The After Ages
by Shauna
A/N A great big thank you to all who responded! I didn't even have to bribe you to review with rings of power!
***
Part 3, Chapter 2
The Forgotten King
***
The dinner seemed too humble for a King. The chair backs were uneven, the table worn, and all was made from the same wood as the house and the tree that it rested against. Yet when Thranduil sank into his seat the setting gained a rustic elegance, as if some fantastic designer had purposefully placed him there and was amused and pleased with the contradiction.
The table could fit six around it easily, and was indeed set for so many, but one space sat empty. Aragorn was given a spot across from the King, who had Throndil to one side. On the other was the unfilled chair. Next to it was a girl who looked much like Throndil, not only in the coloring but in the strong lines of her face. Next to Throndil sat one of the darker men. His face was a neutral mask.
The King had something inside golden and glowing, suffusing him, dancing alone the planes of his shadowless face. His son and- was that his daughter? seemed also to shine, but weakly, as if reflecting him. The last one seemed to be not touched at all. Aragorn wished he had a mirror - how well did he himself absorb the light?
Aragorn was somewhat surprised when the King performed no ritual before the meal, though the dark man murmured inaudibly and waved his hands over his plate. Throndil glanced at him with an accustomed wariness, and waited for the Avari to finish before he began to eat. Then no one spoke for a while, as they were all hungry and unwilling to lessen the pleasure with idle words.
When at last everyone had finished, the King pushed his plate away, and regarded Aragorn. "My child," he said, "No doubt you see that we are in somewhat of an awkward position. For we are unlike you, in many ways which may soon be made clear, but in some ways which are obvious to you already. We are isolated from the outside world, for fear, perhaps, and for tradition - which are often the same thing. We no doubt seem strange to you."
Aragorn fidgeted with his hands beneath the table. "Not so strange."
"Really?"
"Well, you're a lot like Indians. Indians?" He glanced around the table. "In America - where I came from before we moved here - we had Natives who were there before us. We killed them and wiped them out - not me, I mean, but my ancestors. But there are some of them left. On reservations. I always felt sorry for them... they loved the woods, like I do, and they worshipped different gods, gods in the trees and the animals, and now they stay on their reservations and can't - or won't, touch the outside world."
"America..." murmured Thranduil thoughtfully. "Where is that again?"
"Across the ocean. The Atlantic? It's, um, west of Europe. Where we are now? The Americas are really two continents, North and South which are barely joined. But when I say America, I mean the US. Its a single country taking up a little less then half of North America."
As he gestured Thranduil watched him intently and finally he said aloud, as if thinking, "The Sunlands? Has time gone so quickly?"
His voice strayed high on the last word, and until he broke it off it sounded like a note of mourning. Turning in confusion to his former guide, Aragorn saw Throndil's eyes flash with pain. Then the King released a breath, and smiled, and all returned to normal.
"Mayhap you wondered when I would introduce you to our companions? This is my daughter Maylin. She no doubt would speak to you if she could, but naught a word has she spoken since the last ship departed - and that has been a long while. And this is a representative of the Avari - it seemed only fair to have one with us tonight. I doubt you will get much conversation out of him, let alone his name. He does not reveal such things with ease."
"Not when you do so for me," the Avari said suddenly, surprising everybody. Aragorn was surpised at his voice, which beneath its roughness was like a melody. "You overflow with talk tonight, Thranduil."
"'Tis necessary. I think it is high time we told you the truth, Aragorn. Nay, we have not been deceitful, we have but omitted our painful secrets, and in order for you to decide rightly you must know both the joy and the pain."
"My, my king - " Aragorn stuttered, confused. "Decide what?"
Thranduil folded his arms, and then began to speak, in a style that approached a chant. "It is remembered among my people - few though they are now - the tale of Gondolin, the hidden city, where dwelt Turgon, the forgotten king. He held out, steadfast, against an enemy so evil that though he was banished ages ago his legacy remains. Turgon held against the darkness the strength of his forces, content to wait until the most desperate hour, and to neither fight nor flee while the battle was yet young."
"But Thranduil - " he interrupted, then stopped at the look of surprise and annoyance that came across the others' face, all except the King himself who only nodded for him to go on. "That's just a fairy tale. How can you base your decisions on that?"
"A fairy tale, is it?" said Throndil tensely. Aragorn had noticed from where he sat that the prince had grown ever uneasier as his father continued. Now he sprang immediately in defense. "He was there in the battles! When we fell and the forests were bathed in blood, when Gondolin and Beleriand were all betrayed, when the darkness seemed too much to bear, and when at last Morgoth was cast down from his evil throne, he was there! There, and fighting for Iluvatar and the light long ere you were ever born!"
Aragorn could only gape while Throndil sat back angrily in his chair.
"Well, now," Thranduil said into the silence. "You've quite ruined the ending of my story."
Aragorn rubbed his hands over his forehead, trying to shut out the pounding that had taken over when Throndil had begun to shout. It was like there was more then words, but a will forcing itself down upon him, making his head ache and his breath come shallow.
"Listen," he said, struggling to speak. The pain was evident in his voice, and immediately it lessened, but Aragorn gave no thought to that. "I'm sorry! I thank you all for what you've done for me. God knows how I would have fared tonight if you hadn't come along. And I like you quite fine - you're certainly, erhm, interesting. But all this talk about darkness and light, about armies and ages and, oh, who knows, it's beyond me. It sounds an awful lot like something out of a story."
Throndil began to bristle again, but Thranduil stopped him. "Would you think any better knowing only what he does?"
After a pause, Thranduil continued with his story. "My point in telling you about Gondolin was its most iron rule. That no one must be allowed to leave. Yet, even the stern Turgon let some go forth from his walls, and through his leniency a great deal of good was done, as well as a fair amount of horror. We must decide, you and I, my portentously named little guest, whether you will walk free."
He paused here, as though waiting for something, but Aragorn bit back a reply.
"I can see you doubt me still! Ah, well, such stubbornness has its uses. I will tale you the tale of my people."
"It is told that Iluvatar created the world with his song, and also made powerful creatures called Ainur to tend it and love it even as he did. In all, he created but few of these creatures, and fewer even were those twisted to darkness, but they were there. There even before my kind rose from the earth. My kind," he said, lovingly, "has I think remained a legend on this earth. You know of us as elves, do you not?"
As he said this, he pushed back his flowing hair behind his ears, and Aragorn saw that his ears came to a point. He stared, not able to believe his eyes. "That," he muttered at last, "or Vulcans." He didn't think he could take *that*.
"What?"
"Nothing. Yeah... I've heard of elves."
"Perhaps you have, but not truly. We were the Firstborn, we elves, stronger and swifter and more beautiful then any creature, and given to us was immortality. But from the first we were also given sorrow, for darkness invaded the land as we sprang from it. The Ainur, our protectors, begged us come and live beneath their shelter. Some went, never to return. Some did return. Some never left, and some left only to settle along the path. The first are the Vanyar, the second the Noldor, the third the Avari, and the last, my people, the Sindar. There are still other groupings and divisions, but you need not know them now. The battle with darkness was long, and the best of my people gave their lives to it. It was many years before the shadow was gone."
"Gone?" Aragorn asked. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean that Sauron, the incarnation of evil, was gone. Who was the pupil of Morgoth, father of evil, who had in turn been driven from Arda. But they were fools to think that the shadow could ever be gone," he said, weighting the words as if he had pronounced them many times before. "It merely shifted. Changed, even as the ages did. That is why I stayed."
"Stayed?"
"The world was safe to grow and prosper, and most were weary of it. As I said, the Vanyar had already gone, and they called to their kin. The Avari were beyond hearing it, but the last of the Noldor went gratefully back to their ancient home. And most - aye, nearly all of the Sindar followed. My elder son Legolas, grieving for dear companions and the death of King Ar- Elessar, cared not for my reasoning. He sang only of sea gulls."
To Aragorn in seemed his tone grew bitter for the first time in the tale, and he winced at the malice reserved for the poor birds. When after a moment Thranduil resumed, his voice was again kind. "So it was for many, all except my second wife. She was not my wife then, nor had I any thought for her to be. For she was not of noble birth, nor even Sindarin, but Silvan... aye, I will not go into such details as those. But her love for me gave her the strength to resist the calling, and she stayed and bore me a daughter and a son. And we lived, and still live, among the Avari. They accepted us as kin, but treat us not as sisters and brothers, though they have had many years to learn to love us so. And we wait, for what, we know not. We wait, and the power of men waxes. We wait, and wait yet longer. Sometimes I regret my decisions, but their can be no turning back."
"Just as I cannot go back?" said Aragorn forlornly, his voice heavy with dread and fatigue. He felt the weight of the King's sorrow upon his own back.
"Oh, child, this is heavy and unusual talk!" The King exclaimed. "I did not mean you had to make your choice now. And I have kept you far too late. Throndil, take him to where he may rest."
With that the King rose and left the room, weary but still graceful, and when he was gone the room seemed somehow shadowed. Stumbling a little, Aragorn leaned gratefully on Throndil's arm, and was guided by him once more.
by Shauna
A/N A great big thank you to all who responded! I didn't even have to bribe you to review with rings of power!
***
Part 3, Chapter 2
The Forgotten King
***
The dinner seemed too humble for a King. The chair backs were uneven, the table worn, and all was made from the same wood as the house and the tree that it rested against. Yet when Thranduil sank into his seat the setting gained a rustic elegance, as if some fantastic designer had purposefully placed him there and was amused and pleased with the contradiction.
The table could fit six around it easily, and was indeed set for so many, but one space sat empty. Aragorn was given a spot across from the King, who had Throndil to one side. On the other was the unfilled chair. Next to it was a girl who looked much like Throndil, not only in the coloring but in the strong lines of her face. Next to Throndil sat one of the darker men. His face was a neutral mask.
The King had something inside golden and glowing, suffusing him, dancing alone the planes of his shadowless face. His son and- was that his daughter? seemed also to shine, but weakly, as if reflecting him. The last one seemed to be not touched at all. Aragorn wished he had a mirror - how well did he himself absorb the light?
Aragorn was somewhat surprised when the King performed no ritual before the meal, though the dark man murmured inaudibly and waved his hands over his plate. Throndil glanced at him with an accustomed wariness, and waited for the Avari to finish before he began to eat. Then no one spoke for a while, as they were all hungry and unwilling to lessen the pleasure with idle words.
When at last everyone had finished, the King pushed his plate away, and regarded Aragorn. "My child," he said, "No doubt you see that we are in somewhat of an awkward position. For we are unlike you, in many ways which may soon be made clear, but in some ways which are obvious to you already. We are isolated from the outside world, for fear, perhaps, and for tradition - which are often the same thing. We no doubt seem strange to you."
Aragorn fidgeted with his hands beneath the table. "Not so strange."
"Really?"
"Well, you're a lot like Indians. Indians?" He glanced around the table. "In America - where I came from before we moved here - we had Natives who were there before us. We killed them and wiped them out - not me, I mean, but my ancestors. But there are some of them left. On reservations. I always felt sorry for them... they loved the woods, like I do, and they worshipped different gods, gods in the trees and the animals, and now they stay on their reservations and can't - or won't, touch the outside world."
"America..." murmured Thranduil thoughtfully. "Where is that again?"
"Across the ocean. The Atlantic? It's, um, west of Europe. Where we are now? The Americas are really two continents, North and South which are barely joined. But when I say America, I mean the US. Its a single country taking up a little less then half of North America."
As he gestured Thranduil watched him intently and finally he said aloud, as if thinking, "The Sunlands? Has time gone so quickly?"
His voice strayed high on the last word, and until he broke it off it sounded like a note of mourning. Turning in confusion to his former guide, Aragorn saw Throndil's eyes flash with pain. Then the King released a breath, and smiled, and all returned to normal.
"Mayhap you wondered when I would introduce you to our companions? This is my daughter Maylin. She no doubt would speak to you if she could, but naught a word has she spoken since the last ship departed - and that has been a long while. And this is a representative of the Avari - it seemed only fair to have one with us tonight. I doubt you will get much conversation out of him, let alone his name. He does not reveal such things with ease."
"Not when you do so for me," the Avari said suddenly, surprising everybody. Aragorn was surpised at his voice, which beneath its roughness was like a melody. "You overflow with talk tonight, Thranduil."
"'Tis necessary. I think it is high time we told you the truth, Aragorn. Nay, we have not been deceitful, we have but omitted our painful secrets, and in order for you to decide rightly you must know both the joy and the pain."
"My, my king - " Aragorn stuttered, confused. "Decide what?"
Thranduil folded his arms, and then began to speak, in a style that approached a chant. "It is remembered among my people - few though they are now - the tale of Gondolin, the hidden city, where dwelt Turgon, the forgotten king. He held out, steadfast, against an enemy so evil that though he was banished ages ago his legacy remains. Turgon held against the darkness the strength of his forces, content to wait until the most desperate hour, and to neither fight nor flee while the battle was yet young."
"But Thranduil - " he interrupted, then stopped at the look of surprise and annoyance that came across the others' face, all except the King himself who only nodded for him to go on. "That's just a fairy tale. How can you base your decisions on that?"
"A fairy tale, is it?" said Throndil tensely. Aragorn had noticed from where he sat that the prince had grown ever uneasier as his father continued. Now he sprang immediately in defense. "He was there in the battles! When we fell and the forests were bathed in blood, when Gondolin and Beleriand were all betrayed, when the darkness seemed too much to bear, and when at last Morgoth was cast down from his evil throne, he was there! There, and fighting for Iluvatar and the light long ere you were ever born!"
Aragorn could only gape while Throndil sat back angrily in his chair.
"Well, now," Thranduil said into the silence. "You've quite ruined the ending of my story."
Aragorn rubbed his hands over his forehead, trying to shut out the pounding that had taken over when Throndil had begun to shout. It was like there was more then words, but a will forcing itself down upon him, making his head ache and his breath come shallow.
"Listen," he said, struggling to speak. The pain was evident in his voice, and immediately it lessened, but Aragorn gave no thought to that. "I'm sorry! I thank you all for what you've done for me. God knows how I would have fared tonight if you hadn't come along. And I like you quite fine - you're certainly, erhm, interesting. But all this talk about darkness and light, about armies and ages and, oh, who knows, it's beyond me. It sounds an awful lot like something out of a story."
Throndil began to bristle again, but Thranduil stopped him. "Would you think any better knowing only what he does?"
After a pause, Thranduil continued with his story. "My point in telling you about Gondolin was its most iron rule. That no one must be allowed to leave. Yet, even the stern Turgon let some go forth from his walls, and through his leniency a great deal of good was done, as well as a fair amount of horror. We must decide, you and I, my portentously named little guest, whether you will walk free."
He paused here, as though waiting for something, but Aragorn bit back a reply.
"I can see you doubt me still! Ah, well, such stubbornness has its uses. I will tale you the tale of my people."
"It is told that Iluvatar created the world with his song, and also made powerful creatures called Ainur to tend it and love it even as he did. In all, he created but few of these creatures, and fewer even were those twisted to darkness, but they were there. There even before my kind rose from the earth. My kind," he said, lovingly, "has I think remained a legend on this earth. You know of us as elves, do you not?"
As he said this, he pushed back his flowing hair behind his ears, and Aragorn saw that his ears came to a point. He stared, not able to believe his eyes. "That," he muttered at last, "or Vulcans." He didn't think he could take *that*.
"What?"
"Nothing. Yeah... I've heard of elves."
"Perhaps you have, but not truly. We were the Firstborn, we elves, stronger and swifter and more beautiful then any creature, and given to us was immortality. But from the first we were also given sorrow, for darkness invaded the land as we sprang from it. The Ainur, our protectors, begged us come and live beneath their shelter. Some went, never to return. Some did return. Some never left, and some left only to settle along the path. The first are the Vanyar, the second the Noldor, the third the Avari, and the last, my people, the Sindar. There are still other groupings and divisions, but you need not know them now. The battle with darkness was long, and the best of my people gave their lives to it. It was many years before the shadow was gone."
"Gone?" Aragorn asked. "What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean that Sauron, the incarnation of evil, was gone. Who was the pupil of Morgoth, father of evil, who had in turn been driven from Arda. But they were fools to think that the shadow could ever be gone," he said, weighting the words as if he had pronounced them many times before. "It merely shifted. Changed, even as the ages did. That is why I stayed."
"Stayed?"
"The world was safe to grow and prosper, and most were weary of it. As I said, the Vanyar had already gone, and they called to their kin. The Avari were beyond hearing it, but the last of the Noldor went gratefully back to their ancient home. And most - aye, nearly all of the Sindar followed. My elder son Legolas, grieving for dear companions and the death of King Ar- Elessar, cared not for my reasoning. He sang only of sea gulls."
To Aragorn in seemed his tone grew bitter for the first time in the tale, and he winced at the malice reserved for the poor birds. When after a moment Thranduil resumed, his voice was again kind. "So it was for many, all except my second wife. She was not my wife then, nor had I any thought for her to be. For she was not of noble birth, nor even Sindarin, but Silvan... aye, I will not go into such details as those. But her love for me gave her the strength to resist the calling, and she stayed and bore me a daughter and a son. And we lived, and still live, among the Avari. They accepted us as kin, but treat us not as sisters and brothers, though they have had many years to learn to love us so. And we wait, for what, we know not. We wait, and the power of men waxes. We wait, and wait yet longer. Sometimes I regret my decisions, but their can be no turning back."
"Just as I cannot go back?" said Aragorn forlornly, his voice heavy with dread and fatigue. He felt the weight of the King's sorrow upon his own back.
"Oh, child, this is heavy and unusual talk!" The King exclaimed. "I did not mean you had to make your choice now. And I have kept you far too late. Throndil, take him to where he may rest."
With that the King rose and left the room, weary but still graceful, and when he was gone the room seemed somehow shadowed. Stumbling a little, Aragorn leaned gratefully on Throndil's arm, and was guided by him once more.