Skyfire

by Foxflight

Oropher and his son Thranduil came to Greenwood hoping to find a home among the Silvan elves, but Eithryn, a rather uncooperative she-elf, isn't sure she wants her people in the hands of the Sindar. Since locking her up somewhere might not go over well, the three of them must find some way to coexist.

77. Headache

"...what do you think, my lord?"

Thranduil froze in the act of massaging his aching head, realizing he had missed something. "I am very sorry, could you repeat that?"

"What do you think about the border patrols?"

Apparently the "something" he had missed had been an entire conversation. "...what was your suggestion?"

"That we increase their frequency just slightly, especially to the south," the Silvan captain repeated patiently. Alagon, not so patient, tried to hide his twitch of annoyance by reorganizing his excessive notes.

"Yes. Do that." Thranduil nodded, then winced as the motion sent a stabbing pain through his skull.

Several elves smirked at his irritated tone, and then a half-Sinda started his report. Thranduil tried to focus, but he soon found his attention slipping. He absentmindedly pulled a hand through his blond hair, catching more than one tangle that he had missed when he halfheartedly yanked a brush through it that morning, and then slumped forward and put his head in his hands. What did they think was funny, he wondered?

"Ah... my lord?"

The king looked up to discover everyone watching him.

"I think you may have had a bit too much wine last night," the half-Sindar said boldly.

They thought he had a hangover?

Of course they did, he realized belatedly. He had a not-entirely-undeserved reputation for being a little too fond of wine, after all. He just nodded, deciding it was best if he played along; the elves of Greenwood did not need to know that their king had spent yet another night sobbing into his pillow, or that the dark circles under his eyes were from the images of fire and death that found him every time he started to drift off to sleep. He was supposed to be better these days.

He did not lift his head as the elves filed out of the room, still chuckling at what they thought was a result of their king's love of alcohol. Only a few sent worried glances back at him, and even they left after a moment.

All but one.

Thranduil heard the creak of the doors closing, and then the quiet scrape as the chair to his right was pulled away from the table.

"Hard night?" Taensirion asked softly.

The Elvenking nodded, still cradling his throbbing head.

Taensirion said nothing, just put his hand on Thranduil's shoulder.