Hello all! Already one month has passed, and I'm back with a new chapter of Headwinds. This is another chapter from Thranduil's point of view, and serious things begin. I hope you'll enjoy this new part.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed this story. It's an author's greatest gift.
For translations and further historical notes, please see the end of the chapter.
Disclaimer : Middle Earth (languages, places, characters, etc) is the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and its right holders. I don't earn any money writing this story, it's only for my (and your hopefully) enjoyment. Only the original characters and the plot of this story are mine.
Chapter Two
The great halls of the king were bustling with life as the night was falling over the forest of Lórinand. All the elves present had dressed in their most elegant attires to honour the high station of their host. It was a carnival of colours and fabrique, of gowns and robes, of circlets and crowns, of dark, blond and silver heads, an indication of the various elven people gathered on this evening.
Thranduil was standing in a corner of the room, a glass of wine in his hand. He as well has dressed for the festivities, exchanging his travel clothes for black robes embroided with silver patterns over black leggins and a silvery tunic. A circlet of mithril was upon his brows in the shape of woven tree branches and leaves reminding the woodland kingdom he represented. He was displaying an unreadable expression, close to boredom, for it was what he was feeling right now, surrounded by all those people he did not really want to see. Except for the members of his delegation and a few Lórien elves, he had no particular friendship for the elves present in this room. He did not care much about some of them at best, despised others at worst.
Close to him, Heniedir and Hatholdor, one of the captains of the king's guard were conversing about their first impressions of Tauruilos, the capital city of Lothlórien. He had been following their exchange at first, but had now drifted off, lost in the contemplation of the people in the room. He saw several members of his group discussing with their relatives; following their migration eastwards after the War of Wrath, the sindar had divided between the kingdoms of Greenwood and Lórien. It was thus usual to see elves traveling from one place to the other to visit family and friends.
The prince of Eryn Galen soon spotted two tall figures holding hands and talking animatedly with Prince Amroth. He frowned when he recognized them, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. The lord was a distant relative of his, both of them descending from branches of the ancient line of Elu Thingol and his brothers, who had long ago departed for the West. They had never been close, but shared a mutual respect and a sense of friendship and belonging in regards of their common lineage.
Thranduil admired Celeborn for his skills as both a ruler and warrior; he had protected the borders of Menegroth for centuries during the First Age and it was him who assured the painful transition between Thingol and his heir, Dior. Thranduil had always thought things would have happened very differently if the son of Luthien and Beren had abstained from ruling. Menegroth had indeed flourished again for a few years, but the sack of their city by the sons of Fëanor could have certainly been avoided. In keeping the Silmaril, Dior's greed had been their downfall. The prince of Greenwood though, knew his feelings were not really shared, and he kept them from becoming common knowledge; he did not want to imagine his father's reaction if he came to know what his son thought of this matter. Not that it held any sort of importance in the current situation, but one was never too careful.
Thranduil's eyes turned away from Celeborn to lay on his lady. His feelings towards Galadriel were more affirmed. She was a noldë and he had never trusted her, it was as simple as that. She was of course beautiful, one of the fairest ellith, and he would have been a fool to deny her wisdom and powers. But pride was a common traits of her people, and she had the tendency to believe herself above all else; she was born in Valinor and thus had grown up close to the Valar. But in the prince's opinion, it did not justify the fact every time she entered a room, she expected from everybody to behave as if she was the one in charge. May hap his dislike of the lady came both from her individual character and the fact she was from noldorin descent; but the mistrust between sindar and noldor had been there for so many centuries that it was almost a principle by which they lived. Foolish, maybe, but persistent all the same.
He looked away from the trio of elves, continuing his exploration of the assembled crowd. Before long, his eyes fell on a group not far from his position, noldor if their dark hair was any indication. He recognized Lord Elrond and King Gil-Galad amongst them. They were engulfed in an animated exchange, the disruption apparently coming from one elf in the group.
It was an elleth, and when Thranduil saw her, her appearance instantly intrigued him. Tall she was, taller than the ellith he was used to see in his kingdom. She wore a silvery gown, and her dark curls were braided into an intricate hairstyle, cascading down her back. But it was her eyes which caught his attention; for they were gray and shining with an inner light he had seen only in the calaquendi come from Aman and who had seen the light of the Two Trees. She was a noldë, of that he was certain, but he had never seen her before. She was apparently protesting at Gil-Galad's words, and Thranduil had to hold back a smirk to see there was discontent even in Erenion's own delegation.
The prince could not examine the elleth further as a sudden stirring agitated the room. He turned his eyes back to the main door to see King Amdír and his entourage entering the great hall. Everyone had now his eyes on their host, and the silence fell on the crowd. The leader of Lórien took an instant to admire his audience before speaking:
"Good evening, melyn and welcome to this great reunion. It has been nearly an age since all the elven people of Middle Earth were last assembled. You have all come here to discuss matters that will shape the future of our lands, but we will not think of them tonight. Tonight is to celebrate and enjoy the peace we have known for many a century. So tonight, rejoice, eat, drink and dance under the stars for we all share the same love for the light of Elbereth. May your evening be merry."
Loud applause burst forth in the room, and after a moment, Amdír started talking again.
"Tonight, we welcome our last guests of honour. They have come from the beautiful forest of Greenwood The Great, and I want you all to greet them as they so deserve. I call my fellow woodland representative, Prince Thranduil Oropherion.
The Prince, followed by Heniedir and some other members of their delegation stepped toward their host and stood at his side. A new burst of applause could be heard before Thranduil gave the speech he had prepared for the occasion.
He thanked Amdír for his warm welcome and respectfully greeted the other delegations, from Lindon and Imladris. He stated how he was honored to be present for those decisive negotiations and wished for productive and rich exchanges as well as for peace and new discovery in that time of gathering. Because, aside the political part of the summit, they all knew it was also an opportunity to share their cultural differences and learn from each other.
After the end of his speech, the audience applauded one last time before the minstrels started to play joyful songs. The sound of harps, flutes and drums floated in the air, mingling with the conversations. Thranduil joined Heniedir, Hatholdor and other members of their delegation which had been invited at the King's table. The prince was not rejoicing at the perspective of this meal, but he knew he should cope with it sooner or later; acting with diplomacy was the heart of such gatherings and negotiations, after all.
He sat between his chief councilor and his captain and he was glad for it. Across the table sat King Amdír, his wife and son, and around them Gil-Galad, Elrond, Glorfindel and other noldor composed the group of the most important elves in Middle Earth. As everyone was chatting merrily – or politely at least – Thranduil took the time to observe the other guests. His eyes met those of Celeborn, his distant relative greeted him with a light bow of his head. At his side, Lady Galadriel was also looking at him, and the sylvan prince held her piercing gray blue eyes for a second before continuing his examination. He quickly passed the faces of the members of the imladrin delegation who were still talking in between themselves. At Lord Glorfindel's left, though, he spotted the elleth he had seen earlier.
As before, his eyes lie on her without apparent reasons. She was of course beautiful, but in his three millennia of existence, he had many occasions to admire beautiful elves. Why was she different, he could not tell. Not to mention she was a noldë, people he usually distrusted and avoided.
"I wonder why they allowed her to come," a voice muttered on his right.
Thranduil turned his eyes away from the elleth to look at Heniedir at his side. The councilor was also staring at the dark haired noldë. The prince frowned at his companion's words.
"Do you know who she is?" he asked.
"Have you not guessed after seeing her? Her appearance is yet a strong indication of her identity ," Heniedir replied.
"I have never seen her before," Thranduil assured him. "Not that I am aware of, at least."
"You have however met her, a long time ago in Doriath. She is Annelin Magloriel."
The blond ellon stiffened hearing that name. This elleth was a fëanorian, descending from a lineage of kin slayers? Maybe was she a kinslayer herself if Heniedir's mention of her presence in Doriath was any indication. His eyes immediately turned toward her again, and he examined her further; his father's adviser's words were true. Now that he looked closely, she indeed resembled her forefathers; her eyes were of silver, her high cheekbones and her proud chin reminded him of the Fëanorionate of who he got a glance during the sack of Menegroth, all those centuries ago. But if the faces of the noldorin assailants of Díor's realm had been angry and vengeful, the features of their descendants displayed only boredom.
Thranduil almost startled when his eyes met those of the elf at who he had been staring. She held his gaze, and a light flickered in her irises, of defiance, interest or surprise, the prince could not tell. She eventually looked away when Glorfindel spoke to her, and Thranduil did the same, in case he was caught staring again.
The meal started, and Thranduil had to focus on the discussions taking place around him. Heniedir, Hatholdor and Amroth had started a conversation about the defenses of their respective borders, a topic which would usually interest the Prince of Eryn Galen. The company surrounding him was not that bad, the food and drinks were marvelous and the music played by the Lórien minstrels was charming to the ear. He should had been having a good time, but he felt distracted, unsettled even.
On more than one occasion throughout the dinner, Thranduil's eyes turned to look at the brunette elleth sitting further on his right. He could not explain the attraction he was experiencing; it was not the same sensation he had already felt for a few ellith along the centuries, a fluttering desire combined to the aesthetic appreciation of their appearances. It was something else; a mix of curiosity, charm and a, maybe, morbid fascination. It had been millenia since his path crossed with a survivor of the Second Kinslaying from the enemy's side. The House of Fëanor had been reduced to a few elves, not even a hundred, after the War of Wrath and the Sack of Eregion. The Spirit of Fire was a name come from a distant past, from an age when the first rise of Anor had just occurred, when they all lived in the lands of Beleriand, now submerged under the sea. For the sindar of the older generation who had survived all those years, his father, Amdír, Celeborn, Heniedir and other among them, the Sons of Fëanor and their followers were never mentioned. They were like a wound of the past, a dark memory dulled by the time that had passed since, the grief of a lost home and a hatred which lingered, almost out of habit. For those who like Thranduil had been still young when the Second Kinslaying occurred, only remained the reminicence of fear and confusion in the chaos of the fights. He still had memories of Menegroth, of its splendors and wonders, but he had barely come of age when the Fëanorians came. All that was in a distant past compared to his three thousands years of life.
So, even if his natural instincts screamed to be wary of Annelin Magloriel, knowing the role she played in the slaying of his kin did not diminish the strange attraction he was feeling. What bothered him the most at the moment was the fact he did not understand while he was feeling that attraction. And Thranduil hated not understanding.
Maybe he should have let it go, forget it even existed and go on with his life as if it had never happened. After all, he had never talked to this elleth, why should he feel compelled to pursuit this attraction? And a part of him knew that nothing good could reasonably came out of this. Interacting with a noldë, a Fëanorian even. His father, and not only him, would tell him it was folly.
But he could not help himself. The hours passed, the festivities went on until the first lights of dawn. And never his gaze wandered away from the elleth for long. He felt something which he could not name.
She was a mystery; one Thranduil Oropherion was determined to unravel.
A/N: I wanted to write a note to explain a bit whre I'm going with this story. Headwinds is a romance, first and for most, even if themes such as friendship, resilience, coming to term with one's past and war will also be deal with. This story started to unfold in my mind a few years ago, and from the beginning, I knew it'll be a kind of soul mates story. It's not the typical soul mate plot with soul mate tatoos or marks, and Thranduil and ANnelin won't be completely in love at first sight. But I decided to play with this theory which you can find in the fandom stating that elves are destined to one other soul. That's why Thranduil is attracted and intrigued by Annelin so early in the story. The romance won't be a walk in the park, they'll be a lot of drama and angst. But I wanted you to know what you'll find in this story from the start.
Translations:
Elleth (Sindarin) : elfe (female)
Lorinand (woodland sindarin) : another name of Lothlórien.
Ellon (S) : elfe (male)
Eryn Galen (S) : Greenwood in sindarin
Tauruilos (S) : Ever white forest, the capital city of Lothlórien. In the Lord of the Rings, the name of the city of Lórien is Caras Galadhon, but it was not built until Third Age 1981 and the depart of Amroth, when Galadriel and Celeborn became the rulers of the Golden Wood. This is a madeup name I invented for this story, coming from sindarin " taur " meaning forest, and " uilos' meaning ever white.
Noldë (Quenya): feminine of noldo, singular form of noldor
Calaquendi (Q) elf of light, those of the Eldar who have seen and lived in the light of the Two Trees of Valinor. They kept a trace of the light of Telperion and Laurelin in their eyes. Galadriel is one of the last calaquendi in the Second and Third Age.
Mellyn (S): my friends
Annelin Magloriel (S): Annelin, daughter of Maglor, second son of Fëanor.
Fëanorionath (S): the sons of Fëanor
Anor (S): the Sun
Notes on the names of OCs:
Heniedir (S) : understander
Hatholdor (S): haxman
Silawen S): silver maiden
Historical notes:
The event of the First Age Thranduil is thinking of is the Second Kinslaying that took place in Doriath. The sons of Fëanor, who were Noldor, sacked the city of Menegroth to take back the Silmaril of Beran and Lúthien. Ever since, tentions had subsided between Noldor and Sindar
The War of Wrath is the war that ended the First Age, Morgoth and all his dark friends against. what remained of sindar and noldor in Beleriand + the Host of Valinor, made of some of the Valar and an army of Noldor and Vanyar came to help Middle Earth which was on the brink of destruction. The powers that fought in this war were so great that Beleriand drowned in the sea.