Chapter 1
This is my second LOTR fic, after I swore I'd never share one again. Yet here I am. My previous story is entirely unrelated to this one, though there is a small crossover in character names. Even though I could've sworn I'd done a tear-inducing amount of research for that one, this time I think I nailed my language and details a bit more this go-round. If you're curious it's on , "Keeper" under the same screen name.
A few notes:
-I'm just not addressing how death works for elves right now. Sailing west vs dying for realsies, we're just not going there.
-The majority of names, while all sourced to be canon, don't have a relevant meaning regarding a character's personality, unless it's an epessë. Some of them are connected to the character's traits and I will attempt to translate to some extent.
-I'm mostly using a small amount of Silvan to make readers feel immersed in the setting. The majority refer to a person's gender or family status. Most will be self-explanatory in the context in which it's set.
-This story will span roughly 14 chapters. I'm closed to finished with the entire draft, so it ought to be regularly updated.
...
The sight of her ought to have given him feelings of relief and comfort. But instead, her tense figure, grey-green eyes, and soft honey-colored hair served only to remind him of Cala. After all, Miriel came to court with the exclusive purpose of seeing his wife.
Cala was gone now.
Her gaze was as sharp as ever. Despite his wife's love for this elleth, Thranduil had always found Miriel too observant, too willing to speak when she ought not, too eager to clash when something did not please her. And nothing Thranduil did ever seemed to please her.
He had nothing against intelligent, fierce females — his mate had been all of that and more. It would have been easy for her to seek any other life, yet she'd chosen to come to the Greenwood with him. Isolated from all that she knew, ruling an unfamiliar people.
Caladhiel had never shied away from the tougher duties in her role as Queen. He had loved Cala for her wit and willingness to go to battle. She'd been everything a prominent elleth ought to be. Miriel, on the other hand, despite their shared past and education, was a stark opposite.
They were alike in so many ways, their differences were almost deceptive. Yet something about her dearest friend has always grated on him. Where his queen was demure and plain-spoken, Miriel was softly silver-tongued. Cala could effortlessly project a wave of calm energy upon a room. She was adept at putting others at ease, playing the diplomat and hostess effortlessly. She was easily beloved by her people, naturally warm and welcoming. Miriel — who'd had a similar tutorage in politics, all in preparation for an advantageous marriage — knew better how to skirt the edges, exerting her influence in a burst of fire or a single whisper. Miri wasn't skilled at creating an inviting environment — or if she was, he'd never experienced it. She was a storm where Cala had been a gentle rain.
He'd only put up with the annoying elleth for the sake of his partner, his mate. With Caladhiel gone, the king had been tempted to reject the elleth's request for entry into his cavern halls. She'd written weeks ago, presumably as soon as the news had reached here. The message had been stiff, a formal inquiry if she might travel to the Greenwood. The thoughtless, flowing handwriting, complete with ink smears and crossed-out words, had not offered the grieving king any comfort. But the memory of his wife prevented him from turning Miriel Avarethil out.
"Your majesty," she said politely as she rose from a deep curtsy, the velvet of her tawny skirts sliding against his stone floor. "You have my deepest condolences."
"And you mine," he intoned. "My wife was as a sister to you, Lady Miriel."
There was a tension in her shoulders at the title, but she bowed her head rather than correcting him as she typically would. He knew better than anyone she hated titles and honorifics.
Miriel swallowed, inhaling slowly as if to breathe in an aura of calm. He could still feel her rage — it was as familiar as his own. The violence of Cala's end, the stark injustice of her loss, was an open wound. It would likely never scar.
"Her loss is unimaginable. I cannot imagine your grief, despite my own. I am sorry to have missed the funeral."
"It was only a ceremony."
He could tell the dismissal irked her. Mere ceremony or not, it was in honor of his wife. Her best friend. While some whispered words and lit tapers, incense and flowers might mean little to the dead, they meant something to the living.
She set her jaw. "Even so, I am sorry for it." The elleth paused. "I did not come merely to express my sorrow at your wife's passing. I wish to offer you my service as a caretaker for your son, my king."
This was unexpected. Thranduil stilled. Silence echoed for a long moment after her words faded.
He narrowed his gaze. "You believe me incapable of raising my child?"
"No." She was unruffled by the hint of anger his words implied. "You have servants a plenty. I have no doubt he is being given the best care. What I am offering is the whole of myself in the service of protecting and educating the child of my beloved friend."
"I find myself confused as to why you would think such an offer necessary, my lady." A note of warning had entered his tone.
Miriel did not respond to the forbidding tone. She spoke without emotion, voice flat. "There is nothing I can do for Cala now, besides give her child my love and devotion. I want nothing more than to honor her through this service."
Thranduil considered. She was right, he had more than enough elves to tend to Legolas's physical needs and his education. They would serve him with loyalty, no doubt. But none could tend to his son as his mother. What Miriel was offering was more than mere childcare. Her love would be no replacement for Legolas's naneth, but he could not deny it would come close. Miriel's adoration of Cala was fierce, nearly in league with his own. The only thing that parted them was Miriel's distaste for courtly life. Even in a court as relaxed as his, she preferred her isolated existence.
Her proposal was not only one of love and duty, then, but of sacrifice.
What of her temperament? He would not like to see his son given to such negative energy as Miriel occasionally projected. Though when he considered the occasions she'd been reunited with his wife, the elleth wasn't prone to any sour emotion stronger than a light annoyance. Truly, the only time he'd seen her upset was the period during which he was courting her dearest friend. Could he trust her to show his heir the same level of care she had indulged upon his mother?
After what felt like an age, he inclined his head. "I would be honored if you would join our household, Lady Miriel."
Her expression did not alter at his words, but he could see that she had released a long breath. "Thank you, my lord."
…
Legolas was a darling child. He was as fair as his father, a chubby cherub, his cheeks flushed a healthy pink. Miriel watched him sleep, his tiny chest rising and falling in time, and could envision Cala over his crib crooning soft lullabies.
His nursery had clearly been decorated by his mother's hand. Soft green velvet drapes let moonlight filter in. His finely-wrought crib, a masterpiece of oak, was central to the room. A mobile of felt leaves and forest creatures hung above, swaying gently.
It was so cruel that he would never know his mother's voice. All he would possess were a few portraits and what others could relay. A crude replacement for what Miri knew to be a deep love. Cala had longed for a child since she was an elfling. She'd led a life many would envy — daughter of an elven lord, wife to a king, beloved by her people, an accomplished rider and hunter. But her greatest desire was to be a naneth. It was unfair that shortly after achieving that dream she passed beyond this realm.
As Miriel observed the baby breathing, she reflected on the risk she'd taken in her proposal to his Adar. There had been a very real chance that he would have rejected her offer. It was no secret that Thranduil had little patience for her and she for him. Their introduction centuries ago had gone well enough. But then things changed. He'd become enamored with her dearest friend — and Miri had taken offense to that. They'd taken to politely ignoring one another shortly following his betrothal to Cala. After the marriage, when she had made the occasional journey to Amon Lanc to see her friend, he would begrudgingly partake in one dinner with herself and Cala then keep his distance for the remainder of her visit.
"He's not one to forgive easily, Miri," Cala would cluck as her friend glared at the door the Elfking had just exited with his usual level of arrogance and hostility.
Miri had always crossed her arms. "I don't see what I did that requires forgiveness," she always sniffed. "He is the one who insulted me."
Cala, exasperated, would usually throw her hands up. "You are both so stubborn. If you'd just give him a chance —"
By then Miriel would resort to rolling her eyes and refilling her goblet, making a half-hearted promise to behave and not antagonize Cala's husband for the remainder of her stay. Well, not purposefully antagonize him.
Now they were stuck in each other's orbit, for the sake of an elleth who'd meant the world to both of them. As Miri continued to keep guard over the sleeping child, she promised herself that she would endeavor to create an understanding with Thranduil. She owed it to Caladhiel and Legolas to try.
…
It was lucky that she had essentially packed up her life when she endeavored to come to Amon Lanc. And luckier still that she hadn't made much effort in unpacking. For within mere weeks of her arrival, the entire community was preparing to uproot to a new home.
Carwegeth, Cala's ladies maid, explained as they packed up the nursery one afternoon. "He's been nervous, after the Queen's death. The new castle is supposed to be a veritable fortress," she said pragmatically as they folded tiny tunics for the princeling. Miri could recognize Cala's embroidery on some of the small shirts. Delicate stitches, perfectly even.
"It's a big move," Miriel observed. "Has he been planning it long?"
Carwegeth glanced up at the star-flecked ceiling, thinking. "Thranduil has been overseeing the construction for nearly ten years. But we assumed it was to be something of a winter retreat, a good place to move court when the weather turned cold. I think that the Queen's death spurred something in him."
She did not doubt it.
What Miri did doubt, however, was her ability to travel with an infant. Legolas was an alert, cheerful baby. But he was still a baby and the idea of carrying him on horseback or in a wagon made her, frankly, ill. He still slept a great deal, true, yet the road was far from smooth. How would he fare on a week's long journey?
Carwegeth came to the rescue, presenting the fretful Miriel with a long strip of pale blue linen a few days before the party was set to caravan out to their new home.
"Caladhiel used this with him often," the elleth explained. "You wrap it around your torso and nestle the child against you. It's supposed to make them feel as secure as if they were in your womb."
As Miriel's womb had never been occupied she couldn't relate. Still, she took Carwegeth's assistance in strapping Legolas to her chest the morning they were to set out. Wrapping the cloth was a little troublesome. They practiced several times before finally placing a fussing Legolas against her bosom. She made a desperate bouncing motion to soothe him, feeling foolish, but within a few minutes he was settled and drifting off.
A wary elleth made her way to where the party waited, one hand on the bundle resting snugly against her chest. One of the stablehands gave her a boost onto the bay gelding she had been assigned. Miriel lifted the fabric to check that Legolas was still sleeping. The sweet boy was indeed still unconscious, nestled against her breast, his breathing in time with her heartbeat. Miriel's eyes traced his jutting upper lip, so bird-like, and the translucent lavender eyelids that flickered every few seconds. How precious he was to her already.
Her gelding was led to stand beside Thranduil's stag. As the prince's caregiver, it was expected that she would ride with him. Miriel met the king's formidable gaze. His iron eyes were intent upon hers, the question undeniable. She nodded, one hand clutching the reigns, the other resting on the lump centered on her chest. His gaze moved briefly to her charge, softening imperceptibly.
Thranduil spoke a quick word to Galion, who nodded and barked a command to the rest of the party. They were soon off.
Legolas slept most of the first leg of the day, waking briefly when they stopped to tend to the horses. He accepted a bottle for Miriel, eating ravenously, requiring a change, then swiftly falling back asleep. It was a few hours before they were set to make camp when the prince made use of his healthy lungs.
She'd hoped the horse's canting would sway him to sleep, but Legolas was not to be persuaded. "There, there," she murmured to him, patting his back in a steady, hopefully-soothing pattern. "There-there, little leaf."
A well-put-upon sigh broke her concentration. Thranduil had coaxed his stag closer. Miriel pursed her lips at him, still patting the infant's back.
"Your majesty," she said flatly.
Thranduil ignored her attitude. "Give him to me," he commanded, one hand reaching out.
Miriel sputtered. "I am not handing him to you while we are —"
Galion was repeating the order to stop and rest, riding towards the end of the caravan.
Thranduil raised one thick, elegant brow.
"When we dismount," Miri muttered.
Legolas cried through her dismounting her gelding — who was named Acorn, she'd learned — and the unwrapping of his swaddle. He did not cease crying when his Adar accepted him. Thranduil immediately placed the babe on his shoulder, patting his back and murmuring softly. Without a word to Miriel, he drifted away from the rest of the group, facing the deep woods.
Miriel tended to Acorn while trying to keep an eye on the king. It wasn't that she didn't trust Thranduil — merely that she'd yet to see him interact with his son one-on-one. In her weeks at Amon Lanc, he'd come to the nursery only a few times. And even then he'd merely observed. She suspected he visited Legolas late at night or early in the morning, while Miriel was in her own room down the hall (Thranduil had been gracious enough to offer her a room in the wing reserved for members of the royal family) so that he might spend a few moments alone with the baby.
Within a few minutes, Legolas had quieted, his cries turning to whimpers and hiccups. Thranduil ceased his pacing and returns with a calm elfling, but he does not offer him to Miriel. Instead, the king continued to hold his son, crooning so softly Miriel could make out the melody. He looked down upon his son with an indiscernible expression as he sang. She thought it might be love.
When the horses had been fed and watered Legolas was returned to her, calm though still awake. Once more Carwegeth assists her in swaddling the prince to her chest. To her surprise, Thranduil helped her mount, finding a stump for her to use as a step up, then holding her waist for support. It was a small feat Miri could normally do on her own — but with Legolas, she wished to be extra careful. Once it was assured everyone was safely mounted, the party moved on.
…
The week's journey was not an easy one. The roads grew less smooth the further north they moved. On more than one occasion, a horse was spooked by something in the shadows of the wood and nearly threw its rider. Miri, who had not ridden consistently in a couple of hundred years, was sore and chafed from long days in a saddle. Her back ached from the constant weight of Legolas on her chest. Carwegeth occasionally took him, but he quickly established a preference for Miriel. And his ada. But it was agreed that Thranduil should not wear the babe, for fear that any harm to the king while tending to his son, both the monarch and the heir might be lost in one fell swoop.
The rides themself were agonizing long. Galion and Carwegeth road with them, but there was not much idyl talk in the proximity of the Elfking. Most elves were wary around Miriel anyways. She'd always been tolerated as Caladhiel's friend. With Cala gone and the king clearly disdainful of her company, the others didn't know what to do with this elleth who had for so rejected living in an elven community.
"They'll get to know you in time," Carwegeth reassured.
The ladies maid had become something of a friend. She'd been Cala's right hand since she married Thranduil, and subsequently knew Miriel. While they were still navigating their professional relationship, unsure of their roles given that Miriel was technically a lady yet was taking on a very servant-ly role, Carwegeth had been nothing but friendly.
By far the worst thing about the journey was that she was made to sleep in Thranduil's tent every night. Though spacious, she was still in too close a proximity to the Elfking. It was clear the feeling was mutual. But he wanted his son close. And with Legolas came Legolas's caregiver.
The tent was not ostentatious. The Elfking had a love for rich fabrics and costly furnishings, but he traveled light. There was little more in the space besides bedding and a lamp. She slept on a pallet in one corner, as far as possible from Thranduil's own pallet. Legolas slept beside her, swaddled, though she made sure he had plenty of time before bed to stretch his young limbs.
The princeling only woke in the midst of the night occasionally. Thranduil never appeared annoyed, always rousing with Miriel to calm the child. They traded off soothing him, making a bottle, even, to Miriel's surprise, changing the babe. Thranduil seemed to have no issue dealing with his son's diapers, handling the matter without any fuss, even talking to Legolas to distract him.
More than once, she collapsed into bed as soon as Legolas went down and awoke to a blanket draped across her that hadn't been there before.
…
Midway through the last day of their journey, everyone's pace shifted from weary trudging to upbeat anticipation. Even Legolas seemed to sense the change in energy, gurgling happily from his sling.
The party started to descend into a valley. Here the woods grew thick, dark, and deep. Pieces of the sky could be seen like shards of stained glass from between a thick canopy of leaves. The forest floor was veiled, not dim enough to require lanterns, but it caused the princeling to drift towards a fitful sleep, eyes flickering whenever Acorn jostled his riders.
Miriel kept her eyes wide, scanning the scant horizon. Thranduil would not establish a new fortress in an area considered unsafe. But the deepness of the forest made her feel unwell. She was an elf bred by the sea, raised in the airy dwellings of Lórien. The Greenwood might have been her home for a few centuries, but she's never lived in such an oppressive stretch. No doubt, it would serve well as a defense.
"You're ill-at-ease," a voice to her right observed.
She glanced at Galion, who'd pulled his mare back so that he was at pace with Acorn. She'd been so caught up in her own thoughts she had failed to notice him slip from Thranduil's side. Ahead the king rode silently, his figure framed perfectly by his stage's massive antlers.
"We have wardens surrounding us," Galion reassured her quietly, making a correct assumption about her discomfort. "Nothing could come within a league of here without encountering them, and to run up against the king's wardens is certain death."
Miri cracked a smile. "I have little doubt of our safety. The landscape is just very…oppressive, compared to what I am used to."
The ellon nodded in understanding. "It'll thin once we get closer. The new halls are at the base of a mountain."
"I'm eager to see it. There have been few details, only rumors."
"Yes, the king has kept the plans close between himself and his council. It will be quite comfortable. Safety was paramount in the design, but he did not neglect to see to the more domestic details. In some ways, it will be a trade-off from what we're used to at Amon Lanc. Yet every luxury was seen to. The caverns offer many creative opportunities."
"Caverns?"
Galion grimace. "Ah, I've ruined the surprise."
Her heart faltered. Thranduil was taking them underground? She tried to picture Caladhiel, made to live in a dank cave, her light left to wilt in the gloom. It was grim. What would become of a little green leaf? She peered down at the small face pressed against her bosom.
"It's not as bad at that," Galion said quickly, again reading her thoughts. "You'll see, soon."
He was right — within the next hour, the trees began to thin. Miriel realized as they soon began passing progressively larger and larger boulders that they must be approaching a mountain. She straightened in the saddle as the party wound their way through a labyrinth of living wood and stone, alert for signs of their new home.
A bridge, so elegantly crafted it seemed organic in design, appeared ahead. Beyond it, Miri spotted thick grey columns carved into the cliff that loomed above, their serpentine arches so delicately wrought they might be mistaken for giant trees. Set between a pair of columns she could see a pair of massive blue doors. When she realized what it must be, she let out a low breath.
Thranduil glanced back at her, a question in his eyes.
Miri jutted her chin forward, meeting his gaze without an answer. His lips pursed and he turned back, urging his stag forward.
The bridge extended past the double doors. It took a moment for Miriel's eyes to adjust to the change in light. The cavern that sprawled before her was immense, a network of stone columns and winding bridges. Huge torches set in the stonework illuminated the fortress dwelling. She ventured to look down and over the edge of the path, making out a river creeping between the rocks below.
Behind her, she could hear Galion issuing orders, directing certain groups of the party towards a different path — left to the stables, right to the armory. A set of stairs that would take you to the kitchens and the servent's hall. Wardens had already been living in the fortress for weeks and ought to be available to anyone who needed assistance finding their way. Thranduil continued on ahead, alone but for the guards that had appeared beside him.
Carwegeth was suddenly at her side, astride her own bay gelding. "We're to follow Warden Haegorn." She nodded toward the warden standing on the bridge beside them, clearly impatiently waiting to guide them. "He's to show us to the royal apartments."
"Should we dismount?" Miriel asked the warden.
"No, it's a long walk to the household." He eyed the bundle strapped to her chest with mild interest. Legolas was awake and quietly observing, his large grey eyes taking in the seemingly endless cavern.
Miriel placed a hand on the elflings back. Despite his status as their prince, people staring at Legolas made her uncomfortable. "Thank you," she said, nodding once before urging Acorn forward.
They reached a set of stairs leading to another pair of large stone doors, these set with sheets of gold and semi-precious stones. Haegorn assisted her in dismounting, careful of the prince. He took her saddlebags in hand, then gestured to the guards waiting by the doors, directing them to bring the horses to the stables. Turning back to Miri and Carwegeth, he explained that the guards were just a formality.
"They stay out here unless there is a direct threat or they are summoned they ought not to be in the royal family's household," he said. "The king was very clear in his preference for privacy."
Miriel was grateful that she and Thranduil were alike in this way.
She followed Haegorn inside past the ornate doors. They entered a circular chamber with three thresholds going off in different directions. He took them through the leftmost, down a corridor with five doors, indicating that the one at the end of the hall was Legola's nursery. Miriel's room was to the left, Carwegeth's to the right. The other rooms were empty.
"Thranduil's apartment is down the center corridor," the warden explained as he unlocked the nursery door. "The other wing is empty. I don't know why the royal apartments are so big when the Greenwood has never had a large royal family, but there is plenty of room should Thranduil decide he wishes to wed again and have a few more elflings."
Carwegeth frowned, clearly finding the comment impertinent. She set down the saddle bag she'd been carrying, saying, "Thank you, Warden Haegorn. That shall be all."
Realizing his offense, he bowed his head. "Of course, my ladies. I shall attend to your mounts."
Once the door closed behind him, Carwegeth shook her head, mumbling under her breath. "As if it's any of his business."
"He's the king," Miriel said simply. "It's understandable that there would be interest."
She'd knelt to unwrap Legolas, laying him upon the soft carpet center to the room. His eyes immediately focused upwards, straining to see the star-shaped light overhead. The ceiling was painted a dark blue and set with crystals that winked like stars in the night sky. She could make out a handful of constellations. Miriel looked around, noting that Legolas's crib had already arrived and sat against the far wall, already readied with a velvet canopy and his mobile hung above. Shelves lined the walls, already filled with books and toys.
Carwegeth was pleased to see that the trunk holding the prince's clothes had already arrived and set to work unpacking. Miri walked Legolas around, pointing out objects in his new chambers. She thought it a very fine room indeed, save for the lack of windows and natural light. Perhaps she could find a few plants that thrive in low light, to give it a touch of greenery.
"We'll have to take lots of walks," she whispered, trying to sound cheered by the prospect.
Carwegeth offered to lay the prince down for a nap to allow Miriel the chance to explore her own room next door. Key heavy in her hand, Miri approached the door with apprehension. Unlike her room at Amon Lanc, this was a far more permanent home. A more permanent home than she's had in decades.
The first thing she noticed was the fireplace. The mouth was surrounded by inlaid lapis lazuli, and a large mantel dominated the wall above. She could picture filling the space with books and scrolls. Like Legolas's nursery, there were no windows, but sconces offered a decent amount of light. The walls were smooth stone, no doubt hand-hewn for days to achieve such a quality. At each corner, an artisan had carved delicate vines and leaves around the curved impression of a column.
A desk with a mirror sat along the far wall. Opposite, a large oak wardrobe that was arguably ridiculous considering her current lack of attire. In the middle of the room, across from the fireplace, a four-poster bed sat piled with velvet and satin. Miri almost snorted at the decadence. Rather too rich for a glorified nanny.
"I refrained from selecting tapestries and rugs."
She nearly jumped from her skin at the voice from the door she could have sworn she'd closed behind her. Thranduil stood on the threshold, scanning her walls. He went on, ignoring the fact that he'd startled her.
"I thought you might like to find something that would suit you. Make it feel like home."
Miriel swallowed. "Thank you," she managed. "That is very kind."
His eyes flicked to her face briefly before going back to examining the woodwork of the wardrobe. As though he was determined to ensure its craftsmanship was up to par for the royal household. "Ask one of the footmen to show you and Carwegeth tomorrow. The caverns can be cold."
With that he swept from the room without another word, leaving Miriel with a furrowed brow and a vague sense that he'd tried, in his own way, to offer care.
...
The word Avarethil will make several appearances. It roughly translates to "rejected royalty."
Thank you for reading, reviews, favorites, and follows are appreciated!
