Stop… stop pushing at me!"
"Haftorn, Ellon neth!" Elrond commanded, in a sharp tone. "In this respect you are very much like your father, and you might as well accept this. Thranduil's temper does not frighten me, nor am I intimidated by yours!" His voice softened, and he gestured to his chair. "Now sit. Please. I am not trying to attack you; I am trying to help you."
Legolas slowly lowered himself in the chair, a bit more subdued.
The Elf-Lord sighed. "Legolas, few Elves can match your courage and prowess in combat. I have received detailed accounts of your role in the Battle of the Five Armies; all who have read them are astounded at your talent, especially Glorfindel." He poured them both a glass of wine, then sat back, as he took a few sips. "As I said: I do not push you in these matters to hurt you; I say these things because we see a greatness in you that could surpass the deeds of even the mightiest among us! But you will not fully realize your potential, if you refuse to understand yourself, and your place in this world. You must be ready to face the things that frighten you, can you understand?"
"I am not frightened; I am—"
"You are frightened, Legolas Thranduillion!" Elrond smacked the table sharply. "You tell yourself your anger is justified, but the root of all that is fear. To face those kinds of fears requires more wherewithal than any you might need in battle, and if you do not fully come to know yourself, it could mean your doom!"
"My father did not face his fears, as you enjoy reminding me."
"That is true; for a long time, he did not. Thranduil's reasons are his own; you know nothing of them, and to use that as an excuse is unacceptable!"
The Elrond shook his head. "You are much too old and much too intelligent to behave like a petulant child. Your journey is your responsibility, and to rationalize your lack of progress like this is beneath you. Grow up, and stop being such a coward!"
The blonde Prince's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it.
"There are many types of bravery, Legolas. A warrior faces his enemies without hesitation, but a true warrior must also face the greatest enemy of all; the one he carries within himself. Your father found a way do this, and now he has finally found peace."
"But it took him nine hundred years!"
"And you think we look down on Thranduil for this? No! We who understand the entire truth, admire him!"
"The 'entire truth?'"
"You know only a small portion of your Adar's life, and it is high time you learned more. I have been entrusted with something to give you, but you are not ready. If you want it, you are going to prove you are worthy to appreciate it."
Elrond clasped his hands together and set his elbows on the table. "I am sending you to Lothlórien for a time."
"But I was there just last year—"
"And you will go back, only not as a visitor. While you are there, you will work closely with Marchwarden Haldir, and gain experience working with the Galadhrim."
"I… think I would like that very much, My Lord."
"My daughter Arwen has lived there with her grandparents since before Estel came to live with us. She and three of her handmaidens will tell you much of your Mother; more than anyone still living in Rivendell. She told me she met you briefly when you were there last."
"She does not know my true identity, does she?"
"She has always known," Elrond smiled. "She met you when you were an infant. And you have the look of your mother."
Legolas shook his head. "She said nothing… I suppose she was being cautious."
"This time the Lord and Lady can acknowledge you, but in secret, such as here. Do not speak your true name unless they give you permission."
"Of course."
"Arwen and her maids knew your mother intimately, and there is much they can tell you, Mellon." Elrond got up and went to put a hand on the Prince's shoulder. "You might be surprised at what else you might discover, but I will leave that to Lady Galadriel's discretion."
Elrond gave him a kind, encouraging smile. "Knowing where you came from, will help you determine the decisions you make in the future, Legolas. It will be difficult at times, but I promise, you will be glad you did."
The Elf-Lord knew his words had hit home, when he saw tears threaten to fill the young one's eyes. "The grudge you hold against yourself is the biggest burden you carry, my dear friend. Let the people who care about you, about your family, help you. Then you might find a way to forgive yourself."
"Will I return?"
Elrond lifted up his chin. "Only you can determine that."
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City of Dale, 29th of May 2944 T.A.
On this night, Bard turned over in bed to face his husband, who was twitching in his sleep. In the darkness, he saw his Elf's face contort an anguished moan escaped his lips.
"Thranduil," he sat up and put his hands on the Elvenking's shoulders. "Come on, love; wake up for me. You're just having a dream, and you need to wake up." He stroked his cheek and his forehead. "Thranduil?"
The Elf jerked awake and blinked his eyes open. "Wh…" he saw Bard's face and looked relieved.
"Yes, love, it's me." He began rubbing Thranduil's arm. "You're here in the Castle with me, and everyone is safe. Everything's fine; you just had a dream."
Thranduil sat up and rubbed his face. "Did I cry out? I do not want to wake the children…"
"It wasn't loud. I doubt they would have heard you, anyway; we're not crammed in the back of the Great Hall, anymore."
"That is good…" the Elvenking sat for a moment, then pulled back the covers, got out of bed and without bothering to don his robe, padded naked over to the window, his hands running over his head and through his hair.
Bard followed quietly and stood behind him. It was a clear night, and the moon was a silver crescent among the stars. They remained there in quiet contemplation for several minutes before Bard ventured to speak. "It's a pretty sky tonight." He put his arms around his husband and pulled him against his chest. "Was it the Dragon again?" he asked softly, as he placed a kiss on the back of his Elf's shoulder.
"No," Thranduil sighed. "Not this time."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." The Elf leaned back into his arms and sighed. "But I think I should."
"What's bothering you, love?"
"It was a year ago, this night, Bard." He said, softly. "A year ago, we nearly lost our children…"
"I nearly lost you, too."
Thranduil turned to him and held him tight. "I almost lost you to the madness of that man, and Tilda's heart…"
"I know, love. But we are still here, she's fine, and all is well; come back to bed, and we can talk about it, all right?"
Bard took him by the hand and got his Elf settled in under the covers. "Do you want something to drink?"
"Just some water, please."
"I can do that." Bard decided to pour a glass of water and wine, then put them both on the bedside table. "Just in case." He crawled into bed beside him with a sigh. "Oh… I love how warm these rooms are here… Stars, I love those boilers." He smiled. "And the hot running water."
"I do not have to worry about Tilda's feet getting cold." The Elf nudged him.
"Were you dreaming about Tilda?" Bard asked. "You know, when we thought she was dying…"
"She was dying, Bard," he corrected. "That entire day was a nightmare; Bain and Tauriel were nearly killed, Sigrid, Tilda and the others were kidnapped and nearly burned to death. And I nearly lost you to that Thrall. When you were hitting that Man, Jarod, and I tried to stop you, there was a moment when I did not think I could. The rage in your eyes terrified me …" 1
"But you got through to me, thank the stars. All the bad guys are dead and we're safe." Bard leaned closer and gently massaged the vertical line that always appeared when Thranduil was worried.
"When you were out of control like that, did it frighten you?"
"I was too furious. All I could think about was that you went up in the flames and he had killed you. That bastard killed you, and he laughed about it. I wanted to hurt him, and… I knew he was dead. But I still wanted to hurt him, until I—" he shrugged. Then he jabbed his Elf. "You must have known something was going, because I was beating him to a bloody pulp, and I didn't puke!"
"I was too frightened to notice!" Thranduil chuffed a small laugh, then said quietly, "I dreamed I was in the Great Hall again, and I was torturing that Imposter." 2
Bard froze for a moment. "We had to find out what was going on, love."
"I know. I know the type of person he was, it was the only way, but…"
"But what?"
Thranduil turned his head slightly, icy blue eyes searching Bard's face. "As King, I have executed those who came into my lands and caused harm to my people. I do not regret that, Bard. I was presented with proof of their crimes, and the evidence of the suffering that was caused, and I carried out the sentence myself. I did that because, as King, I would not allow anyone else to bear that burden. Because it is a burden, Bard. No matter how justified the act, it was never something I wanted for myself, and especially not for my people."
"Is that why you went after that man instead of me?"
"Partly yes, but…"
"It's something I respect about you, Thranduil. You don't just react to things; you're careful."
"That is not true, Mellon nîn! On the day of the Battle, when I threatened my own daughter! I was a monster then, and…" he swallowed and his voice caught. "I was a monster that day in the Great Hall. In my dream, I was glad he was screaming in pain, and I laughed…" he shook his head. "Never in all my years have I ever tortured anyone. I was hurting that man, and I did not care in the slightest. Not in the Great Hall, not in the dungeons when the Dwarves were...disposing of the leaders. I still do not care how they suffered. I…" he groped for words. "Should there not be some moment when I realize how I behaved, and feel the horror of it?"
"But you don't?"
"No." Thranduil shook his head. "That frightens me almost as much as everything else that day." A tear formed in Thranduil's eye and began to fall down his cheek. "I think I am afraid it will change me back into what I was."
Bard reached over to wipe it away. "I understand, love. I really do."
"I do not think you do." The Elf turned of face him. "In many ways, you are stronger than I could ever be. People like to think I am the powerful one in our marriage, because I am ancient in years, and have seen and learned so many things in my life. They think because I command an army of tens of thousands, and am responsible for hundreds of thousands, that I…" he shook his head, "that I am invincible. But I am weak, Meleth nîn."
"I don't know about that."
"It is true! You suffered greatly in your life, and yet were strong enough to hold onto who you were! You love for your family and friends never wavered, did it? Yes, you doubted yourself, but you didn't let that change you into someone else. What if…" he couldn't finish, and turned away, eyes lowered.
"No, love. I don't mean I understand how you feel," Bard put his arm around his shoulders. "I mean, I think I understand what you're really afraid of." He turned Thranduil's face to look into his eyes. "Those people were no better than the Orcs we slayed the day of that Battle, do you understand? A year ago, we were fighting a battle to save all that we love, and if that makes you a monster, then so am I. They were enemies, who wanted to destroy us by killing children. Our children! What do the animals in your forest do when someone threatens their young? Don't they get vicious? All they care about is keeping their children safe, just like you, and just like me."
Thranduil looked down, but Bard grasped his chin and looked deeply into his eyes. "You were not out of control, you were not turning into anything terrible; you were being a parent, who had mere seconds to try and save lives!"
He kissed his Elf's brow. "You're really afraid that when Legolas comes back, he'll still look at you and see a monster. Aren't you?"
"Yes," the Elf whispered. "I want him to know who I really am; I want him to know me as I am now, but what if he does not accept me? What would I do?"
"Oh, love…" Bard's heart went out to him, and he gathered his husband close. "I wish I could promise you it will be smooth sailing, but I can't. I do know that you shouldn't worry about what happened. You will never, ever retreat into yourself like that again; that I can promise."
"But how do you know?"
"Because you are sitting here talking about it with me. Because you're part of a big family now, and none of us are going to let you fall." He smiled. "Hilda's the head of this family: do you honestly think she'll let you turn back into a snooty-faced bastard?"
"No," Thranduil chuckled into his neck.
"That's right; she'd kick your arse clear into the middle of next week! And you and I both know how loud she can yell."
"She would never let me hear the end of it."
"Too right she wouldn't." Bard kissed his temple. "We're always going to be haunted with the things we've been through, love; don't let those arseholes make you doubt yourself, Thranduil, or they've won. Don't let them!"
"You are right," the Elf said softly, and hugged him tighter. "Thank you, Meleth nîn. You always know what to say."
"Not always, but I know you." He smiled into the smooth, blonde hair. "Sharing a fëa helps."
Bard sat back and looked into his eyes. "Suppose Legolas does write to you; do you have any idea how you will go about mending your relationship? Have you thought about what you will say to him?"
"I did not think that far."
"Well, I know you talk to Galion, and that's good, but I think you should go to someone else, like Indis, with this."
"Why?"
"Galion loves both of you; I'm not sure it's fair to put him in the middle, do you? Indis is neutral and can help you both see the other's point of view."
"Perhaps you are right."
"Indis has been doing this sort of thing for a long time, she could give you suggestions, should he write, or show up."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you've been with my kids for a couple of years now; and you've seen it's not easy to always know what to do or say. Much of parenting is flying by the seat of your pants, isn't it? You've seen for yourself that love isn't always enough, and just as Legolas needs to get to know you as a person, you need to know and understand him that way, too."
"I did not think of it in that light… He is my son, but do I truly know him?" Thranduil said sadly. "Perhaps he is afraid I will not accept who he is."
"That makes sense; aren't you terrified of the same thing?"
"Maybe I am." Thranduil said softly. "Of all our children, I have loved him the longest, and I want so much…" his voice trailed off. "You really think Indis could help me?"
"It couldn't hurt. This is so important to you, love; it makes sense to hedge your bets, doesn't it?" he shrugged.
"You sound like Percy."
"You're right," he grinned. "You want to win, don't you?"
"More than anything in the world." Thranduil's eyes were earnest. "But I want it to happen soon, Bard! Elves do not feel time like Men, and our days with Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda are but a blink of an eye, and they will be…gone." His voice roughened with emotion. "I do not want to miss a moment with them, but what if Legolas waits decades, and misses this time?"
Bard stroked his head. "All we can do is put our faith in Elrond. You told him what you just told me, right?"
"Yes. I wrote him in April."
"Well then, we'll trust him, and we'll both keep praying for your boy."
"Our boy." Thranduil corrected. "He is your son now, also."
Bard urged his Elf to lie down and pulled the covers up over both of them. "Come on; let's try to get some sleep, yeah?" He kissed Thranduil and cupped his jaw. "You are a wonderful, brave Elf and a good father. Don't question yourself about that day last year, all right?"
"I will try."
"You're forgetting, Thranduil: you were in my Kingdom, and if I thought you were wrong, I would've ordered you to stop, but I didn't, did I?"
"No."
"And now, here we are, both of us alive and well, and four of our children are sleeping safe and sound down the Hall. That's what we're going to think on tonight. And tomorrow morning, all you're going to worry about is getting our Little Bean to finish her breakfast and get her to school on time, yeah?"
The Elvenking smiled. "You always know how to make me feel better."
"I'll take payment in kisses and great sex," he maneuvered Thranduil onto his side and pulled him to his chest. "But not tonight. Let's get some sleep."
They lay there comfortably for a few minutes, then Thranduil whispered, "Bard?"
"Hmmm?"
"Do you think Hilda will boss Legolas around too?"
"Course she will. And he'll love it."
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City of Dale, 31st of May 2944 T.A.
Three weeks ago, several of Daeron's friends had come from the Golden Wood to attend his wedding to Rhian. Haldir, Orophin, Orlin and Penlod had worked with his cousin closely during his exchange year, and Turamarth had helped Rhian arrange the surprise for his cousin.
Daeron was thrilled, and Tur was glad to meet the Elves he'd spoken so much about, but he wasn't expecting Orlin to bring his younger sister…
During the Wedding Feast, Ivran had nearly dragged him by the hair over to their group, so he could be formally introduced. Evranin was her name, and for the first time in his life, the glib, smooth, charming Turamarth turned into a nervous, tongued-tied, awkward mess.
Her blonde hair was full, with just enough waves to caress her face and shoulders, her wide, full mouth was pink and moist, and her eyes were large pools of soft brown. She had a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks that was nothing but adorable. And when he learned her name, he took her hand to kiss it, and couldn't catch his breath.
"Ni veren an le ngovaned, Evranin," He managed to mumble.
"Mê le 'ovannen, Turamarth." She said shyly, before she yanked her hand from his fingers.
"Just call him Tur," Ivran clapped him on his back. "Tell me, Evranin, do you dance?"
"Well, I—"
"—because my friend Tur is an excellent dancer," Ivran quickly moved his foot as Tur tried to stomp on his toes. "He was just wondering if your dancing is different in the Golden Wood." Another smack on his back. "Were you not, Tur?"
He threw surreptitious daggers with his eyes at Ivran and out of the corner of his eye, Daeron was burying his nose in his drink to keep from laughing. The other Galadhrim seemed amused, but Orlin looked a bit concerned, and whispered something in her ear.
"I… would you care to dance, Hervyn nîn?" Tur blurted out.
Orlin whispered, "Go on, Evvie. It will be all right."
She hesitantly stepped forward, and curtsied. "Yes," She said awkwardly. "I will dance with you."
He took her out on the dance floor, and when the music started, he asked her about her trip. "I... hope your journey was free from incident."
"Oh, yes. It was…pleasant." Then she fell silent.
"What do you think of Dale?"
"It is…nice."
"Have you ever been around Men before?"
"No."
He could see she wasn't trying to be rude; she simply felt ill at ease, and this only endeared her to him. Tur's natural instinct to protect kicked in and he found himself wanting more than anything to shelter her from all harm.
What was this? He didn't even know her!
"Excuse me," a voice was at his ear. It was her brother Orlin. "Might I cut in?"
Her face relaxed with relief, so Turamarth gallantly stepped aside. "Of course."
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"Do not take it personally, Gwador." Daeron said, when he rejoined the others. "She is terribly shy around strangers."
"I can see that. Why did she come?"
Penlod leaned forward to say, "Her father and brother made her come; she has never been anywhere, and they thought this might bring her out of her shell a bit."
"That is not the only reason Orlin brought her." Orophin said cryptically.
"Avo bedo!" Penlod jabbed him.
"What is wrong?" Daeron demanded.
But none of the Galadhrim would say more. Daeron and Turamarth exchanged a look of curiosity and concern before groom went to dance with his bride.
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Turamarth was desperate to get to know her better, and one morning during their visit, his prayers were answered. But that ended up a complete disaster! He licked his wounds and told himself she'd be leaving, anyway, to ride back out of his life, just as swiftly as she came. So why bother, right?
Right?
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On this morning, the Elvenking walked up to him and said, "Turamarth, I would speak with you in my study."
The Guardian was taken a bit off-guard at Thranduil's brisk command, but obediently followed his King into the room, and closed the door behind him.
"Is something wrong, My Lord?"
"Not at all." Thranduil sat down at his desk and urged him to take a chair. "Our guests from Lothlórien are due to leave for home in two days, along with Ivran and his family. It will be a rather large party, and I was wondering if you could accompany them, and help escort Ivran's parents back to the Palace after his wedding to Cwën."
Tur's heart jumped with excitement, but he tried to remain calm. "Of course, My Lord, if that is what you wish."
"The Caravan leaves Tuesday morning, just after breakfast. Be ready, Lieutenant."
He got up and saluted his King. "I will be, My Lord."
"Dismissed. Oh, and Turamarth?"
He turned back to see the King grinning. "Good luck with the Elleth. She's lovely."
"Thank you, Aran nîn."
Turamarth tried his best not to dance a jig on his way out.
But he couldn't stop himself from clicking his heels and letting out a little whoop.
Twice.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Haf-torn, Ellon neth! – Sit down, young man!
Ni veren an le ngovaned, Evranin – I am happy to meet you, Evranin
Mê le 'ovannen – Well met
Avo bedo! – Be quiet! (Lit. "Do not speak!")
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NOTES:
1 From "An Invincible Summer," CH 38:
/works/14127870/chapters/37497905
2] From "An Invincible Summer," CH 36:
/works/14127870/chapters/37243763
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