Oropher lay half-asleep. He could not cry. He had been taught not to. Only inside did his tears fill him; threaten to drown him. The silence was soothing but already he heard laughter and footsteps in the hall outside. The door creaked and Oropher cracked his eyes open to see who had come to visit.

He knew the visitors were for Thranduil. Yes, the court of Mirkwood did its duty by coming to visit and inquire after him with gilded gifts and wishes. The council often came to see him, though their conversation was an excuse for his seal to a piece of parchment. Some days only Oropher's pride gave him the strength to lift his signet ring to the wax instead of crawling back into the comfort of his own shadow.

The door opened and Oropher turned his head quietly. His hair brushed the pillow. His feet twitched in bred disapproval as a group of servant girls in cheerful body and a young mother with a baby on her hip entered the room with an abundance of flowers and books.

Oropher wondered at the quantity of people his son knew, as well as the quantity of people his son did not know yet who still came with well wishes and odd stories about how Thranduil had affected their lives.

The young mother and the servant girls left with the same energy they had arrived with, leaving behind profuse flowers and a stack of books. The door had no sooner closed than it opened again and Nimrethil danced in with a tray of cookies and mini tarts. Ailunai, Hyrondal, and Jailil followed her shadow.

Oropher slowly turned onto his side. Nimrethil's animosity toward him particularly preceded her presence. He faced the sunny windows, but he shut his eyes. He did not like the practical view of the kitchen gardens and did not appreciate the less than spectacular vegetable and herb beds, nor the untidy elflings and sweaty mothers gathering the next meal in their baskets.

He shut his eyes, but he could not close his ears.

"I say!" Nimrethil said. "I have brought you some really lovely treats today, made by yours truly."

"A pity Oropher is asleep," Thranduil said softly. "He might have wished to taste these at least."

Nimrethil snorted. "I do believe he believes I am trying to poison him. He eats nothing I cook."

"I would not put it past you," Thranduil remarked. "In fact, I would not put anything past you, Nimrethil! But come, we ought to enjoy these while they are still warm. Mm, crunchy!"

"Crumbs!" Jailil insisted. "All over my nice clean floor. You are a mess, Thranduil. Nimrethil brought plates!"

"I see you think of the healing ward as yours already," Nimrethil said haughtily. "As for you, Jailil, I must lodge a serious complaint! Not once have you brought Delya to see us despite being so engrossed with her you surely forgot to come see us last night."

"It is none of your business where I spend my time or why, Nimrethil!" Jailil retorted.

"Now it is," Nimrethil giggled.

"Sshhh!" Thranduil hissed. "This is not my chamber alone or you could scream, but Oropher is sleeping. You ought to be more considerate."

Ailunai spoke low but Oropher still heard her. Her words pricked him and even drew a little blood. "Have you noticed he has no friends?"

"Rubbish," Nimrethil replied briskly. "Hordes of people I do not care for come to see him."

"I cannot count the council in need of a seal or the dutiful fulfilling their responsibilities as friends," Ailunai said. "Not one genuinely concerned or caring person has come to see him in my eyes."

"He deserves it, old rat," Nimrethil said. "After all the hurt he has caused."

Thranduil drew in a sharp breath. "Nimrethil! No one deserves to be . . . so alone."

"I suppose I too would be a tragedy if I were abandoned," Nimrethil said grudgingly. "Perhaps I can find a piece of compassion to bake into something for him. He may one day take a bite."

Oropher shut his eyes tightly. Forced to bite his lower lip to keep from making a sound, he stung his tongue with blood and shocked himself at the force behind his bite. He winced. Let out a small sound. Cursed himself.

"Are you alright?" Thranduil inquired.

Oropher felt his son's eyes looking at him. He had given himself away. Slowly he turned onto his back. In the corner of his eyes, he saw five faces looking toward him and envied them their youth. "Of course, Thranduil, I am perfectly fine."

"I do not believe you," Thranduil said simply. "You do not sound right. You do not look right. You do not feel right. I know—you deeply loved Natelle, but I have not even seen you cry. Not once. How can you heal if you hold onto the hurt?"

Oropher flushed hot and turned his face toward the window, suddenly finding it welcoming. "Thranduil, I am dismayed it is too much to require you to be respectful."

Nimrethil muffled a giggle. She whispered, "Valar alive, how do you manage it, Thranduil? I cannot stand it—people saying something while saying nothing at all."

"Nimrethil," Ailunai said sharply. "Forgive us, my king, we forget our standing and speak out of turn. In coming to see Thranduil, we have neglected you. For this I speak for myself and offer my most sincere apologies."

His face cooled, Oropher looked back to the ceiling. "It is possible my company has not been inviting."

"I dare say!" Nimrethil exclaimed. "Wallowing away—pig in the mud. I do not have to be a healer to tell you it is not healthy."

"You," Jailil said, "Are not authorized to give medical advice."

"Is it entirely impossible, young lady, for you to speak civilly to your betters?" Oropher demanded. He found the courage to look her way and was jolted by the five cheery faces looking at him from their cluster around Thranduil.

Nimrethil widened her eyes at him unexpectedly and tossed her purple head. Her cap went flying and landed on the floor. "I do not know, your majesty. I seem to be above you right now, as I am standing, and you are lying down. I consider myself currently better than you at all levels."

"I am sitting up," Oropher said coldly.

Nimrethil went red trying to contain her laughter. She dove to the floor for her cap and shrieked merrily. When she stood up, cap in hand, her lips still twitched but she contained herself. "My, Thranduil, I do believe I need a button for my mouth, or I will regret my next words. Perhaps a pastry will do." She snatched one and filled her mouth.

Oropher flinched at the coarseness of her action. Thranduil pinched his lips together in a desperate effort to be polite and not laugh. His blue eyes twinkled furiously with gold flecks as he asked, "Would you—like a cookie?" He offered an alluring tray of golden-brown pasties and delicately sugared cookies.

"One," Oropher answered.

"Let me," Ailunai exclaimed. She rescued the tray from Thranduil as he snatched a pillow to his face and exploded with mirth. She took the tray to Oropher and said nothing when he took three cookies and a toasted pastry stuffed with crème.

"Nimrethil, you will kill us all," Jailil said disparagingly. "All this laughing expands the ribs and stomach, you know, and is more exercise for the abdomen than—"

Nimrethil dropped her jaw at him. "Valar, Jailil, you sound so—so official, but I never heard such rot. Laughter is good for the soul, you know, and—and all that. Besides, we have got old toad face happy—pardon, I mean the king is improved—I have sugared him—baked him nicely, and I dare say I deserve some credit for that!"

"You are spoiling the entire room's effort to be polite," Jailil replied. "How can we put forth a respectful face with you—insulting the crown."

"Are you insulted, Thranduil?" Nimrethil asked at once. She noticed Oropher tasting a cookie and shrieked with glee. Her cap went flying again. "I have done it! I always told you, did I not, I would cook for the King?"

"Uncountable times, I am sure," Hyrondal grinned at her.

Thranduil took his face out of his pillow and held the overstuffed, fluffy thing in a hug. "I do not think you brought enough treats, Nimrethil."

"Who knew he had such an appetite for quality?" Nimrethil retorted.

Thranduil went red again and coughed the chuckles out of his throat. He said, forcing a level voice, "He is the King, you know, Nimrethil, and you cannot go on—grossly taking advantage of the situation. I have to ask you to be more polite."

"Ask away," Nimrethil said thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose it is you who will get grief about the company you keep later. Here, Thranduil, dear, wash the frog out of your throat." She pushed a glass of water into his hand.

Oropher could not quite reach the glass on his bedside table without gritting his teeth and stinging his eyes with tears. Jailil swished to his side and handed the glass to him.

"Let me help you sit up more comfortably," the healer offered, sliding the small table closer to Oropher's bed.

Oropher glared at him as he lowered his glass. "I am perfectly capable! How dare you suggest I am dependent on you—" He winced as he stretched the slam the water glass down on the table.

Jailil held up his hands and rocketed his dark eyebrows toward his hairline. "Forgive me, my king, I did not realize you were—"

"So capable," Nimrethil said, and giggled.

"Proud," Thranduil corrected sadly. He met Oropher's eyes squarely when the king glowered at him. "You cannot deny it is not true. I know. It is one thing I inherited from you and I feel it every day."

"It is one more thing you hate in yourself, Thranduil, because it came from me. You cannot deny it."

Thranduil clenched his hands. Ailunai put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. Thranduil's fingers uncurled. He offered a hand to Ailunai and held it. He looked back to Oropher.

"You are so full of anger. I do not understand why—you are so persistent in thinking I despise you. I do not like you, but I do not hate you, and I am hurt you could think such a thing of me. I do not blame you for thinking it, but your believing it destroys every bridge I tentatively advance. How can we—how can we even find middle ground if you will not leave your grove? You do not know me, my king, and I am grieved you do not want to know me. You cannot understand my life if you only look in."

"I understand much more about your life than you know!" Oropher said low. His voice snarled. "I had friends in my childhood. True friends." He looked sneeringly at Ailunai. "They were the sons and daughters of wood-smiths and crafters. They were people like your collection of lowly associates. When I was betrothed to Natelle, I was instructed to leave frivolous things behind. I obeyed."

Thranduil brushed a curl of blond hair off his cheek. "You were . . . resigned to your life. You obeyed because you never disobeyed. You . . . perhaps you never realized you could."

Oropher bared his teeth at him. "You are a little brat with no respect for yourself, for the crown, or for me! I despise what you have become and—" he broke off, coughing, and raised a hand to his lips.

"I must request the room cleared," Jailil commanded. "I am afraid the atmosphere is no longer healing. Thranduil, you are not well enough to fight. Let it go. Please."

Nimrethil collected her tray with a final devilish look about the room. She left with Hyrondal in tow, shaking her head and whispering. Ailunai kissed Thranduil on the cheek and ran softly out the door. Jailil plumped pillows, refilled water glasses, and departed.

Thranduil put his arm over his eyes and lay back. His breath whooshed out and deflated his chest. All at once the pressure came back, crushing him down with a promise of never letting up. He wanted to get up and run. Leave this cursed place forever. But his body could not do it. He was trapped in himself.

"Ada," he whispered. The words were lost in his skin. "I need you, ada. I do not know what to do anymore—I do not know how I can live with him. I want to hate him, but I am scared to . . ."

His voice died in his ears. In the sudden silence was noise. Thranduil sat up with enough confusion to make the pain bearable. His brow pinched. It could not be true!

It was. Oropher was crying.

Thanks kindly for reading! Oropher is turning out to be more and more interesting. I love the unexpectedness of him as a person.

Next Chapter: Choices.