A/N. Please R & R. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
Disclaimer- of course everything belongs to Tolkien.
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King Thranduil of Mirkwood, known for his fierce pride, terrible temper and strictness for formalities, had been having a very bad day.
It had startled in the morning when the stupid maid had startled the rug on fire in his chambers when she was attempting to light the fire. Then he couldn't find his boots and sent his servant, Emynd, to find them. The eldery elf had returned with them, to be sure, but they were hardly recognizable. Aranwë's pet warg, Môrfyon, had endeavored to annihilate them by chewing and shedding at the leather, and, well, the king was not very impressed. On his way to breakfast, he managed to become victim of the prank Daeron had set up for his servant, Vlynwuyr. A convenient bucket of sand.
After that, it only got better. Breakfast was burnt because the new kitchen-maid who was assisting the Head-Cook Lanwë had forgotten about it, and then had finished it off by pouring water over it to douse the fire. The next accomplishment was salt in the tea, another achievement of the new kitchen-maid who mistook it for sugar. (The king made note to find out who this kitchen-maid was). Then the council that morning had gone all wrong, and most of the advisors had begun bickering back and forth like elflings about the trade route with the men of Laketown and Dorolyn and why they didn't use blue grass straw instead of orchard grass straw for packaging in the barrels. Then the king had been interrupted while he was trying to make peace by a warrior Nadrel who claimed that Prince Aranwë had attacked his son Nyvelon with a dagger yesterday.
So Thranduil sent for his second youngest son, and Aranwë had been sent to his rooms. The king had to speak with him later, and knowing Aranwë's awful temper when he was provoked, the king was not looking forward to it at all. He had gone outside to the gardens after leaving from lunch (which was only slightly burnt), only to get shot in the foot with an arrow by some elflings who were goofing around with their bows. When his foot, which was not badly hurt, had been bandaged by his private healer, the king had gone to attend the afternoon council to find that the advisors were now arguing that the barrels should be made of oak instead of hickory and maple.
The king had dismissed the council for the day, after managing to lose his temper in front of them, and had headed in the direction of his rooms to cool off. It was then he was barreled into by his fourth son, Daeron, and then his sixth son, Saeros. His foot, the injured one, had been stepped on in Daeron's hurry to get away, and now he could hardly bear to walk on it.
He flew into a rage at that point and shouted at Daeron and Saeros for being stupid, irrisponsible, disobedient elflings before storming off to his rooms(with a slight limp). He regretted his tone now, recalling the terrified look on Saeros' normally happy face and the startled look in Daeron's blue-green eyes. He sighed. It was time he spoke to Aranwë and got it over with. He might manage to rein in his temper, and if the both of them could, things might go by with only a slight quarrel. The king stood up and left his chambers, furtively ignoring the guards posted outside the door and made his way down the maze of corridors to his son's rooms.
The guards, as he drew near, stepped away from the door, bowed, and unlocked it. Thranduil went in and closed the door, to find Aranwë sitting on the window seat, several cushions scattered around him. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his arms around them, and his forehead resting on his arms. The king frowned at the book on the floor beside the wall, and then sighed, wondering what he had ever done to deserve becoming the father of his half-wit sons.
After a moment of silence, he moved to the window, pausing a few feet from his son. "Aranwë, why did you do it," he said in a surprisingly weary voice. "Why could you not just let him-"
"Kill me?" Aranwë said, his voice muffled. He looked up and out over the gray-green forest spreading away into the distance. "Yes, I should have."
Thranduil closed his eyes in an attempt not to lose his temper like he had earlier. "I did not say that, now did I? You need to learn to listen, Aranwë. You are not a child anymore, and I will not have you acting like one. And I will not stand for you drawing daggers on others like a neurotic elfling."
"I would not have, had that nasty Nyvelon not insulted Naneth. I won't listen to it, Adar, I won't. I won't just stand aside and listen to a loser calling my Naneth names, saying that she would never be missed. Maybe you don't care. Maybe Adrahil and Daeron and Lindon and the rest don't care. But I do," he snapped, turning his back on his father and staring out the window. "Naneth did not deserve the horrible fate she was given. Neither did Alerus or Calen."
Thranduil ignored his son's rudeness for the moment, thinking about his long-dead wife and eldest son. Then he frowned. "But Cal, I cannot see why you forgive him, how you miss him. He murdered Alerus. And, though he also is your brother, he deserved banishment, and nothing will make me change my mind."
Aranwë turned slowly to face his father, his eyes glittering with fury. "Calen did not mean what he did, Adar. He had no control over himself."
Surprised, Thranduil gazed at Aranwë. "What are you talking about! Why did not tell me this sooner!"
"I did tell you, Adar. Twice. And Adrahil told you. But did you listen? No. You never listen."
Thranduil's eyes darkened. "I still would not have lightened his punishment, my son or not. He should have remained in control of himself."
Now it was Aranwë's turn to look surprised. "Wait- you know about that ring, right?"
"What ring?"
Aranwë's eyes bore into his father's. "The ring he always wore? The one with the black stone that glowed red in the middle, the ring made out of black metal?"
Thranduil nodded slowly. "Yes…"
"He found it on his bed one night, tied to a paper with a black ribbon." Aranwë suddenly stood up and hurried to his desk. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small, rolled parchment. "Here's the paper... I found it in his room."
Walls have ears
Doors have eyes
Trees have voices
Beasts tell lies.
Beware the rain
Beware the snow
Beware the elf
You think you know.
For you my friend
On this dark eve
Of honor's end
This ring I leave-
Of dark and light
Of strength and might
Of deadly plight,
Beware! Beware! Beware the night!
Aranwë looked at his father. "I had no idea what it meant, but he liked the ring, so he put it on… and never took it off again. Well, he couldn't take it off again. As soon as he had it on his finger, it shrunk to fit firmly, so it couldn't be taken off." He shrugged. "After that, he began to act funny, little by little. And then he was a totally different person."
This in mind, Thranduil stood up and crossed the room to the door, obviously deep in thought. The Lore Master might have an idea what the odd poem meant. "I'm going to speak with Lord Nálarion. And, Aranwë, for your punishment, you will be staying here for two weeks. Next time think before you draw a knife on another." The door closed behind the king, and Aranwë stared at the door, a plan suddenly forming in his head. He wasn't going to stay here. Not if he could help it.
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Daeron gaped at his brother. "What? Adrahil…" he said, doubt clear by his tone.
However Adrahil wasn't joking. "Yes! Adar has banned him to his room for another two weeks." He wished he could see the looks on his brothers' faces. "What, it's true!"
There was a moment of silence. "But…he just got out of the last punishment Adar gave him!" Legolas added, frowning in the dark.
"Well, looks like we aren't going to be seeing him in a while," Lindon remarked.
"Ai, Eru! Do I feel bad for him!" Saeros said, his sympathies true.
It was silent in the darkness once more. The five brothers all contemplating the horror of the punishment. After a few minutes, Lindon spoke. "Can I light the candle?"
"Yeah, everyone's probably gone to bed," Adrahil said.
There was a slight scratching noise in the darkness before a small flame appeared on a tall white candle, and a graceful, slender hand placed the candle and its holder on the floor in the midst of the circle of brothers.
Daeron stood up. "I think I will go to Aranwë's room and see if I can't cheer him up some."
"He is probably asleep, like most normal elves are at this hour," Legolas remarked mirthfully as Daeron exited the room quietly.
It was more like a garden than a room, with walls of beautiful black-blue granite streaked with ivory. The ceiling high above was made of a thick, clear substance, like glass, and over it flowed the great Forest River. Dozens of almond, cherry, peach, magnolia and dogwood trees were planted throughout the hidden indoor-garden. Many ferns grew thick and luscious around the bases of the trees. A natural under-ground stream poured from a high crack in the wall, feeding a small, rocky-ledged waterfall, which wound its way through the garden and out under another wall. Snow Fountain, Blue Wisteria, and Weeping Cherry trees draped over the water, dropping white, pink and blue blossoms into the whirling torrent of crystal pools. Violet-tinged bluebells, orange Namaqualand daisies, wild orchids and rose, lily-white and amethyst-colored lupins were scattered along mossy cobble-stone walks, giving the place an enchanting, haunting, faery-like atmosphere. Legolas had found the hidden door behind a huge, colorful tapestry of the ancient kingdom of Doriath hanging on the wall in the corridor, and this had been their 'meeting room' since.
The youngest prince leaned back against the slender trunk of a blossoming cherry tree and crossed his legs. He let out an involuntary yawn and looked guilty when Adrahil raised an eyebrow at him. "What?!"
That one-word phrase pulled a laugh from the older brother. "What! Come now, Legolas, it is time for you to go to bed. All elflings are by this time."
Legolas glared at him. "I am not an elfling."
"You have not reached your majority yet," Saeros said.
"Yeah, well, neither have you," Lindon pointed out, a smile tugging at his mouth.
That silenced the pair.
Daeron returned a few minutes later, a little short of breath. "Guards said he can't see anyone, and then one followed me when I left." He sank down beside a patch of ferns and suddenly noticed the worried look on his brothers' faces. "Oh, don't worry, no one caught me." he chuckled. "I almost knocked the whole tapestry down when I ducked behind it."
A smile lit up Saeros' face. "I should have loved to see that huge tapestry come down on your head."
Daeron thumped him alongside the head, and Saeros slapped him back. A few more minutes of tussling and shouts of laughter went by before Adrahil motioned for them to quiet down. Someone was in the hall, too close to the hidden door for comfort.
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"I tell you, he disappeared!" came a voice, and a snap of his fingers.
"He couldn't have disappeared. You are probably just seeing things again. Like that 'ghost' in the armory the other night. And the 'creeper' in the barracks you saw three days ago." The second guard sighed. "Really, Anphrid, I think you need to stop listening to all of Galion's horror stories. He's filling your mind up with all sorts of crazy nonsense. Ghosts indeed!"
The first guard looked around again, up the hall, noting the locked doors. "But, I tell you, he just disappeared, Adanuë! Right into thin air! There's no way Prince Daeron got into any of the Queen's chambers- they've been locked since she died sixteen years ago!" When Adanuë ignored him and headed back to their posts at Aranwë's rooms, Anphrid let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, can you think of any sensible explanation since you won't listen to me?"
"He probably just turned the corner into the next hall before you saw him."
"That's impos-"
"Ok, will you just shut up, Anphrid? I'm not in the mood for listening to your senseless blabbering right now."
Anphrid huffed to himself. See what I get for trying to help? He snorted silently as he went back to his post with Adanuë. Shut up, Anphrid, indeed!
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Thanks for reading! Will be posting my next chapter soon!
~Aërlinwë Greenleaf