"Just a wanderer, hmm?"
Thranduil gave the man before him a cold, hard look. Dreadfully mud-spattered clothes and a deferential demeanor could not hide from him that this was a dúnadan.
"Yes, my lord," replied the young man.
"And would you have a name, wanderer?" asked the king.
"I have left my land behind, lord, and my name also. Call me what you will."
Insolent boy.
"Then, since you are in urgent need of a bath, I shall call you Gwaurven."
He only nodded; yet there was a strange gleam in his eyes.
This one, thought Thranduil, shall need watching.
----
"You again, hmm?'
"My lord," replied the man. His dark hair was now specked with grey, and his countenance was grim and troubled; and Thranduil had not seen such dirt and grime in an age.
Yet the same light was in his eyes that had gleamed there sixty years ago.
"Do not look so worried. I promised Mithrandir we would keep this creature, and we shall. Though I should dearly like to know why."
"I may not say."
Thranduil sighed. "Very well. But you do not fool me, Gwaurven. Someday I shall have my answers. Now go," he waved. "Bathe."
-
A/N: Gwaurven-"dirty man"
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction, and the characters, settings, places and languages, save those that are original to me, belong to the Tolkien Estate.