Chapter 6
When Daenerys saw Thranduil again, winter was well in its course, and she had been a guest in his Halls for over four months. They had agreed to begin linguistic lessons, because the King had expressed a wish to learn the Valyrian language. But he postponed their start for a few weeks, and Daenerys guessed it was because of his uneasiness around her. And, truth be told, she was glad for it, because she did not wish for a second incident of embarrassment and discomfort to take place between them.
Her mind had often drifted to that day in the forest, though. Sometimes, when she sat in the library reading some ancient lore book, she would catch herself daydreaming about his near-kiss, his emotional gaze, the tenderness of his touch on her cheek… And her mind would also conjure up the image of his naked body, bathed in dim light and glistening with droplets of water, as she had seen him all those days ago in the privacy of his chambers. But as soon as she would realize her treacherous thoughts, she would inwardly scold herself, and force herself to concentrate back on what she was reading.
And she had read much about the lore of Middle-Earth indeed. She made good use of her ample time, and decided to take things in chronological order. And so she learned of Eru and the Ainur and the creation of Arda. She read about the Years of the Trees, the awakening of the elves, and their first Kings. And she learned who Melkor was, the one the elves named Morgoth and waged so many wars against, until he was cast into the void. And she discovered that Sauron was his mightiest servant, and that he had always craved power. She read of the great elves of the First Age, of Fëanor and the Silmarils, and of his sons, and the consequent kinslayings. She read of King Elu Thingol, and his daughter Lúthien, and the love she bore for the mortal man Beren. Amongst all the stories of elven lore Daenerys read, the story of Beren and Lúthien she liked best, for it was a deeply romantic, and yet a tragic one. But more she learned through her readings: how the Rings of Power were made, how dwarves became greedy under their influence, and mortal Kings turned into accursed wraiths… But the three elven rings were free of Sauron's taint, and they were blessed with qualities of healing, restoration and preservation. And more she read about the War of Wrath, the destruction of Beleriand, and then the Fall of Doriath, and Eregion… and how things came to be as they were nowadays.
Into the pages of such a tome she was wandering now, fascinated by the tale of Númenor and its downfall, when Thranduil entered the library, noiselessly walking on silent feet, as only an elf could. But he saw her seated there before a desk, head propped on one hand, her face and hair illuminated by the warm candlelight, and his heart sang in joy, for she was such a lovely sight to behold.
"Daenerys", he spoke softly, not wishing to disturb her.
At once she looked up from the book, and a small smile graced her fine features. "My lord Thranduil… I received word that you wished us to have a lesson this afternoon, but I did not expect you until dusk", she said.
"Idleness took the best of me, and I could not linger pointlessly in my chambers. I came here to read some poetry, but now that I see you are here already, could we perchance begin the lesson earlier than appointed?" he asked, trying to keep his tone formal, but not cold.
"Of course", she replied, setting her book aside.
The Elvenking took a seat opposite her and glanced upon its cover. "Of Beren and Lúthien", he read aloud. "Such a lovely story. Sorrowful, though."
"And thus in anguish Beren paid, for that great doom upon him laid, the deathless love of Lúthien, too fair for love of mortal Men; and in his doom was Lúthien snared, the deathless in his dying shared; and Fate them forged a binding chain of living love and mortal pain", Daenerys recited by heart.
"You impress me", he said with glistening eyes.
"I have read it quite a few times, and I have come to remember it wholly", she told him with a small smile.
"I can tell you like it."
"Oh, I do. To give up your immortal life for the one you love is extraordinary, in the least", she commented.
His gaze intensified. "But is it not what love is about? Sacrifice?"
She lowered her eyes. "That is a rather idealized view of love…"
"If it is not selfless and pure, then it is not love", Thranduil declared.
Daenerys brought her eyes back to him, and searched his; they were deep now, laden with distant memories. "You have shared such a love…"
"I did", he only said, and his gaze was momentarily lost in the flickering flame of the candle on the desk. "Have you not?"
The mother of dragons fell silent. Could she call Drogo a pure and selfless love, a true love by Thranduil's strict standards? She had been sold to him; they had not chosen each other. He had treated her gently enough, contrary to what she had expected. And she came to love him in the end; she admired his strength, his commanding presence, his passion. And he loved her in his own Dothraki way. But he was taken from her too soon. How would things have been, had he survived? Was he meant to be her true love, her only love? Daenerys was not certain.
Finally she lifted her gaze. He was watching her patiently, silver-blue eyes looking at her with serenity. "I do not know", she whispered, unable to lie to him. And what would be the point of lying anyway?
But he saw that she had become sorrowful, and he did not wish to sadden her heart. "Well, then. Let us put aside these books of yore, and focus on the present", he cheerfully suggested.
Daenerys was more than happy to oblige. "Right. My reading of lore shall wait for another time. You are here for the lesson." She drew forth paper and quill, and passed one to Thranduil. "We shall begin with the letters. I warn you, my lord, High Valyrian is very different from Sindarin", she told him with a smile.
"I have noticed as much. I have heard you talk to your dragons. How are they faring, by the way? I have not seen them since our walk in the woods…"
He had spoken without giving much thought to the words, but they were out there now, and he could not take them back. It was as if a secret pact had been made between them, not to talk about their intimate moments in the forest ever again. But here it slipped from his guard, and he instantly regretted it.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, before they both looked away, as if they were guilty of something. But Daenerys sensed that his slip of the tongue was not deliberate, and sought to salvage the situation. "They are faring well, my lord. And they have grown much. Drogo's head is almost the size of a wolf's now, and his brothers are only slightly smaller. I fear their chamber will soon be too small for them."
The King looked at her with gratitude, for choosing to focus only on the dragons. "Very well. Then I shall have a place deep within the caverns of my Halls prepared for them. There they can have all the space they need… and they will be well concealed from prying eyes. I do not wish the Dark Lord to discover them. And now that they are grown, you should be more careful when taking them outside the Halls. The spies of the enemy are everywhere: crows and snakes and spiders report to him daily of what they see."
Her countenance turned serious as she heard his words. "Yes, you are right. I would not want to risk my dragons, and neither would I wish to attract the attention of Sauron on your realm. You have been so kind to me; I would not wish to cause you harm in any way", she told him in earnest.
"I know", he softly spoke and nodded. Then he took the quill in his hand. "Shall we start, then?"
An hour passed, during which Daenerys could testify that Thranduil was an apt student, with a natural talent for languages. He would listen to her teaching carefully, and would easily commit new vocabulary and grammar rules to his memory.
"Well, my lord, if you continue like this, you shall be able to speak Valyrian properly in a matter of weeks!" she announced happily, when at last they decided to put the books to rest.
He smiled. "Why, I am an old elf with much free time in his hands… What better use for it than learning a new language?"
She laughed, and he laughed along. Their eyes met, as their smiles slowly faded, and the connection was there; they could both feel it. But they were not ready to comprehend and embrace it.
"You are not really that old…" she teased him, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Oh but I am, I am… Have I told you I have met Lúthien in person, whilst in Doriath?" he spoke with a gleam in his eyes.
Daenerys stood stupefied for a moment. She remembered that he had once told her he hailed from Doriath, and that he was indeed several thousand years old, but she had never put it into perspective. Now, after having read so much lore, she could at last understand how much his eyes had seen.
"Oh… I should have thought…" she muttered.
He smiled at her puzzlement. "It is not for mortals to comprehend the lives of the elves. But I did meet Lúthien, for I often saw her in court in her earlier years, before she met Beren. My father was a nobleman, one of King Thingol's councilors. Therefore, life at court and mingling with the royal family was an everyday occurrence for us. Still, Lúthien truly was as legend has it. Tall, with hair black as night and eyes grey and shining, she was the most beautiful elven maid that has ever lived. But the most wondrous of her qualities was her voice, Daenerys. Sweet and melodious, it could turn winter to spring and dead leaf to bloom. Such was her majesty and appeal", he described. "Poor Daeron, the King's great minstrel… He was hopelessly in love with Lúthien, but his love was fated to remain unrequited", he mused.
"I feel sorry for him. A love unrequited can lead to awful things…" Daenerys said.
"Jealousy, blindness, injustice… Yes, it can bring about disaster", the King sighed.
She nodded, and they fell silent for a while, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. The library was silent. They were almost alone in it; only another ellon was there, noiselessly pacing among the rows of the bookshelves, apparently searching for a specific document. And when he found it, he exited the chamber, and now Thranduil and Daenerys were completely alone. Only the crackling of the firewood could be heard, in the two great hearths on the northern and southern walls of the library. Daenerys had sat on a small desk in a quiet corner, but now Thranduil eyed the fire and the comfortable seats before it.
"The fireplace looks appealing to me, and the air is chill. Would you like us to relocate there?" he suggested in a smooth tone.
She glanced outside the large, arced window. Night had fallen for good, and the wind carried the thin flakes of new snow, as it began falling upon the dark forest. As if drawn to it by some unseen tether, she rose from her seat and walked close to the window, placing her hands in the hollow sill and leaning slightly forth. She observed the white snowflakes as they danced their way to the ground, kissing leaf and thorn alike.
"How long do winters last here?" she asked, ignoring his question.
He stood and walked behind her, looking ahead over her shoulder. A faint smile curled his lips, for he had always loved the image of his forest during wintertime. "Three months it is, though the chill may very well continue into early spring."
"Three months? Such a sort time…" she muttered.
"Short?"
She briefly glanced up at him. "In my world, seasons last for years… It was summer when I was there, and it had lasted for around nine years… And the winters can span decades, long and harsh and unforgiving, as they say. But my memories are mostly of summer", she narrated.
"It must be difficult, to live in persistent cold – or heat, for that matter…" he observed.
Daenerys nodded. "People hate the winters, and they long for the summers, only to curse the heat when it comes", she commented with a small smile. "They hate the winters not only for their cold and snow and rain, but because dark things awaken when the winds of winter blow cold from the north… They say the Others walk in winter like ghosts in the fog, white and unseen in the vast snow-covered plains… Perhaps it is only superstition, but no one can tell for sure."
"You speak of dark things… What are these Others? Some wraiths?" the King surmised, and in his mind he imagined the Others as Nazgûl, only white in color.
"I cannot really say. I have only heard tales as a child, of undead men walking in the cold of winter, seeking to end all life in earth. But no one has seen them, and I think these are only stories to scare the children", she replied.
"You would be surprised by how much truth such children's stories often contain…" he mused. "In this world, darkness and evil is very real, and the world has felt their wrathful and destructive touch many a time."
Daenerys shifted on her feet uncomfortably, feeling a shiver running down her spine. "I dislike this talk of cold and evil… Let us sit by the fire, as you said."
He nodded and led her over to the hearth, where they sat in plush armchairs. A round, trestle table was in front of them, and some books were abandoned on it. In front of them, the orange and red flames burned bright, hungrily licking upon the wood.
"This is much better", she told him with a smile, gesturing towards the fire.
He softly laughed. "I know. I will not say I am not grateful for the relaxing warmth right now… My days of late have been hectic, burdened with tiresome tasks and dull conversations I had to attend and observe. Ruling and being King is such a dreary job at times", he sighed.
"Is it?"
"Of course… In times of peace, there are no great plans of battles to be devised, nor much glory to be gained. A King must only assure the welfare of his people, and that means endless negotiations, solving trading issues, overseeing the economy, listening to the complaints and problems of his subjects, conferring with councilors, sometimes holding formal banquets and dinners … and at all times appear unflappable, polite, patient…"
"Perfect", she concluded for him.
"Indeed. It is often exhausting", he said with a half-smile.
She shook her head. "I would imagine a King – or Queen – must be seen as an example by his people; he must inspire them, he must listen to them, and his enemies should fear him and bend the knee in submission. But also he must seek glory, to conquer new lands and to expand his realm, not to enslave their peoples, but to liberate them from their evils and their tyrants, and elevate them to a new way of life, where peace and justice prevail", she spoke fervently.
A smile rose beneath Thranduil's quirked brow. "You speak less as Queen and more as a conqueror, Daenerys."
She was surprised by his comment. "Do you really think so?"
"In your eyes I see the passion of youth, and in your words I hear the desire to have it all. Your intentions may be benign, but a conquest is always a conquest; it always comes through war and death", Thranduil responded solemnly.
She was not appeased. "Sometimes you need to have war for there to be peace. And I would not stand for a peace where corruption and depravation are the norm. Intrigues, immorality, great Houses vying for the throne… Today rules one, tomorrow another, and on the third day a third one. The wheel keeps turning and turning. I intend to break the wheel, and I will do it with fire and blood." Her voice was fiery, her eyes burning with purpose.
He watched her carefully as she spoke. She was very determined for someone so young and inexperienced. She truly had the heart of a leader, the Elvenking sensed. "And I promised to help you return to your world and fulfil your dream, though a world cruel and perilous it sounds to me."
Her expression softened, and she leaned back in her chair. "It is… But it is my world, it is where I belong. And I intend to take back what was stolen from me. No longer will I be a fugitive and a beggar, laughing stock as my brother Viserys had become. I am the blood of the dragon, and the dragon does not beg; he seizes what he wants."
He observed her as she sat there, hands on the armrests, head held high. Her appearance could deceive, for she looked so soft and pliant, barely a woman grown, but inside her hid a heart of fire and a resolve rarely found even in seasoned warriors. He could not but admire her, this girl who had been through so much hardship and abuse, and yet she was not broken, but emerged stronger through the trials, and rose reborn through the flames, cradling three dragonlings on her breast. She was unique in her way, for lack of a better word. And Thranduil found that his heart had stirred with fondness for her, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to help her and protect her.
She noticed that he was looking at her with the faintest of smiles, and with eyes deep and starlit, and he glowed with a light of his own, his bright aura visible in the dimness of the room. And she felt a strange thing she had never felt before: she felt she was encompassed by something strong and warm, something intangible and yet powerful and eternal, which reached for her very soul and shook the foundations of her existence. A shiver coursed through her, and her limbs tingled with mystical energy she did know existed. Another look in his eyes and she was certain, then, that he was responsible for this strange phenomenon. She felt a myriad of sensations emanating from him, from his ethereal elven spirit, of which he had often and so fondly spoken, and she realized this was a way of communication, a way to know someone was there with you, a way to know that someone sought closeness with you… It was a nameless feeling, and yet one of the most intimate feelings she had ever felt.
Her lips parted slightly and she gasped, and the Elvenking perceived her tumult, her struggle to comprehend what she was feeling, and he felt inclined to pacify her. First he reined in his feverish fëa, and reduced its effect on Daenerys. At once she drew a breath deep and unlabored, and he smiled at her reassuringly.
"What was that?" she uttered.
"Me", he simply said.
"Yes, I knew it was you, I could feel it… But how? I have never felt something like that before."
"It was my spirit… reaching for yours", he explained, his voice low and velvety.
"It was such a powerful sensation", she said breathlessly.
"Our spirits are strong, Daenerys, though humans may not realize it as elves do. While you spoke, my fëa was roused, triggered by yours. And it sought to connect with yours, and it did, but dimly so, for a human is not very much aware of his spirit and its power, while an elf comprehends the presence of his fëa completely. And you come from a different world, so I do not know exactly what kind of a spirit inhabits your body, but there certainly is one, and it is strong and vibrant, and free of malice", he told her. She looked thoughtful, and shrank back in her chair. "Did I scare you? Please, forgive me if I did. It was not my intention", he said.
"You did not scare me… I am just still shaken from what I experienced. My heart thrums with the echo of your spirit's visitation. It is such a foreign feeling to me, and I am still trying to contain it", she explained to him.
Worried that he had indeed damaged her in some unforeseen manner, he rose from his seat and knelt beside her armchair. "Daenerys, have I hurt you?" He tentatively took her hand in his, and found it unusually cold.
His touch caused her heart to skip a beat, but the feeling was not unpleasant. On the contrary, she found it soothing, and her fingers relaxed under his. "I think not", she whispered, and looked into his eyes.
There was that connection again, that unnamed feeling. They kept looking in each other's eyes, and this time neither would look away. Probingly, his fingers moved on hers lightly, as if in a caress. She turned her hand in response, allowing her fingers to slide in-between his and twine with them. His face then betrayed his surprise and emotional upheaval, for his gaze flickered, and his mouth opened slightly. He had not anticipated such reaction, and he was now overwhelmed by it. At the same time his fëa was met with hers, and it was like the dance of wind with fire. He tried to resist and not shower her with his light, for he feared she might be afraid and choose to retract, withdrawing from their connection.
But she showed no sign of fear; instead, a smile graced her face, and he felt heartened by it. She closed her eyes momentarily, and concentrated on her inner self, willing her mind to relax, and searching for her dormant spirit. At that time a bright light washed over her, calling to her spirit to rise. She felt warm and safe, and the sensation reminded her of how she had felt when in the pyre, bathed in the cleansing flames. Thranduil's fëa now soared, entwining with hers, bonding with hers.
When she opened her eyes, mesmerized and out of breath, he saw he had leaned closer, and his head was slightly inclined, his eyes half-lidded. He looked entranced as much as she was, totally given unto their shared experience. When he felt her stir, he slowly lifted his face. "I cannot help it. Our spirits seek each other. I cannot help it", he breathed, almost apologetically.
"I cannot help it either. You have introduced me to sensations I had never imagined possible… And now there is no going back", she uttered.
He held her gaze for a short while, and then leaned closer still, tilting his head lightly to the side. She reached for him, too, and when his lips were met with hers, she felt the light of a thousand stars bathing her. The kiss was barely a kiss, but more of a simple touch of lips upon lips, smooth and sensitive, but for Daenerys this kiss could never compare to any of the kisses she had received before. Such was its emotional and spiritual power.
When Thranduil opened his eyes and pulled back, he found her equally breathless and mystified. He then realized what had transpired, and worry crept up in his heart. As he made to remove his hand from hers, she tightened her fingers upon his. "No", she whispered, asking him not to break the connection. He relented, and stayed as he was, with her hand in his.
Her eyes glowed with serenity, and the sweetest of smiles was upon her lips. Bliss radiated from her being, and he felt her warmth engulfing him. He then lowered his face and dropped a feathery kiss upon her hand, only to rest his cheek on their twined hands next. She smiled fondly at the sight of the King crouching by her side and quietly resting in the feeling of their union. Then she leaned on the armrest of the chair and brought her other hand to stroke his hair, silken strands of molten silver beneath her fingers. He did not resist; he barely even moved, and his breathing became lighter. A single tear streamed down her cheek, and her heart sang with joy. Here is the Elvenking, knelt beside me, with his head beneath my caress. Is this what love truly feels? Is this what loving an elf feels? Oh, if only it is not a fleeting dream. If only this moment would last forever.
Translations
Fëa = Spirit, soul (Quenya)
A/N: So that was chapter 6! I hope you enjoyed it. And many thanks for all those alerts and favorites! The warm reception of the story has made me happy.