Chapter 7

"Now this is athelas, our most potent healing herb", the chief healer told Daenerys. "It is ever-green, and blossoms even during winter. Marvelous, is it not?" She handed her a small sapling, whose leaves had only sprouted. It was encased in a small pot. "Handle it with care and gentleness, and it shall reward you", she went on.

Daenerys took it her hands and examined it closely. It was bright green of color, stem and small triangular leaves, and its blossom was light blue and star-shaped. She brought it to her nose and inhaled its scent. Her senses were instantly revived, and she felt her head clearing of troublesome thoughts. If just its aroma has such wondrous properties, who knows what magic its salve or potion can work, she reflected with awe.

"Did you feel its effect?" the healer asked with a knowing smile, as if she could read her thoughts.

"I did…"

"Athelas is used to heal the Black Breath. Do you perchance know what it is?" Daenerys shook her head in negation. "It is the touch of evil, inflicted by Sauron and his most fearsome servants, the Nazgûl. Few can survive it, and not without the aid of athelas. We cherish this little plant, and cultivate it with great love and reverence. And to think that men consider it only a weed!" she exclaimed in indignation.

Daenerys smiled and nodded. "Will you show me now how to plant it?"

"Of course, of course. Come along."

The lady led her over to a flowerbed of athelas. Grown plants were in the front lines, neatly arranged, and young saplings took up the middle ones, while the back of the bed looked empty, but Daenerys thought it was reserved for the seeds.

"Now this one is young, and it will join the others here in the fourth line", the healer instructed. She had removed the sapling from another bed of flowers that had been abandoned, because the soil in it would not seem fertile, no matter how much effort the elves put into it. They had come to suspect it was the workings of the Shadow that prevented good things from growing. "Prepare a hole in the ground, in which to plant it", she told her apprentice.

Daenerys placed the sapling carefully on the ground beside her, as she knelt and took up a small trowel in her hand. With it she made a new home for the athelas plant, and then gently removed the soil from the pot and freed it. As she buried it in the hole and covered the roots well, she could already feel it stirring with life. Her look of amazement made the elf smile. "It talks to you, does it not? It wishes to thank you. Now you must care for it, almost like you would care for a child."

Her face grew sorrowful at the mention of that word, for she was reminded of the son she had been robbed of. If only I held him in my hands, instead of a plant, miraculous though it might be, she inwardly wished. My little Rhaego. My little, unborn, dead Rhaego. Are you riding now in the Night Lands with your proud father? Know that I shall never forget you. A true mother I may never be, but you are the son of my heart, and the dragons are your brothers.

"You should water it now". The healer's voice pulled her out of her doleful musings.

"Yes, my lady Doronith."

She did as she was told, and spent the next few hours in the herbal garden, learning of healing plants and their properties, planting seeds, collecting leaves and even arranging them in jars. They would not let her extract oils or make the leaves and blossoms into salves and liniments, though, for she was still quite ignorant of the ways of healing and treating the plants, but for her frequent visits to the garden. The elves were strict about that, and insisted that only a trained healer handle the plants in such ways. But for her it was enough for now, to walk amongst the aromatic flowerbeds, planting seeds and saplings and collecting leaves and blossoms. Perhaps in time she could learn to refine their juices as the elves did.

Another thing she noticed was that the healers were predominately female, with the male ones being perhaps less than one in ten persons. Daenerys remembered Doronith's reply, when she had asked her why it was so. You will find more female healers than male ones, because females generally abstain from war and hunting, she had told her. The dealing of death diminishes the power of healing. And it is the norm that the ellyn take up arms when it necessary, and the ellith tend to peaceful tasks. But if an ellon would not partake in hunting or killing, he can be as potent a healer as any female. Likewise, if a female devotes herself to the art of war, she cannot be an effective healer. It is a choice of path; but it is so that more ellyn choose the sword and more ellith the trowel. But Daenerys recalled that she had heard of male elves, who were great healers, like lord Elrond of Rivendell. Yes, you are right to put that to question, but Elrond is of the line of Melian the Maia, and he also wields Vilya, the Ring of Air. With all three elven rings come healing powers, Doronith had explained.

Daenerys had found the information fascinating, as she always loved to learn more of the lore of this world. If only such a healer was available, when my sun-and-stars was wounded… Then I would have need of no traitorous maegi. He would have lived, and he would have given me the Seven Kingdoms, as he had promised me…

But this was only wistful thinking, and she found that the memory of her husband filled her heart with sorrow and longing these days. She missed to be hugged, protected, cared for, loved… She missed the promise of family, of sons and daughters. Would she care to be the Queen of Westeros, had Drogo not died? Daenerys could not tell for sure. Would she be content to be a Khaleesi by his side, and forsake her claim of the Iron Throne?

Her pondering was interrupted by the sweet voice of Luineth. "My lady Daenerys, there you are", she called to her as she approached her gingerly.

"Mae g'ovannen, Luineth. What brings you here?" Daenerys asked, smiling up at her friend.

The blue-eyed elleth produced a small envelop from her cloak. "I was tasked with handing you this. It is from the King."

"The King?" She took the envelop and eyed it curiously. Upon it her name was written with silver letters by Thranduil's own flowing hand.

Luineth nodded. "I might have an idea what it is about, but I would not like to deprive you of the delightful surprise", she told her mischievously. "I will leave you to your work now, for I have to help with the preparations!" she announced as she turned and began walking away.

"The preparations?" Daenerys nearly shouted the question.

"Oh, you shall see!"

Daenerys had to finish her task in the healing garden as quickly as possible, for she could not wait to return to her room and open the King's envelop. There she was now, tearing it open and taking the card inside in her hands.

Dear Daenerys, it read. I would like to personally invite you to Mereth-en-Narwain, our feast to celebrate the rebirth of the Sun, as the days will start to grow longer from that day hence. The feast will take place during the longest night of the Year, which is tomorrow. Festivities have been planned, including dance, song, food and wine and merry-making. The feast will begin at sundown, and it will be held in the feasting hall. I suggest you ask Luineth for directions, in case you do not recall where it is. For I expect your presence there with a certainty, and I have reserved a place at my table for you. The invitation bore the signature and the seal of the Elvenking himself.

Invitation to an elven feast! Daenerys thought with excitement. And the King himself deigned to invite her personally. He means to show me that he cares… Memories of their time alone in the library came unbidden in her mind. Many days have passed since I last saw him, but the memory is vivid. What I felt, what we both felt… it was there, it was real, it was palpable. How can I ignore it? I bet he cannot ignore it either, though I sense he fears to address the matter. He seems rather solitary in his manner of living…

She paced around her chambers nervously. The feast was tomorrow. What was the last time she had attended a feast? My own wedding. And I was terrified. The Dothraki mated with their women and killed each other for sport. A Dothraki wedding without enough deaths is a failure to them… The only memorable thing of that day was the gift I received of the three dragon eggs. And Drogo… the way he treated me afterwards. He was careful, gentle even. I had not expected that. A sad smile rose to her lips at the remembrance of her first night with the Khal. I was so naïve and ignorant back then. He made a woman of me.

But the time now was not for sadness. This elven feast will surely be splendid, but perhaps subtle as well. Like the King of the place. I must attend, since he has asked it of me. But to sit at his table… I wonder how things will be between us, after our kiss. Our kiss… Never before have I felt such tantalizing energy overwhelming me. His emotions were so strong, and his spirit opened my mind's eye to indescribable things. How can we go back from that?

She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes cast low in thought. But what does it mean for us? Is love what we feel? Or admiration? Or sympathy? Or some strange elven thing I cannot name? Our connection was mostly spiritual, and less physical… And yet when our lips brushed I felt more alive than ever before. Still, I will have to be cautious tomorrow. Best to be formal.

Daenerys then glanced at the wardrobe. Inside it were the beautiful gowns and cloaks Luineth had given her. With a sigh she stood from the bed, and walked to it. Now, which one should I choose to wear for the feast?

All of Thranduil's folk were gathered in the great feasting hall on the day of Mereth-en-Narwain. They had begun swarming in by midday, and when the sun took to its western course, the hall was overcrowded with elves, who sat at the long tables across the hall, and waited for their King to come and the feast to start.

There came Daenerys, alongside Luineth, for she had chosen not to walk into the room on her own. She looked around, and the sight was breathtaking. All the pillars and arches had been decorated with holly – ereg as the plant was called in Sindarin, as well as slender twigs and brownish pinecones. Countless lanterns hung from above, lending a soft orange glow to the deep cavern, and two large hearths were at the northern and southern walls of it, warming the place. There was also a stage and a large dancing floor just a level below the King's table. For the King's table was elevated, so that all of his people may look upon their sovereign at all time, and he upon them. The minstrels and singers had taken their designated places upon the stage, and they held lute and harp and flute, and arranged their music sheets on the tripod stands. The nobles were arriving then, one by one, and the members of Thranduil's council; they all came and sat at his table, where their seats were.

Luineth took Daenerys by the elbow, prompting her not to be shy. "You have a place at our King's table tonight, and that is where you will sit", she told her with determination, as she led her through the crowd towards the high table. Her silver hair, which was adorned tonight with holly, and her small stature turned many curious heads, but she tried to ignore them as best as she could. Some of the councilors tried to hide their frowns, when they saw her taking a seat at the table, but nobody was as unwise as to voice their displeasure. For not few were those who were concerned about the presence of dragons in their home, and the strange woman who had brought them along.

Daenerys sat down and kept her eyes straight ahead, gazing blindly at the crowd. She avoided looking at the nobles close to her, for she already felt uncomfortable enough. The feeling needed no augmentation. The room was noisy with the idle chatter of the elves, and the smell of cinnamon, orange and mint filled the air. There was incense burning in the braziers, Daenerys noticed. Admittedly, the atmosphere in the hall was warm and welcoming and festive enough.

But then all noise died down, as the King entered the hall. Daenerys looked at him. He was resplendent, wearing his wintry crown, which gleamed like silver in the light. His attire was of the deepest blue, a long-sleeved doublet and close-fitting breeches, embroidered with silver thread along the trim and high collar. He wore black, knee-high boots of soft leather, a silver belt was around his slim waist, and a silver-grey cloak was draped upon his shoulders. His hair flowed like silk down his back, long and glistening like moonlight upon snow. He moved to the platform with utmost grace, his presence ethereal and yet commanding. Slowly, he raised both his arms to the sides, and Daenerys watched him with her breath caught in her throat as he spoke.

"My good people, Mereth-en-Narwain has come again, and we are here to celebrate the rebirth of the sun. For each year the sun follows a circle of life, death, and rebirth. Tonight the sun dies, and is born again. This is the longest night of the year, and my thoughts cannot but turn to the night that has fallen on our forest, which has been long indeed. But have courage and hope, for the night does not last forever. Soon it will be broken by the golden rays of dawn, and as the new sun fills our days with light and warmth, so will the good dispel the darkness and prevail upon the evil in the world. Keep close to your heart the memory of our forest, when it was young and green, and old mornings may dawn again. Sung tonight will be songs of old, but veil them not with present tears. For tonight is a night of celebration, of feasting and merry-making. And remember, death is not the end, never the end. It is only a passage, and through it all that lives must walk, so that it may live again." He then turned and grasped a goblet of wine from the table. "And now all of you, raise your cups with me, and drink to the sun reborn!"

Hundreds of elves mirrored their King's gesture, and as soon as the cups were drained and set to refill, music began playing in the hall, and the servants came in with more wine and the first dishes. Thranduil went and resumed his high seat at the middle of the long table, and his eyes fell on Daenerys.

"Daenerys, my lady", he greeted her. "Will you not come and join me here?"

"Hîr vuin Thranduil, I was uncertain of which seat I was to take", she responded in as a steady voice as she could muster, for by now she was dazed by the feast and the King alike.

"Why, but the seat next to mine of course!" he chimed joyfully, and downed a second cup of wine.

He watched her as she stood and approached him. She was dressed in her deep crimson gown, which was low-cut and with dagged sleeves that nearly reached to the floor. White lace sprung from the neckline and hugged her shoulders, and it lined the sleeves and hem as well. The waist was cinched with a golden belt, which was made of shiny golden thread, woven into thick strands and braided neatly together. A matching, fur-trimmed cloak was on her shoulders, and the crimson of her garb matched the small, scarlet fruit of the holly in her hair. Her face was slightly flushed – was it perhaps the wine or the heat? But to Thranduil she looked lovelier than ever.

He pulled back the chair for her, and she lowered herself upon it, thanking him. "How do you like the feast?" he asked her, wishing to start a conversation.

"It is mesmerizing. I have never been to an actual feast before… except for my wedding… which was nothing like this celebration here", she replied, and her voice bore traces of bitterness.

"Such a pity", he murmured, sipping from his wine. Daenerys noticed that he was in his third cup in less than an hour after the feast had begun. He loves his wine, the King, she thought. I hope he can handle it as well. Not wishing to seem rude, she took a small sip of wine as well. The taste was rich and slightly spicy, with a fruity aroma of blackberries and pomegranates.

Thranduil observed her from the corner of his eye. "Dorwinion", he informed her. "The best wine there is in all of Middle-Earth. Though some may say they make excellent wine in the Shire, too. I doubt it is as good as this one."

The Shire, where the hobbits dwell, she remembered reading in a lore-book once. That short-statured, kind and gentle folk had struck an impression on her during her readings, and mostly because they sounded like the least warlike people she had ever heard of. They loved their cozy little homes – who were little more than well-furnished holes in the ground – and their delicious food, and their fishing, and parties, and festivals, and all sorts of peaceful activities. They misliked adventures; all a hobbit wanted was to spend all his life at home, tending to his garden and making merry with his friends. Perhaps all I had once wanted was to live a life like this… with my family, sheltered and protected, and away from war and danger. But what a foolish dream it was! My life turned out the exact opposite, Daenerys mused.

"Daenerys? You seem far off…"

The Elvenking's voice brought her out of her reverie. "I was lost in thought… of what might once have been, if I were not so unfortunate", she told him, withholding a sigh.

He leaned to her side a bit. "Misfortune visits all. Whether little or grand, no one can escape it." His expression was jovial before, but now it had turned grave. He must be thinking of his own misfortunes, Daenerys assumed.

"Yes, my lord. But we should not darken this celebration with such thoughts… It is a feast for the new sun, after all", she commented with a smile.

Thranduil liked her notion. He sat straighter in his chair and looked to the crowd. "You are right. Tonight darkness has no place here", he said, and his words were followed by a generous gulp of wine.

She noticed that. It is as if he is depending on wine to keep a merry face. "Hîr nín, if you continue drinking like this, you will be drunk before midnight!" she told him boldly, but her countenance was playful and not severe.

He glanced at her and grinned. "Ah, worry not. It takes more than a few cups of wine for an elf to get drunk. Thank you for your concern, but I am in no such danger", he replied and waved his hand dismissively.

I hope he is not exaggerating, Daenerys thought, but decided to put the matter to rest. Instead, she turned her attention to her plate. The first course had been served – aromatic mushroom soup and fresh-baked, crispy bread – and it smelled mouth-watering. She saw that the nobles around her had already began sipping their soup eagerly, and she decided to try it, too. It tasted better than she had imagined. "This is wonderful", she murmured.

"Is it not? Faelwen is a Queen in the kitchen", Thranduil said with a smile. "Wait until you try the rest of the dishes."

And truly, Daenerys tasted course after course, and each was more delicious than the other. As the hour grew late, the feast neared its peak. The elves, mostly sated now, took to the dancing floor. They danced in couples, and their moves were graceful and precise; not one of them misstepped or was clumsy. So unlike humans, she observed. The dancing partners swirled about each other in complex motions, but they barely touched. They moved like leaves in the wind and like water in a stream, but never once did they come closer than a touch of the fingertips. The most artful and emotional dance they danced was when the minstrels played the Lay of Lúthien, which told the story Daenerys so well knew and loved. She gazed at the dancers with dreamy eyes and a pout was on her lips.

"I can tell you would wish to dance to this song", the King whispered to her, leaning close to her shoulder. His aura touched her then, and her skin tingled with his energy.

"I would", she admitted, "if I knew how to dance like this. I fear my own movements would be laughing stock compared to the elven ones", she murmured forlornly.

He leaned closer still, whispering now in her ear. "The dragon may dance, too, though a different dance he dances."

She turned to him startled, for his comment had come out of nowhere. She met his eyes, deep and starlit as always, and trained on hers. His face was a breath away from hers, and his fëa enveloped her again, but more slowly this time, giving her time to adjust and accept him.

She did not resist.

Her skin was on fire, and her eyes shone. He recognizes me for what I am. He does not see me as a mere human, small and unimportant. I am a dragon, and he sees that. How much more does he perceive, but does not let on? She looked deeper into his eyes, and saw her own reflection in them. Memories of their evening in the library came to her mind. They had come so very close then, so close that their spirits had entwined and their lips had touched. He has not forgotten, Daenerys thought with a certainty. And the minstrels sang of Beren and Lúthien and their love, and Thranduil gazed at her tenderly, and the world around them melted away and faded.

His hand found hers beneath the table, where the movement passed unseen by the ever-vigilant councilors. "Would you care for a place by the hearth? For I find I am tired of this high seat", he said.

She nodded, and he led her away from the platform. A few of the nobles spared them a glance, but their eyes did not linger; they preferred to return to their food and chatter. The odd pair mingled with the dancing and drinking crowd. Daenerys glimpsed Luineth chatting with a tall, handsome ellon and blushing, and the sight brought a smile upon her face. But she could not tarry; Thranduil gently cupped her elbow, and the elves ebbed aside, allowing passage to their King.

He took her to the northern fireplace. Around it small tables and chairs were arranged, and there were quite a few fluffy pillows on the thick carpet as well. Some revelers sat idly there, already drunk or in the process of it, and laughter and merriment were abundant. For the night had deepened now, and the feast would not be over before sunrise. Thranduil greeted his people as he approached the hearth, and they answered with bows and smiles and words of praise and blessings. Then he went and knelt on the carpet, leaning leisurely upon some large cushions. Daenerys lowered herself beside him, grateful now for the warmth that emanated from the burning logs. The Elvenking removed his crown and stretched his longs legs before him, crossing them at the ankle, and he relaxed visibly, his eyes now half-lidded and his expression mellow. She mimicked his example, and sat comfortably, while her gaze was lost in the dancing flames. It was not so noisy here, and only the song and tunes of the minstrels could be heard in the background, as well as the distant chatter of the crowd, and she found that she liked this spot much better.

A servant then came and served his King and Daenerys wine in two goblets. But Thranduil motioned for him to leave the flagon, and then dismissed him. They drank in silence for a while, and then he turned and refilled her glass. He was an elf, possibly impervious to intoxication, but she was not, and her head had started feeling light, and her thoughts became a little hazy and incoherent. "Oh, I think I have had too much wine", she murmured, as the crimson liquid swirled in her cup.

The Elvenking smiled. "I can tell."

"Really?"

"Your cheeks are rosy, your lips slightly parted, and your eyes glisten and dance", he replied breathily.

She looked at him with mock indignation. "You have been watching me, my lord?"

"I have. And you look beautiful."

His smile slowly faded then, and its place upon his face took some deep longing, and unnamed sorrow. What my heart desires… cannot be, he thought. But her lips were glossy and enticing, and he had kissed them not so many days ago. How could he forget that kiss? His spirit reached out to hers, and found no resistance. She wanted him, she yearned for him; that much he knew, but he also knew that she was afraid and reluctant to admit it. And was he not as well? These feelings that stirred in his heart he had thought long dead, and he dared not name them for what they were.

"Not as beautiful as the ellith", she timidly responded, sipping from her wine to hide her uneasiness.

"Far more beautiful than any elleth in my kingdom."

She laughed nervously. "Now that is far-fetched."

"Is it?" He smiled tenderly at her, and his fingertips touched her sleeve. "Tinúviel was dancing there, to music of a pipe unseen, and light of stars was in her hair, and in her raiment glimmering…" he sang to her lyrics of her favorite song, and she stood breathless, for she had not known him to sing, and sing with a voice so deep and melodious at that.

"You sing…"

"Sometimes. Rarely actually", he admitted, casting his eyes low. "I used to sing a lot more in the past. There was a time in my first youth when my mother wished that I became a minstrel. I disappointed her and became a warrior instead", he narrated with a bittersweet smile.

Her hand went to his, where it had neared hers, and her warm fingers caressed his cool ones. Her unexpected move caused his eyes to dart up to hers, as a shiver ran down his spine. "Will you sing some more for me?" she asked of him in a velvety tone.

He smiled and nodded. "There Beren came from mountains cold, and lost he wandered under leaves, and where the elven river rolled, he walked alone and sorrowing… Through woven woods in Elvenhome, she lightly fled on dancing feet, and left him lonely still to roam, in the silent forest listening…"

Daenerys lightly squeezed his hand. "Do you feel lonely, Thranduil?" she asked him with the greatest care, foregoing his title on purpose. She wanted to feel close to him, she wished him to open his heart to her. Gone were her qualms now. Was it the wine, perhaps, or her starving heart?

It was his turn to feel taken aback now. She was asking for intimacy; that was crystal clear. Could he give it? Should he give it? He inhaled deeply. "Sometimes. More often than not", he murmured. His gaze was sorrowful now, and the corners of his mouth turned down into a frown.

She felt for him, and the light in her eyes flickered. "So do I. I have been feeling alone all my life. Need it always be so?"

He gave her a half-smile. "I cannot speak for eternity… But at least for now we can banish our loneliness", he answered, his thumb tracing her palm.

"I do not feel lonely now, my lord. Never in your presence do I feel lonely. But will you sing some more for me? You left poor Beren in his solitude and sorrow, where you stopped the song", she teased him lightly.

Soft laughter escaped his lips. She loved the sound of it. "He sought her ever, wandering far, where leaves of years were thickly strewn, by light of moon and ray of star, in frosty heavens shivering. Her mantle glinted in the moon, as on a hill-top high and far, she danced, and at her feet was strewn, a mist of silver quivering… As Beren looked into her eyes, within the shadows of her hair, the trembling starlight of the skies, he saw there mirrored shimmering. Tinúviel the elven-fair, immortal maiden elven-wise, about him cast her shadowy hair, and arms like silver glimmering…"

As he finished his song, Daenerys had nigh leaned her head on his shoulder. "I think I could listen to your singing for hours", she murmured sleepily.

Thranduil felt her against his arm, warmth radiating from her body, which was fire itself. And it was a welcome feeling. He allowed her to stay there, and his heart was peaceful and calm. "And I would sing to you", he told her. But as he turned to look at her, he saw that her eyes were closed, and her breath had deepened. A smile rose upon his face as he beheld her sleeping form. Carefully he drew his cloak and draped it over her, and then reclined on his large pillow. His gaze went to the flickering flames in the fireplace, as a servant came to add some more logs and stir the fire anew. A few hours yet remained until dawn, and the feast had started to wane. Some elves had taken to the floor upon cushions and carpets, like himself, while others still sang and conversed in low voices. The air now was thick with the scent of cinnamon and made the Elvenking feel drowsy as well. But he had no wish to relocate to his rooms. With Daenerys perched beside him, all he wished was to remain as he was, stealing what more he could of the feelings of this night. And when at last sleep claimed him and he drifted into the world of dreams, he dreamt of Beren and Lúthien; only Beren had his own face, and Lúthien the face of Daenerys.