Chapter 3: Diplomatic Relations
When Caladhel finally withdrew her gaze from the ceiling she found it drawn next to the throne carved into the far wall. The dais was well over her head and there were stairs carved into the rock leading up to it. Above the chair were hung the antlers of some great beast Caladhel did not recognize. They were far larger than those of any deer she had ever seen so the animal bearing them had to be mighty indeed. The carvings upon the chair and stairs were ornate but natural in form, as one would expect from elven artisans.
The design did not bother Caladhel nor did the antlers, but the height of the throne did not sit well with her. She had seen the throne of Isildur in the north and the throne the High King of the Noldor had in Lindon, before he fell. Their thrones were seats of great power, and rightly so for the mightiest rulers of men and elves, but neither one had put their seat so much higher above the heads of their people. It did not bode well, but Caladhel decided to withhold judgment for now, not knowing whether the throne had been commissioned by King Thranduil or his father and knowing also how different a parent can be from their child.
A few minutes later Haldor returned and informed Caladhel that the King would see her shortly. He and Haldir began to speak of their respective watches and the news both gathered from afar. Caladhel left the wardens to their conversation. She was certain Haldir would appreciate a few hours talking with someone else after the many days and nights they had spent traveling together. She was admiring a sculpture carved into one of the stone pillars when her musings were interrupted.
"Lady Caladhel."
Caladhel turned at the sound of a familiar voice to find Lord Túven greeting her. "Lord Túven, it has been some time. I hope you fare well."
He took her arm in his and patted her hand genially. "I do, Lady, and I hope all is well with you and your kin."
"Aye, my lord, it is."
"The King's steward has already been informed of your arrival. He will have rooms and baths prepared for you after you speak with the King."
"My escort, Haldir, and I are grateful for both. I thank you."
Here Túven turned his gaze on the warden speaking with Haldor. "Haldor," he called the ellon to attention.
Haldor turned at the sound of Túven's voice calling his name. "Yes, my lord."
"Why don't you take the warden and find Galion. He is preparing rooms for our guests and I am sure Haldir would appreciate some rest and a bath. I will stay with the Lady."
Both wardens knew a dismissal when they heard one, but Haldir was clearly hesitant to leave his charge.
Caladhel nodded at him, giving him leave to go. "I will find you later, Haldir."
Haldir, still clearly displeased, bowed to the Lord and Lady and followed Haldor out the door.
"He is a stubborn one, isn't he?"
Caladhel suppressed her irritation at Túven's remark. She was also annoyed by his dismissal of Haldir without first introducing himself. His rudeness did not surprise her, however. He was well known for his habit of dismissing those he thought beneath him.
"He is Lord Thandaer's eldest son and second after him among our wardens."
"Really?"
Caladhel thought she saw a moment's regret in his eyes but if it had been there at all, it disappeared quickly. While Túven might brush off a lowly warden, she was near certain he would seek to introduce himself to Lord Thandaer's son. She was about to respond when a voice called out from across the hall.
"What news of Lórien?"
Caladhel turned to find King Thranduil seated upon his throne. She had not heard him enter, nor climb the stair, and was surprised that no one had announced him. She wondered briefly if there was not some hidden door behind the throne she could not see that permitted him to enter silently.
She bowed respectfully as did Túven. When she lifted her eyes she found herself held by the King's gaze. His face was impassive, his pale blue eyes, unreadable. He wore a crown that resembled the branches of twisted vines and brambles. It was clearly not made of wood, but she could not tell the details of its make from so great a distance. Within his crown were woven wildflowers of gold the likes of which she had seen upon the mountainside. If the touch of color was meant to soften his countenance it did not succeed, if anything, it made the lines of his face appear harder and his gaze sharper when set against the softness of the flower petals.
Caladhel had heard his question but did not answer immediately, believing that Túven would introduce her to his king, but as time lengthened, and he made no such gesture, she chose to introduce herself.
"King Thranduil. I am Lady Caladhel, daughter of Calathiel, sister of Lord Celeborn of Lórien. I bring word to you from my uncle."
"And that word is?"
Caladhel had expected a greeting, but clearly that was expecting too much. "My cousin, Lady Celebrían, is to marry Lord Elrond of Imladris on the vernal equinox. Both houses extend their invitation to the King of Greenwood and his court to join them in Lothlórien on this joyous occasion."
Caladhel watched the King's expression for any sign her words disturbed him and was rewarded with a momentary spasm in his jaw when she spoke Elrond's name.
"News, indeed," said Túven, who stood now at the foot of the dais.
Caladhel did not miss the hint of disgust in his voice, but he said no more. It was the King who spoke next.
"I oft thought the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel to be fair and foolish. It would seem I was right in my regard."
The King's insult struck Caladhel hard. She had not been expecting it and her anger at his rudeness must have reached her eyes for a cold smile formed on the King's face.
"You disagree?"
Caladhel did her utmost to calm herself before replying. It would do no good to allow her anger free rein. "I disagree that she is foolish, else one might call all who give their hearts in love fools – and I am not so bold as to do so. As for the first part, my cousin is by far the fairest lady I have ever known."
"Our cousin Lúthien was fairer," Thranduil replied, "though by now even her bones have crumbled to dust, for that is the fate that awaits those who join their blood to a mortal."
Caladhel bristled at the King's cruel, if not accurate words. There was, however, one fact he was ignoring. "Lord Elrond is not mortal," she replied, and with that name the muscle in his jaw trembled once more.
"He may yet become so, should he choose this shore over the other when our time in this world has passed."
His answer silenced her protest. Caladhel knew he was right and that this very thought was the reason her uncle feared his daughter's marriage to Elrond. She knew also that Elrond had assured him he would never choose such a fate.
Caladhel drew her uncle's letters from the pocket of her tunic, hoping to end their argument, for though he had asked her opinion she felt it unwise to continue drawing his ire.
"I have these to give you, also, my lord."
"You concede then, that I am right?" the King asked, viewing her change of subject as assent.
Thranduil's expression had come alive in a sneer of triumph and self-righteousness. They were the only emotions, besides mild irritation, he had bothered to convey during their conversation. They twisted his features, and his face, one that might have been beautiful had his eyes and mouth the kindness to smile, became a cruel mask.
Caladhel could not say what madness overcame her in that moment for she knew by the look in his eyes that this king was accustomed to winning most any argument. She could have told him she thought him right, instead she answered, "I concede only that you are not wrong."
A whirlwind of emotions passed behind the King's eyes and for a second Caladhel feared she had stirred him to fury, but slowly the emotion settled and his face became the same cool, expressionless mask it had been when he first spoke to her. He held out his hand.
The gesture surprised Caladhel for she had forgotten she still held her uncle's correspondence. Once again she expected Lord Túven to intervene, but he made no move to retrieve the letters.
Caladhel approached the dais and climbed the ten steps until she stood one down from the platform. She did not know the Greenwood protocol for such things and would not step upon the dais uninvited. The King said nothing to her, merely gazed down upon her from where he sat reclining, his right leg crossed over his left. She thought he regarded her as a man might an insect beneath his feet. She had been dismayed at how readily men's boots came down upon the helpless creatures they referred to as pests. At the moment, it felt an apt comparison.
To her surprise, the King rose from his seat in one fluid motion and took a step toward her. At his full height and standing so near he now towered over her and she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. He took the letters from her and surprised her again when he spoke.
"We are having a banquet tonight in your honor, but you have a few hours to bathe and rest before it begins."
Caladhel was not expecting a party after the conversation they had just had, nor was she prepared for one. "Your Highness is gracious," she said, careful of her words, "but my escort and I traveled light and are expected to return home immediately. I have only my riding clothes, nothing fit for your court."
He waved her concern away with a flick of his hand. "You will have suitable attire provided to you."
Caladhel suppressed the urge to argue. "Thank you," she said and bowed. The King returned to his throne, turning his attention to Celeborn's letter. He did not dismiss her, but she guessed his lack of attention was dismissal enough. She turned and descended the stair.
When she reached the bottom Lord Túven finally stepped forward to offer her some aid. "I will show you to your quarters."
Caladhel nodded and followed him out the door and though she never looked back she thought she felt the King's eyes upon her back.
