This chapter is a little different from the rest of the story. From now on, the story will jump from Thranduil in the present to the story of Elenlor in the past. For the most part, the chapters will start with the present, and when this comes along ------------- it will switch back to the story of Elenlor in the past. Hopefully I haven't been too confusing or obtuse.:) hope everyone enjoys the story:)
Thranduil blinked, surprised to find himself near tears. The fair king brushed his hand over his eyes roughly. Why should he be crying? These were happy memories. There were many happy memories. A sad smile crossed the King's face. He supposed that he should be grateful for the time he and Elenlor had shared. It had been wonderful. Short, by elven standards…but they had both been happy. And then, (the King's smile became gentle) all three of them had been happy.
--------------past
Sunlight poured through the open window, coating Elenlor with its' radiance. She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. Winter was slowly losing its' grip on Mirkwood, and the lovely elf enjoyed her first moments of the new spring. A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Years ago, she had danced with a king at the celebration of the season.
She would not be dancing this year. A wry twist pulled at her mouth. Of course, she would not be doing many things for a few weeks yet. She opened her eyes and chuckled as she looked down at herself. Indeed, the queen wondered how she was going to raise her…growing…body from the floor.
A flutter of movement brought her delicate hand up to stroke her swelling belly. "Settle down," she grumbled playfully. "Let your poor naneth rest." Despite her complaint, her blue eyes softened tenderly.
"Elenlor, what are you doing?"
The queen looked up swiftly, a smile lighting her beautiful face as she surveyed her husband leaning against the doorpost. His eyebrows were raised incredulously. A slight blush colored her cheeks even as she giggled. She supposed she must look fairly amusing, dressed in her stately gown, plopped down in the middle of the floor.
Thranduil thought her enchanting. The sunlight caught in her golden hair and spilled over her shoulders, dappling over her swelling stomach. He entered the room with a grin and stood over her. His green eyes sparked with laughter as he looked down at his wife. "Just how exactly do you plan on getting up?"
Elenlor stretched her arms up toward her husband. "Help me," she said plaintively.
Thranduil laughed, but complied with her request. "The Queen of Mirkwood," he said dryly, "should not play on the floor."
"The Queen of Mirkwood is pregnant," Elenlor countered cheerfully. "Therefore, she has a ready excuse for her eccentric behavior." Her eyebrow quirked upwards as she looked at him. "I thought that you would have left by now."
"We are set to depart," he said evasively. "The others are waiting for me in the courtyard."
His wife's eyebrow climbed ever so slightly higher. Her blue eyes appraised him knowingly. "And you have not left yet because…?" She folded her arms over her large belly, waiting for his answer.
"I merely wished to say farewell," the Elvenking's tone was wounded, but Elenlor knew him better than that.
"You," she poked a delicate finger at his chest, "are stalling."
The blond elf had no reply. After all, it was true. "I do not want to leave you like this…"
"Thranduil," his wife's voice carried the exaggerated patience of one who has explained something many times. "We have been through this before." Her hands caressed the bulge of her abdomen. "The baby is not due for another three weeks. You should be back within one."
"I know that…"
"The inspection of your border patrols has been pushed aside long enough. It can not wait." Elenlor patted her tummy with a smile. "This can."
With a rueful grin, Thranduil embraced her, gave her a swift kiss, and hurried from the room.
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"Hannon le," the fair king murmured as he took his horses reigns from the waiting stable hand. The captains of his guard were already mounted, waiting for him. Thranduil felt his cheeks redden slightly as he saw their knowing grins. All three elves were older than he…with children of their own.
The king quickly pulled himself onto his mare. The horse snorted in disgust and rolled her eyes back at him wickedly, just to let him know how much she did not appreciate standing for twenty minutes in a chilly courtyard.
Thranduil was too preoccupied to do more than stroke her neck and murmur a soothing word. With a nudge, he sent her trotting towards the gates. The captains filed out ahead of him as he turned to look back. The mare snorted again, unhappy to see the others leaving without her. She pranced restlessly. Thranduil ignored the agitated beast, his green eyes searching out the window he knew his wife would be standing at…
There. He could see a flash of blond hair. A small hand waved, then disappeared.
Thranduil groaned and resolved to make this the fastest inspection he had ever conducted. He nudged the horse once more, and she, catching his feeling of urgency, obliged by shooting through the gates so quickly she nearly left him behind.
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Elenlor chuckled as she saw her husband's horse leap away. The chuckle turned into a sigh, and she drifted away from the large window. She knew he had to leave, but honestly, she was no more eager for him to go than he was.
A twinge of pain made her gasp, pressing a hand swiftly to her belly. It was gone in a moment, leaving her surprised, and slightly uneasy. The baby had never kicked her that hard before… odd.
It was many hours before she realized what was actually happening.
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Three days later.
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Thranduil nearly fell from his horse as he rode into the courtyard. His captains were no longer smiling…in fact they were struggling to remain awake. Surprised stable hands rushed forward to claim the tired animals They had not been expecting their monarch home so soon. Especially since it had been raining steadily since the moment he left the palace.
Both king and captains were coated liberally with mud kicked up by the horses, and soaked to the skin.
Thranduil stumbled towards the palace, mumbling a farewell. He was exhausted. Perhaps, he reflected, it had not been so necessary to speed through things. But he had been so anxious to return! He sighed softly, blowing rainwater and mud out of his mouth. The fair king felt rather sheepish. If anything had happened, Elenlor would have sent a messenger after him. He need not have rushed.
Servants opened the door as they saw their king coming and quickly surrounded him. A rising wave of babbling sound threatened to drown the monarch as surely as the torrential rain.
"Enough!" Thranduil raised his hands, as though warding off a foe. "Enough! Please. Tonight is not the time. All I wish is to see my wife and sleep for a month!"
There was a nervous chuckle and the crowd parted to allow the blond elf through. He wondered slightly at the looks they gave him as he passed, and the whispers. Normally sharp eared, weariness muffled his senses. With a shrug, he ignored it. They were probably chuckling at how much of a fool he looked.
The halls of his home had never seemed so long before. He stumbled onwards, his soaked clothes dripping steadily. Finally reaching his bedchamber, he experienced a moment of intense disappointment. Where was Elenlor? The brief feeling faded into worry. It was late. She should be resting…especially in her condition. He would change out of his wet clothes, then go in search of her.
Settling onto the corner of his bed, he began to tug at a sodden boot.
"Your…highness?"
Thranduil looked up to see Halynder standing in the doorway, an unusual expression on the elf's face. He looked as though he had not expected to see his friend. The Elvenking was too tired to guess at his advisor's emotions. "Halynder. Do you know where the Queen is?" The boot came off with a squelch, leaking a pool of water onto the carpet.
Halynder's eyebrows rose dramatically. "I would assume she is in the nursery."
"The nursery?" Thranduil looked up quizzically. His sleep-deprived brain rejected what his friend was telling him as unreasonable. "At this time of night?" Water dripped from the fair elf's hair. It was making quite a mark on the bedspread. The mud might have had something to do with that as well. Elenlor wouldn't be happy with that. Realizing that his mind was going off on another tangent, he quickly prodded it back onto track. "What is she doing there?" a hint of amusement colored his exhausted voice. "Don't tell me she decided to change the decoration of the room again." He focused on Halynder's face, expecting to see an answering grin.
The raven-haired elf was staring at his king with that very odd expression. "Thranduil," he stepped into the room, a spark of understanding starting to light his dark eyes. "Did you receive the message Elenlor sent?"
The Elvenking stared at him blankly. "Message?"
"She sent it no more than half a day after you left."
"Ahem."
Startled at the interruption, Halynder turned to see a very bedraggled elf standing in the doorway. He was coated with mud all the way to the tips of his pointed ears, yet through the muck, the advisor could see a look of pure frustration stamped across his weary features. The dark haired elf's jaw dropped as he suddenly recognized the messenger who had left the palace two and a half days ago in pursuit of the king.
"Your highness," the elf stepped forwards, pulling the queen's letter from his pouch. He handed it to the dumbfounded king. "You have a very fast horse…sire." The messenger's voice was dry. He turned on his heel and nearly staggered from the room.
Thranduil stared at the piece of parchment in his hand. On some level, he already knew what he would read when he unfolded it. That part of him was jumping up and down and screaming. The other part of him (the one that hadn't slept in three days) was a little slower to catch on.
Halynder leaned against the wall with a grin, waiting for the news to sink in. He didn't have to wait long.
Thranduil's boot hit the floor with a thump. There was a brief, very confused moment of flying hair, mud, and wet clothing, and Halynder found himself alone in the royal bedchambers.
The elf sat stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing as he heard the uneven cadence of his friend's half shod feet flying down the corridor. Still chuckling, he set to cleaning up the muddy mess Thranduil had left behind.
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Elenlor looked up, her face alight. She did not seem to see the mud that dripped from her husband's form, nor his unmatching feet. She saw only him, and she was happy.
Thranduil stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the bundle resting in his wife's arms.
"Are you going to come see him?" Elenlor's voice was quiet, but there was a laugh hidden in her gentle tones.
Him. He had a son. Thranduil moved forward as though in a dream. He could see a small hand poking out of the blanket, and suddenly all power of speech left him. Elenlor lifted the bundle up to him, and he took it almost automatically, his strong arms cradling the fragile form. Taking a deep breath, the fair king looked for the first time at his son.
His power of speech returned with a vengeance. And, in the most tender voice imaginable (or so he would claim in later years) he lamentably said the first thing that came to his mind.
"It's wrinkled."
Thranduil blinked. For a moment, he feared he had somehow dropped the precious bundle. How else could it have disappeared so rapidly? He looked up to see his wife cuddling their son close, her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. Warning bells set off a raucous alarm in the back of his sleep deprived mind. "Not," he tried desperately to save the situation, "that wrinkled is a bad thing…"
"Thranduil." The Queen of Mirkwood's voice was layered with enough ice to quench a balrog. "I have spent over fifteen hours bringing your son into being. He is the most beautiful elfling there ever was. If you do not concur…the stables are always a viable option for your sleeping arrangements."
"Elenlor, I did not mean…"
But his wife was not listening. "There there," she cooed sweetly to the swaddled babe. "Your Ada greeted you most rudely, did he not? Do not worry, ion nin," she cast a cold glare at her husband. "He will not do so again." With that dire warning, she presented the King of Mirkwood with his son once more.
The Elvenking wisely chose to remain silent this time. He gazed down at the small child with a feeling close to awe. He was tiny. Thranduil felt suddenly large and exceptionally clumsy compared to this delicate creature. Despite the crumpled redness, he really was a very pretty baby. A tuft of blond down covered the top of his head, waving slightly around the ridiculously small tips of his pointed ears. Almost reverently, the elf stroked his son's cheek with one finger.
The baby's eyes flickered open, half focused. They were blue, like his mother's. The fair king half expected him to cry, but was surprised and pleased when he didn't.
"Here," Thranduil swiftly handed his son back to Elenlor. "He is beautiful, Silme."
His wife's smile was radiant. "He is perfect, meleth nin." The Queen of Mirkwood looked up at her husband and chuckled quietly, a teasing light gleaming from her blue eyes. "Fortunately, he takes after me, instead of his father."
Thranduil pouted playfully. "You needn't brag, Lady. Tis only too true that our son has inherited your beauty, your grace…"
The perfect elfling in question decided that he had been ignored long enough and set up a wail from his position in his mother's arms.
"Your patience…"
The fair queen laughed as she coddled her son, soothing away his tempestuous tears. "You forgot one thing, my lord," she told her king as soon as the young prince had ceased howling.
Thranduil bent over the child, delighted when his son fastened long fingers around one of the soaked braids as it swung forwards. "Mmm? And what was that?"
"He has your voice."
The Elvenking grinned. The grin turned to a wince as the little one gave his hair a sharp tug. He was surprisingly strong for such a tiny creature.
Elenlor stroked her son's blond tuft of hair gently. "He needs a name, Thranduil."
The fair king gazed at the babe thoughtfully. They had, of course, discussed names beforehand, but now that he was here, none that they had spoken of seemed appropriate. What was fitting for a prince of Mirkwood? Even as he thought the name, Thranduil shied away from it. He had never become accustomed to the shadow's claim on his home. Though he knew that the term was incredibly fitting, he chose to remember his kingdom as it had been.
All at once, it came to him. He smiled at his wife, a gentle light in his eyes. "I think we should name him Legolas."
Elenlor returned the smile. "Legolas," she whispered down to the yawning infant. "Welcome to the world, my little green leaf."
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