Chapter 9
I haven't started Rings of Power yet, I'm worried it'll give me too many ideas and this story will be pushed out even longer, haha.
Lately, I've done some tinkering and this will be extended from probably 15 chapters to probably 16 chapters. Possibly even 17?
Anyways, this is the start of our next arc. Enjoy!
…
The scroll was presented to Thranduil with a jaunty flourish. His heavy brows rose at Galion's theatrical display before he snatched the parchment wordlessly and waved a dismissal. Galion bowed and retreated, though not before throwing Legolas and Miriel a cheeky wink. Legolas giggled. Thranduil narrowed his lips into a line that told Miri he was suppressing his own smile lest his son encourage Galion further.
Miri watched as he unwound the wine-colored satin ribbon and unfurled the message, fingers drumming against the polished stone tabletop. Messages were rarely delivered during mealtimes anymore. After she'd emphasized the need to focus on their nightly window of time with Legolas, Thranduil had issued the order that he was only to be disturbed under certain circumstances. Therefore only a few senders merited such attention.
Curiosity piqued, she kept her attention on Thranduil as his eyes scanned the lines of text. Legolas, for his part, was unconcerned, focused on his dinner and telling Miriel about a book Istuion had assigned that week. Half-listening, she nodded while he spoke of wyverns and their caves in the far north.
When Thranduil finally lowered the parchment his expression gave nothing away. He lifted his goblet, taking a long drink from it before he addressed them.
"Celeborn has written to let us know of his daughter's engagement. It seems Lady Celebrían will be wed to Lord Elrond in six months' time."
The names were familiar to Legolas. He perked up. "A wedding?"
"We have been invited to attend," Thranduil replied evenly. "The journey is not so arduous that I think it can be avoided. Legolas, you must be properly attired. Miriel, can you see to it?"
"Of course." Her heart squeezed at the thought of a lengthy separation from her elfling — a trip to Lórien was no mere weekend visit, they would likely be gone for several weeks.
Legolas proceeded to pepper them with questions. He'd never left the Greenwood, so the prospect of visiting the golden woods was highly exciting. Not to mention the chance to attend a wedding. Thranduil patiently answered each question to the best of his ability. Miri wondered if he reflected upon his own nuptials as he outlined the ceremony traditions to his son. If he did, there was no sign in his calm explanation.
The prince still had questions by bedtime.
"It will be a long six months if this is the only thing on your mind," Miriel grumbled as she pulled down the hem of his pajamas over his head as they readied for sleep. Legolas wiggled his head through the collar, giggling.
"Do you think Lord Elrond recited a poem to Lady Celebrían, as ada said?" he asked as he snuggled down between his covers.
"Perhaps. It is a common part of the ceremony, though not everyone chooses to use it."
"Did ada give my naneth a poem or song?"
Miriel held back a sigh. "He sang a song. I don't recall the precise one, but I am sure if you ask him tomorrow he will remember."
The elfling was disappointed, clearly hopeful that Miriel might recreate the moment. She pressed a kiss to his brow and acknowledged to herself that yes, it was indeed going to be a long six months before the wedding.
….
Talk of weddings and poems blessedly slowed within a few days and Miri didn't think much more of it until she was summoned to Thranduil's study several weeks later.
It was not an unusual occurrence — he often called her for clarification when going over the household books. Clarification that sometimes turned into outright harassment, such as their fight over her decision to stock the house with a number of beeswax candles seemed to him ludicrous. Or her recent order of kitchen linens — which had not been replaced in a decade. Their fight over an order of new rugs for the library was legendary, and their argument was still quoted among the kitchen maids. For all his decadence, the king was not keen on monetary waste. This afternoon she steeled herself for a battle over the expense of parchment and ink delivered from Dale last week. Such was the life of a seneschal.
"Do you harangue the stable master for his choice of barley?" she began as she stormed in, skirts flailing behind her. "Or Captain Rovain for his monthly arrow expenses?"
The king, seated behind his desk and writing, paused at her intrusion. He frowned, setting down his pen and sitting back to observe the elleth who'd burst in unannounced. Miriel scowled back, crossing her arms once she'd come to a stop before him.
"I have been known to ask the stable master to account for the quality of his oats, " Thranduil started slowly, thoughtful. "But Rovain has never exceeded his annual budget on weaponry. But the blacksmith does give us a rather sizable discount. Why do you ask?"
Miri pursed her lips. "What are you going to accuse me of overspending on this time, sire? Is it the parchment? The ink? Beeswax candles? It's very clear in the books how much we've used this last quarter, I can more than justify the expenditure —"
Amused, Thranduil shook his head. "No, but thank you for reminding me to look into it. Rather, I received your list of requested travel materials for Legolas and was just reviewing it."
She waited a beat for him to go on, and when it became clear that he wasn't she ventured, "Did I miss something?"
The frown returned. "You did not include your own list. Surely you must be in need of a horse, at the very least? Or a new gown?"
It took a moment for what he was implying to register.
"I'm not accompanying you," she said slowly.
The crease in his forehead deepened. "Why ever not?"
"I wasn't invited."
"You left Lórien under less than auspicious circumstances, but you need not fear you shall not be welcomed." He pursed his lips. "You're a member of my household. No one would dare insult you while you are with us."
"No, no, it's not that," she reassured him, a little stunned that he'd even considered her reception in the golden wood. "I thought I ought to stay and manage —"
"You are an intimate member of the household," he cut across her with a wave of his hand, rising from his seat. "Therefore expected to accompany us. And to attend the festivities."
Miriel shook her head. "I hardly think Celeborn meant for me to be in attendance. I'm not even certain they are aware of my existence here, but I know for certain they'd not extend the invitation to me even if they knew where I reside."
Gossip wasn't foreign between the elven courts. Yet the passage of rumors wasn't nearly as fruitful between Greenwood and the other elven realms. The Sindarin likely believed the Silvan to hardly have anything worth mentioning. Or perhaps it had more to do with Thranduil's even-increasing insular nature. Despite the initial stir of her arrival and the accompanying history of scandal, Miri didn't believe she merited enough interest to be worthy of talk beyond their borders.
And if Lórien knew of her presence in the elf king's court, well…it was still unlikely she was included in the invitation. Presumably, she would have been included by name. No doubt the extension of hospitality would have stemmed more from curiosity than a genuine desire to celebrate the occasion with her, besides.
"'Intimate member of the household' now, am I?" Her brows rose. "Is that an official title? Does it come with an allowance or salary or…?"
The king scowled. "You know what you are to us, Miriel."
The elleth shook her head, honeyed locks catching the light. "Indeed. Your unofficial seneschal, and therefore I see no reason for my attendance."
"Legolas will need you there," he said seriously. "He's never been to an occasion such as this."
"Thranduil, he's hardly going to need to hold my hand; he's a very well-mannered elf. I'd venture it would be an excellent opportunity for him to make friends beyond our walls."
"He will be distraught if you do not accompany us. I foresee sleepless nights. Homesickness."
"I am sure the prospect of spending so much time with you will overcome any of those feelings quickly."
The king, exasperated, replied loudly, "I would like you to accompany us, Miriel."
Oh. Miri stilled. Another silence fell between them for a long moment. A strange feeling akin to embarrassment crept up her neck. The room suddenly felt oppressively hot. Thranduil just looked at her, eyes guarded and stormy. The unspoken felt heavy, tangible.
Finally, Miri ventured, "Legolas isn't the only one who needs me, is he?"
Thranduil massaged his temples with one hand. He sank back into his chair. "Yes," he hesitated. "I would prefer it if you accompanied us."
He left it at that.
Carefully, she moved around the desk to kneel on the floor beside him. Offering up a hand to the king, she looked up at him solemnly. Thranduil laced his fingers through hers with no hesitation, grip tight. Did he know what he asked of her?
Miri swallowed thickly as his thumb began to trace her knuckles. "Yes. Yes, I will come to Lothlórien."
The sigh that escaped him was heavier than the whole mountain under which they sat. Thranduil claimed her other hand in his, squeezing tightly and examining their combined limbs thoughtfully.
"I might also benefit from your attendance if it ends up keeping away all of the marriage-minded elleth in attendance."
She rolled her eyes, pulling away. "I highly doubt that anyone would mistake me for your partner, Thranduil."
The king's eyes danced in a rare moment of levity as she retreated from his study. "You might be surprised."
…
With Carwegeth's encouragement, she had been dressing a little more formally of late. Carwegeth had long shaken her head at Miriel's collection of cotton, linen, and wool.
"You're a lady of the court," the elder elleth had insisted. "You should dress with a little more…presence."
"The majority of my time is spent with a particularly messy elfling," Miri had replied flatly, thinking of the freshly watered potted plant Legolas had dropped on her yesterday. And the spoonful of jam that had been accidentally flung at her bosom the day before. "I need practical."
Carwegeth sighed. "Practical can co-exist with attire worthy of your status."
Having grown up the daughter of a lord, Miri was raised in the heavily beaded, embroidered, bejeweled. She'd abandoned a life of silk, lace, and velvet over a century ago. At times she missed the feel of fine fabrics upon her skin. But there was another part of her happy to leave the maintenance and care of such garments behind. She'd had only a few gowns to her name when she'd left Lórien. The most ornate had been sold for far less than they'd been worth, and Miri had been left with a single garment — a brown wool dress with brass buttons. She'd ended up cutting those off, selling them for just enough to get her to Gondor. The dress had lasted a decade of wear, and she'd been sad to part with it when the threadbare creature had finally given out, beyond what even her sloppy mending could repair.
"I don't want to make anyone think I'm better than them," she murmured, hoping Carwegeth would let it.
Instead, the lady's maid merely pursed her lips. And Miri began to find clothing forcibly hoisted upon her. It started blue velvet kirtles smuggled into her laundry. A jeweled belt was left on her vanity. A silk chemise with lace trim was draped at the end of the bed after a bath. The brocade bodice simply appeared in her wardrobe. Miriel drew the line at the presentation of a beaded overdress, composed of lace so delicate and intricate it could be spider-web. The pale gray color unfortunately paired well with her lavender linen dress. The beads even had an iridescent quality that paired rather nicely with the light purple.
"Who gave you this?" she demanded when Galion brought the garment to her office.
"I told you, it's a gift. For your birthday." His expression was overly innocent.
"My birthday," she replied, brow raised. "Is that was she told you?"
He managed another few seconds of smiling before he broke. "She told me Tuigalen would make me a dozen of those cardamon pear pies. One a week until spring."
Miri sighed. "Honestly, Galion, it's shocking how susceptible you are to bribery. Bribery of baked goods, no less."
Galion shrugged helplessly, cheeks flush.
"Leave it on the chair," she ordered, turning back to her ledgers. "And tell Carwegeth if another article of clothing finds its way to me, you'll both find yourself on the roster for scrubbing the hearths next month."
"Of course, m'lady!" he assured quickly, dropping the overdress and fleeing.
…
Unfortunately, the lady's maid's pestering came ahead mere weeks before the Greenwood party set off for Lothlorien.
"I don't know if I have any attire suitable for a wedding," Miriel groaned as she stood before her wardrobe. Doors thrown open wide, she was inventorying the assortment of secondhand gowns.
"Don't forget the feasts," Carwegeth said from where she sat on Miriel's bed. She was sorting through riding clothes, separating the ones that required mending. The pile that needed repairs was formidable. Miri already felt guilty about her irresponsibility in getting items repaired as needed. They just felt so much better when they were broken in a little and mending could alter that feeling.
Carwegeth went on. "I expect you will need at least four gowns. Possibly even six. You know how they enjoy any excuse for a party."
Miri gave her friend a knowing look. "As though the elves of the Greenwood do not as well?"
"Ours are more informal," Carwegeth protested. "No need for that kind of pomp at of our festivities. We're happy enough with good wine."
Miri turned back to the assortment of gowns. What hung before her was everything one of the kitchen maids had managed to scour from old trunks in the storage rooms in the eastern wing. It was an assortment of garish and damaged. She wasn't going to discount the chance of potential, however.
Most of what Miri wore were abandoned garments from those forgotten trunks. Nothing she owned was Cala's — she'd made certain of that — but there were discarded dresses aplenty hidden away if one knew where to look. They'd mysteriously been included during the move from Amon Lanc despite almost an age of neglect from the looks of it. Centuries of cast-offs from generations of elves, much of it loving packed with cedar and springs of brittle lavender. It was from these trunks Miri had sourced play clothes for Legolas, a new but slightly dusty cloak suited for riding, even a pair of boots when the originals she'd worn when she arrived in the Greenwood had fallen to pits.
She'd made do with what she'd found abandoned for long enough, even before her arrival in Thranduil's court. Bespoke clothing felt like a luxury beyond her now, even though it had once been a standard of her lifestyle.
"Did the king not say you were free to commission a few outfits?"
"Yes," she murmured, pushing through layers of fabric, pausing occasionally to assess a dress. "But I'd prefer not to own him anything more than usual."
She stopped at a lilac gown with a heavily beaded bodice. It was missing a few beads and sported a couple of suspicious stains around the bottom hem. But with the addition of some ribbon or lace strategically placed over the stains, it might be suitable….
Carwegeth was frowning. "You owe him nothing," she said. "You've spent years caring for his son, running his household. You're a member of the family, it is his duty to provide for you."
"I'm not a part of the family. I'm merely…assisting. He owes me nothing."
"Then can it not be a gift? A necessary tool for the occasion?" Carwegeth was in disbelief.
This dress was scarlet, the fabric a finely woven damask. A wide neckline would sit low on her shoulders. The waist was decorated with gold ribbon embroidered with intricate scrollwork. "Too heavy," she decided. "I'll be sweating like a boar before the vows are done."
"If I find nothing, I shall have to," Miri grumbled, turning to the next garment. She considered a springy green stretch of satin fabric in her hand. The color pleasantly reminded her of a luna month. It was perhaps too bright. Maybe she could pair it with the lace overdress Carwegeth foisted upon her last winter?
"Have you truly never taken more than food from his table?"
What of Thranduil's hospitality has she experienced beyond his larder? A comfortable room, outfitted with furnishing she'd selected herself. Access to his library, his gardens, the shelter of his community. And most importantly, time with Legolas. A chance to honor her best friend by raising her son.
"Beyond what you have foisted upon me, I've had a few simple tunics made," she finally allowed. "But I don't think the seamstresses like me. I'm rather particular about the household's linens. Otherwise, I've mended most of what I brought with me or raided it from storage."
Carwegeth shook her head. "Then you most certainly need more clothes!"
The elder elleth was likely, cursedly, right. At the minimum, she did not want to disgrace Thranduil or Legolas (any further than was already incidental, at least). She could handle a few snappy seamstresses for their sake. As if she didn't have enough to do before this trip…resigned, Miriel sighed.
"I'm agreeing to only one formal gown," Miri warned. "You're not going to take advantage of this opportunity."
The older elleth shook her head, smiling too innocently. "You will be representing the Greenwood, Miriel. You must dress accordingly."
"I'm representing an embarrassment. Scandal. Thranduil is taking a risk in bringing me back there," she thought bleakly.
Aloud she said, "Very well. But you must accompany me. They won't cluck at me nearly as much if you are there."
Smiling broadly, Carwegeth stood. "Then let us make haste."
...
A pretty fluffy chapter overall, but we've got some heavier chapters ahead.
Thanks again for all the follows, favorites, and reviews. They mean more than you know.
