Chapter 12
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Two days following the wedding, she'd made the same escape when the events of the evening grew too long. Galadriel and Celeborn were excellent hosts, overseeing party after party with good humor. Miriel, for her part, was weary of socializing. Her limited interactions were not particularly uplifting, most conversations occurring with a thin veneer of malice.
"It is so…interesting," one pallid lady remarked with a two-wide smile, having successfully cornered Miri on the edge of the dance floor. "That you find yourself residing in the Great Greenwood, Lady Miriel, considering your…history with King Thranduil."
The elleth's spite was barely concealed, unspoken insulted between each timely pause.
"Yes," Miri replied tightly. "Interesting."
"It is very admirable of his majesty to take you in."
She gritted her teeth, hoping her expression was a composed picture of boredom. Thranduil had hardly extended charity when it was she who foisted herself upon him.
"Indeed."
Thankfully Miriel was spared from continuing the conversation by Celebrían and Elrond. All eyes were on the newlywed pair as they drifted onto the dance floor. As was expected, they only had eyes for one another. Celebrían's cheeks were a rosy pink, flushed with joy. Her mate could hardly contain his smile. Though it was hardly their first dance since the wedding festivities had begun, the sight was still enough to elicit sighs and tears among the attendees. Miri took the opportunity to slip out of the room and into the darkness.
The garden was, unsurprisingly, empty. Even in her youth, the space had been neglected. In the depths of her memory, she recalled that the neglected patch had been erected by some long-sailed lord for his bride. The fountain was supposedly once a natural spring, the precise place where he'd declared his love. Miri wasn't sure if that was entirely accurate or a fabrication created by the expanse of years. Regardless of whether the tale was true, the garden's foundations were ancient. It was probably through sheer habit that the Lothlórien gardeners were still tending to the weathered stone.
With a soft sigh, Miri sat on the fountain's edge and let the low gurgle of the water clear her mind. She was exhausted from carrying the weight of the eyes that followed her every move here. Only a few more days and they would start the journey back to the Greenwood.
"I should not be surprised to see you here."
Caught up in her own thoughts, the sudden words made her start and nearly slip into the pool behind her. Once she'd secured herself, Miri looked up. Thranduil stood on the path, mere yards from her. His lips were quirked in the ghost of a smirk, eyes twinkling.
Miri pursed her lips. "You did that on purpose."
He drifted forward, seeming unconcerned he'd nearly caused her to topple into what was undoubtedly very cold water. "I've no idea what you mean," he said innocently.
When he reached the end of the path, Thranduil gracefully lowered himself onto the ledge beside her. In the moonlight, the king was even more beautiful than usual. His hair shone like white gold and his eyes were cast in shadow, though his irises still stood out as ghostly blue-silver. She had to look away, the sight nearly hurt her eyes.
He'd not visited her room since their first night. There was no disappointment in that fact — Miri's emotions were already fraught given their location, and engaging in any more lustful encounters with the elfking wasn't going to improve her situation. Yet now, when he sat beside her, the living embodiment of male beauty, a part of her longed for another night with him in her bed.
Tracing a paver with the toe of one satin slipper, Miri asked, "You know why I'm here. What are you doing, leaving the festivities so early?"
"My motivations are not so different from your own."
She twisted her lips, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. "Forgive me, my king, but I was not aware you were also a social pariah."
"But neither am I especially gregarious," he replied with a snort. "I enjoy these gatherings almost as much as you do. And I dare say that is common knowledge among our peers."
"Then why did you insist on my attendance? Just to torment me?"
Thranduil smiled down at her. "Because in your company, these occasions become infinitely more tolerable."
Miri rolled her eyes. He took the opportunity to sit on the fountain's ledge, leaving a few feet between them. Silence swelled briefly before Thranduil spoke again.
"I've not been in these gardens since we were last here together."
Now the quiet was awkward. Miriel was at a loss for words. His observation had been a small one, but it sent a wave of memories crashing to the surface. She'd not only shared these garden paths with Cala. Here was where she'd come across a Greenwood ellon, only recently arrived with King Oropher's party. Never in a thousand ages could she have guess the handsome elf she'd recklessly flirted with was the king's son himself.
"I'm surprised you remembered the way," she replied neutrally.
Thranduil's gaze was steady upon the water between them. "It was the first time in a long while anyone had treated me as something other than Oropher's heir. Someone who was more than a figurehead or a pawn for future power. I know you resented my lying, but at the time I could not bear the thought of causing you to view me any differently."
She had been terribly upset when later that evening she'd seen him up at the head table among the likes of his father, Galadriel, and Amroth. Oropher was much more imposing than any of the nobility in Lorien Miri knew, with a heavy brow and even heavier spirit. Prince Thranduil had appeared in stark contrast to the teasing young noble she'd encountered earlier in the day. Artfully bored, he sat stiffly observing the gathering with little interest, a close mirror of his father. Miriel had not been especially impressed by the prince then, who had a mouth that look as though it were always on the edge of a sneer.
But the next time he'd found her at the edge of the pool, gone was the aloof, arrogant royal. Instead, Thranduil was wry, warm — and wary. An apology was ready at his lips. He'd not meant to trick her, he was too used to concealing himself from strangers. Could she not forgive a foolish ellon who so desperately sought her friendship?
She'd only shoved lightly him for the lie, too willing to overlook it if it meant she could still freely flirt with the handsome elf who seemed to find her charming despite her restless nature. Despite her wildness, her rejection of the social niceties required in court. In retrospect, it might have even been what had drawn him to her.
Miriel had been content to exchange kisses with Thranduil in the garden, imagining their innocent tryst would be a pleasurable summer memory someday. Thus they spent stolen afternoons and evenings in the garden.
The prince, it turned out, was not merely flirting. He proved as much when only a fortnight later he went to Idhragorneth to ask for his daughter's hand. The elven lord had been surprised to learn of Thranduil's regard for his only child, considering no one could recall having ever seen them interact. Despite this, he eagerly agreed, not bothering to include Miriel in the negotiations. After Oropher gave his approval, her fate had been sealed. All that was left was the proposal.
Fury rose in her chest at the memory, even all these years past. If Idhragorneth had not been so concerned with power, if he'd known his daughter at all, the idea of a public marriage offer wouldn't have even crossed his mind. She suspected it was neither Oropher nor the prince's inclination — her father, then, likely insisted upon it. No doubt he'd preened at the thought of all knowing his daughter had ensnared a prince.
If Idhragorneth had not underestimated his daughter, Thranduil would not have been humiliated, she would not have permanently marred her reputation, and they might have both found a more peaceable parting once their difference of affection was known….
If, if, if...
"I forgave you a long time ago," Miri finally managed.
She was still picturing his face when she stumbled through the rejection of his offer, the gasps of courtiers an ill-fated chorus to words that would set all of them on unforeseen paths. Instinct begged she flee, run from the room. Her father and Thranduil had her boxed in, however. Would it have been worse, in the end, if she'd simply run? Instead, she'd stood frozen, forced to bear witness as the prince turned away from her in disgust, the silver of his cape fluttering in his wake.
With a breath, she continued."Though, if anyone needs to ask for forgiveness for things that occurred back then, perhaps it is me."
Thranduil's gaze softened. "It is in the past."
Miri snorted. "Up until recently, I could've sworn it was still a tender wound for you."
This earned her a chuckle. "It worked out, in its own way in the end." Thranduil shook his head, a bittersweet expression falling over his face.
"I loved Cala," he said quietly. "She was a steady partner and a good queen. I miss her every day. Yet I know that she would not want me to live like this."
"You have a wonderful life, Thranduil."
"Yes. In many ways. Yet not in others." He shook his head. "She would not want me to live in agony."
Frowning, Miri looked up at the elfking with confusion. Even sitting, he towered over her. "Agony?"
He let out a breath. "My heart can no longer bear this. Miriel, I've loved you since the night I saw you under these same trees. I love you still."
Miri froze. This was not the kind of pain she'd assumed was oppressing him. She kept her eyes on the landscape laid before them, reminding herself to breathe, breathe, breathe. A deep inhale. A deep exhale. Nothing kept the high-pitched sounds from reverberating around her skull, though.
Finally, she jolted forward, walking several yards away from the fountain. The air did not enter her lungs any faster with distance between them.
When she did not answer, Thranduil sighed heavily, rising to follow her. "I think I know, or can at least guess, why you refused me back then. At the time I was more concerned with the rejection itself rather than the knowledge of why. I was so angry, for so long. After my fury at what you'd done subsided, I became bitter of the rift you'd sown between myself and my wife.
"And now I think I understand what made you want to free yourself from the confines of partnership. You never wanted the responsibility that came with me or Amroth. Your whole life up to that point had been aimed at marrying well, something that wasn't your dream, but your adar's. You had no desire to be a leader of Eldar."
Gently, he coaxed her to spin so that she faced him. Thranduil's eyes were still shadowed save for a slim, glint of hopeful light. "Am I vain to believe time has changed those feelings? I hope that if anything, perhaps your heart may have recalled what you felt for me back then?"
In another situation, she might have laughed. Shouted. Or questioned how he could assume what it was she felt, then or now. But he hadn't assumed; Miri had loved him almost immediately, even when she believed that it was a foolish endeavor. It had made everything harder, back then.
Miriel swallowed. "Thranduil, I would not be a queen worthy of you or your people. I wasn't back then and I am not now."
"How can you say that when time and time again you've shown your love for them?"
"Changing Legolas's diapers does not make a champion of the people," she scoffed, making to turn back. Thranduil caught her elbow, forcing her to look at him. He'd pulled her so close they were practically embracing, his hands resting on her forearms lightly. His heat quickly penetrated the thin fabric of her formal gown.
"You have done more than that. The entire household looks to you for leadership. You've won the hearts of my closest advisors, my guardsmen and marchwardens. Time and time again you have done what has scared you so that you might better serve those around you. Perhaps I am a fool, but I dare to dream that you love them as you have loved my son. How can you think that they would not accept you with open arms?"
His words made her heart ache even more. Despite her resistance, the claims rang true — she guided the hall's staff daily, fought for them when told to make cuts, and made every concession for them when possible. She'd fought Thranduil himself for their needs. And she had, indeed, grown to love the wood elves. They were far less rigid than the Sindarin or Noldorian. Despite their cautious nature when it came to outsiders, many were friendly toward her. There were still plenty who disliked her, but many of them were not nearly as concerned with her status as Avarethil as those outside of the Greenwood. In time the wariness had turned to respect, admiration even. Tuigalen, Ceven, Morcion, Galion, Rovain, Carwegeth….they'd all shown her nothing but kindness.
"Even if they were to welcome me as queen, I am still not a mate for you, Thranduil." She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. "You were Caladhiel's, it would be wrong of me to try to take her place."
"If that is your only concern, then I shall do all that I can to persuade you otherwise." The king brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, allowing his hand to trail down her cheek with a featherlight touch. "You are not replacing her, Miri. She would have wanted both of us to be happy. Would our union not bring her joy? The two she loved most finding solace in one another?"
She shook her head, wrenching free and backing up several steps. Horror crept over her, its icy grip clenching her heart. "No elleth would want another to replace them in their husband's bed."
"Do you truly believe she would not want both of us to find happiness? To continue living in the face of her loss?"
"Yes, but —" Miriel swallowed. "Not with each other, Thranduil. We would be crossing a line."
Brow furrowed, he stepped towards her, unwilling to allow any distance between them. "Miri, she loved us both. She would want —"
"Stop," she snapped, holding up a hand as a shield. "Stop telling me what she would or would not want. You don't know. You can't know. None of us dream of the day we leave this life and hope that our best friend and our mate fall into bed together in consolation!"
Familiar anger surfaced in his expression. "This is not what I am suggesting. Why are you determined to cheapen what it is I'm saying? This isn't lust, Miriel, I don't want to fuck you out of a twisted need for comfort, I love you. I want to marry you."
Out in the open, the words fell upon them both like a heavy cloak. Miri, staggered from the weight of his declaration, stumbling back as though struck. The Elfking's chest was heaving as though he'd just finished running up a mountain without pause. For a long moment neither could do more than stare at the other.
"I can't," Miri managed finally, words sounding stilted and distant to her own ears. "Thranduil, I cannot."
Predictably, this was not a satisfactory answer. His nostrils flared. Miri recognized the sheen to his gaze — it was the expression he assumed before he tore an advisor to shreds.
"Did you assume I came to your bed to merely scratch an itch?" he asked lowly. "For an easy fuck?"
Miriel had to bite back a scream. Inhaling deeply, she replied evenly, "I didn't want to make any assumptions. I was content with enjoying myself."
This answer was also not pleasing. Thranduil threw his hands up in the air, fully disgusted. "I do nothing by halves, Miriel."
She had no response. Instead, she merely looked at him, at a loss. How quickly everything crumbled around her, like a sandcastle against the tide. Was this always coming?
The elfking wasn't done.
"Is it your pride that prevents you?" he demanded.
"My pride?"
"How could you reconcile your rejection of me all those years ago only to take my hand now?"
Miriel shook her head. "I told you why. You're refusing to listen."
"You refuse to even consider what could be."
"I'm not going to pretend what you suggest is reasonable," she cried. "I gave up our chance, it was gone before you'd even set eyes on Cala."
Thranduil shifted, looming but not reaching for her this time. He felt as remote as the Misty Mountains and just as frigid. This was the Thranduil she'd known most of her life — icy, angry, impossible. The elfking who'd curled his lip at the sight of her, who could only manage civil words for the sake of his mate.
It was as if the last ten years between them had evaporated. All the camaraderie and tentative friendship, gone in the evening breeze.
"You're a coward," he said coldly. "You hide behind an imagined excuse instead of considering what lies before you. Are you punishing yourself? Or is it just me you wish to hurt?"
Her fingers curled into fists at his words. Miri spat with as much venom as she could muster. "You're full of conceit as ever, Thranduil Oropherion."
He sneered. "Better conceited than a fearful liar."
Miriel refused to deign the insult with a reply and made to push passed him. But the elfking struck like a viper, catching her wrist before she could make her escape, pulling her back. The elleth whirled, skirts swirling around her ankles, practically snarling.
"I do not lay my heart bare out of a desire for a soulless coupling," he hissed, low and brimming with rage. "You insult us both to assume otherwise."
The words burned in her ears as she wrenched away and raced back to the palace canopy and into her chambers. They chased her as she removed her gown, struggling to undo the laces by herself, as she lay a cool soaked cloth on the back of her neck. And then they echoed as she sank into the unfamiliar mattress, trying to sleep.
…
Sleep was simply not to be. As if sensing her unsettled thoughts, Legolas crawled into Miriel's bed somewhere past midnight. Carwegeth had put him to bed hours earlier. Miri ought to have tucked him back under his own blankets. But in her current state, she couldn't bring herself to send the elfling away.
So Miri sat against the headboard, the prince curled beside her, stroking his downy white-blonde hair, staring into the dark ahead. As if entranced, she replayed the argument in the garden again and again and again.
"I've loved you since the night I saw you under these same trees."
"Is it your pride that prevents you?"
"Better conceited than a fearful liar."
She and Thranduil had fought before — viciously, subtly, publicly — since she'd joined his court. Legolas hadn't witnessed anything more than an occasional domestic disagreement since he'd grown out of a high chair. Their squabbles over the dinner table even proved amusing to the young prince.
Miriel now feared she'd torn her relationship with the king to impossibly small bits and thrown them into the fires of Mordor. Not merely scattered, but rendered into ash. What occurred among the golden trees was utterly irreparable. How would Legolas cope with his guardians asunder? Would Thranduil ever be able to look at her again with anything less than resentment?
He thought her to be a coward. Still, after all this time. After she'd walked into the maw of his court almost twenty years ago, thrown herself at their mercy, all for Cala. After she had returned to Lothlórien and faced those who thought her a spoiled, prideful fool. After she'd looked him in his face, eternally scarred by dragon fire and not flinched at his volcanic temper.
"My little leaf," she sighed, glancing down at the small form sleeping beside her. Even if Thranduil never looked at her again, never spoke in her direction after tonight, she couldn't leave the Greenwood. Her whole heart was there now. If anything, their argument had revealed where home lay for Miriel Dolithien.
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This bomb has been waiting to drop for a while!
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