Chapter 14: Letting Go
Thranduil awoke and for the first time in days his shoulder did not immediately pain him. It still ached a bit, but not enough to remind him of the injury in those first few seconds of consciousness. He rose carefully so as not to aggravate his shoulder and as he did so his gaze moved by habit to the mirror. His reflection stilled him. He saw his face as it had been before the dragon, flawless once more, along with the rest of his body. He drew nearer to the glass to study the reflection more closely and marveled at his mind's ability to shield him from himself. There had been no need to call up the illusion. His unconscious mind conjured it while he slept.
The mask staring back at Thranduil sought to convince him the last few days could be forgotten, along with their accompanied pain and self-loathing. It told him all could be as it was before. Thranduil wanted so desperately to believe the lie, but his heart knew such deception was no longer possible. With a sigh, he turned his back on his reflection. The mask no longer had the power to comfort him. That time had passed into memory and would never come again. What remained unknown was if he could carry on without the deception.
Thranduil did not linger long on the question. He would carry on or he would fade. Such was life for the Eldar. It was a different question that plagued his thoughts now. Thranduil pondered for many hours what he would do once he regained his strength, when he could no longer blame illness for his inaction. The answer came easily enough. It had been there from the very beginning. The will to follow through on it took strength, strength Thranduil feared he no longer possessed. That fear threatened to drag him down into despair. He drove it back with what willpower remained.
Thranduil moved to the foot of his bed and opened the chest seated there. It contained many things, on top of them all was a long satchel he placed there only weeks before. He set the bag upon his bed, and afterward, went to his desk and pulled out a blank sheet of parchment. Thranduil had always favored his right hand when writing, but took up the pen with his left. Once he decided on his message, he set words to parchment and was careful not to smudge the ink.
Caladhel startled at the knock on her door. It was less than an hour since she parted ways with Beleth and was not expecting anyone else to come calling. Caladhel knew well the sound of Beleth's cheery knock and Daerel's more hesitant one. This knock belonged to neither lady. Caladhel marked the page she was reading and set the book on the end table. She rose from her chair and answered the door. Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the ellon waiting in the hall.
"King Thranduil," she said.
"Lady Caladhel. May I come in?"
The question surprised Caladhel for two reasons. First, that he would bother to ask, having once before entered uninvited to ambush her. And second, that she thought she detected a hint of fear in his voice. Caladhel could not fathom the reason for either his courtesy or his fear. Puzzled by both, as well as his unexpected appearance, she could not find the words to speak, but stepped back and drew the door open further to allow him entry.
Caladhel studied him as he passed through the door. The cloak he wore did not quite hide the fact that his right arm was held in a sling. His natural gait was off a small measure due no doubt to the restriction of his arm, other than that, he appeared no different than the first time she met him, except, perhaps, for something in his eyes.
"Your strength has returned," she said, when at last she found her voice.
A frown formed on Thranduil's face, but he nodded. "Enough of it to walk the halls."
He raised his left arm and when the cloak fell back Caladhel realized he carried something with him, a long satchel with bronze buckles securing the flap. He laid the bag upon her dresser.
"These belong to you," he said.
Caladhel was not sure what he meant. She approached the bag cautiously and undid the buckles that held it shut. Upon opening it, she recognized the contents immediately and drew from it her sword. The sword, along with her bow and quiver, had disappeared the night of the banquet. She knew the King had taken them, but had no idea why he would return them now. She did not have time to ask, for Thranduil told her before she could give air to the question.
"You will be leaving for Lothlórien tomorrow at first light," he said. "Iordor will escort you home."
Caladhel turned her attention from her sword back to Thranduil. To say she was surprised by his declaration would be an understatement of some immensity. She studied his expression carefully, the lines of his face, but could read no ill motive. She did not think he toyed with her now, but could not be sure.
"Why let me go now after all you suffered to reclaim me?" She did not understand, and wondered what reason he might give.
Thranduil's expression grew pensive. He did not meet her eyes but looked away toward the hearth. His gaze lingered there for a while before he laughed, a short burst of air and mirth that briefly lit his eyes.
"My father once told me the greatest benefit of being king is you do not have to explain yourself to anyone."
Caladhel could not help but smile, despite the fact he refused her an answer. He was not the first king she had heard make such a jest, Amroth, too, had said the same to her once. She would rather have had the truth from Thranduil, but was not sure he, himself, knew what it was.
Thranduil took a step toward her and from a hidden pocket of his tunic drew out a letter with his seal. "Give this letter to your uncle," he said, "and tell him my court will be honored to share in the celebration of his daughter's marriage."
Caladhel reached out slowly and took the letter from his hands. She ran her fingers across the sealed message and mulled over his words, considering them both.
"Do you feel honored?" she asked of his carefully worded message.
Thranduil did not answer immediately. Instead he studied her face. Caladhel sensed he weighed how honest he should be with his answer. When he finally chose to speak, it was with far more honesty than Caladhel expected.
"Relieved might be more accurate," he confessed. And when Caladhel's expression morphed to one of puzzlement, he added, "I will no longer have to suffer my counselors droning on about how I should marry her."
Thranduil's voice was notably lacking in venom when he spoke of Celebrían compared to their previous conversations. It occurred to Caladhel then that his vitriol toward her cousin might have had less to do with his personal feelings and more to do with his counselors' unappreciated advice. It did not excuse Thranduil's rudeness, but gave it clearer cause. Caladhel shook her head, and smiled despite her lingering annoyance with him. She could think of no two elves in Middle-earth less suited than Thranduil and her cousin. She was, however, curious of which counselors he spoke. She doubted their number included Túven.
Caladhel's attention returned to the King. He was studying her reaction carefully. She could see it in his eyes. His eye. She had been lulled into forgetting his left eye was dead and wondered now at the illusion that brought life to it. Caladhel took a step toward him, her gaze fixed upon the left side of his face. She tried to see through the mask but it remained in place. It did not matter that she knew it to be fake, her eyes could not see past the illusion.
Thranduil's expression darkened as she studied him, but he did not avert his gaze.
"How does it work?" she asked.
There was no need to explain the question further. Thranduil knew what she meant. "All it takes is will," he replied. "You see what I want you to see."
Caladhel found his explanation disturbing. She was not comfortable with the idea that anyone could manipulate the senses of others so easily, and to so great an extent. She could scarcely imagine how it was possible, but admittedly, had no reason to try.
"Do all your people see you as I do now?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Beleth and Túven as well?"
"They, too."
"And you?"
Caladhel spoke the last before she had time to think better of it and Thranduil gave no reply. He did not have to. Caladhel knew the answer already. It was the reason his pain had been so great compared to the relatively minor injury he suffered. He could not hide from himself with the poison in his blood, which was why he sat alone in the dark.
It saddened Caladhel to think Thranduil hid from himself, too. She could not fathom hiding from her own reflection for an age and imagined the effort to do so would be exhausting.
"Does it not tire you?" she asked.
Thranduil considered her question before he answered. "Not for an age," he said, "except on rare occasions when some injury has befallen me. It is a part of me now, natural, like drawing breath."
Caladhel was surprised to find both comfort and sorrow in that fact. Her gaze fell to his left hand. The skin there, too, appeared unmarred. She remembered how strange the scorched flesh felt against hers and wondered if the illusion extended to that sense as well. Without thought she reached out her hand to his but before she could make contact Thranduil drew back as if her hand were a flame.
"I am sorry," she said quickly, embarrassed by her own rudeness.
Thranduil composed himself quickly and shook his head. "You have no reason to apologize."
Caladhel was surprised by his sincerity. She studied his face again and saw something in his eyes that made her think he wanted to say more, but the emotion was fleeting, and a moment later it was gone.
"Stay on the main road this time," he said.
Caladhel winced but nodded. "I will."
The King dipped his head in polite farewell. "Good journey, Lady Caladhel," he said, and without another word, he departed.
Caladhel had her bags packed and readied before she crawled into bed. She slept fitfully on her last night in Limrond, waking now and then. Her eyes sought her sword repeatedly in the dim light. Its presence reassured her that her coming freedom was not a dream.
Caladhel rose slightly before dawn, having found little rest in the intervening hours. She dressed quickly, donning her riding clothes. The leather and rugged fabric felt strange against her skin after weeks of wearing fine dresses. Her leggings, in particular, made her impending departure feel all the more real, but also left her feeling anxious. She worried Thranduil might have changed his mind during the night or that his promise to send her home had been a game. She did not wish to think so ill of his motives, but could not banish the thoughts.
When she was dressed Caladhel secured her weapons and checked her bags one last time. At the door she hesitated before turning the handle. A wave of dread washed over her that it might be locked. The handle turned at her urging and she stepped out into the hall. With each step her anxiety lessened. It vanished completely when she reached the front gate and spied Iordor. He spoke with Beleth, who promised to see her off the night before.
Iordor bowed to Caladhel in greeting and took her travel bag from her hand. "I will take care of this while you say your goodbyes." He was out the gate a moment later, securing the bundle on an awaiting deer.
Beleth wrapped Caladhel in a motherly embrace. "I will miss you," she said, smiling, and then added, "Thranduil will, too."
Caladhel would miss the Greenwood lady as well, for she had come to think of Beleth as more than a friend. The mention of Thranduil, however, puzzled her. She could not fathom what part of her company the King would possibly miss.
"I doubt that," she said.
Beleth lifted a hand to Caladhel's cheek. "I would not be so sure if I were you," she said, and quieted her voice so only Caladhel could hear what she said next. "He would keep you here forever if he could."
Beleth's admission and the seriousness with which she spoke it made Caladhel uneasy. "Why?" she asked. "All I did was anger him and bring injury to him and his warriors."
"You also brought peace to his soul, for a moment."
Caladhel did not know what to think of Beleth's claim. Peace was not a word she would use to describe any interaction between her and the King. She did not know what Thranduil could possibly have said to his aunt to make her think such a thing, but she was certain Beleth misread him.
"An entire moment?" Caladhel asked, unable to keep the ring of skepticism from her voice.
Beleth understood Caladhel's doubt, but undeterred, she added, "A moment can feel like an age to a troubled soul."
A troubled soul. Caladhel recalled her conversation with Thranduil as he sat alone in the dark. The ellon who sat before that fire was different from the one she first met seated on the throne, and again, yesterday, he was changed. She wondered which one was real or if they were, as Beleth intimated, warring facets of the same soul.
Caladhel's thoughts turned to her last conversation with the King. There was a moment, after she apologized, when she thought he wanted to say something more. He changed his mind, and instead, offered her a wise warning and farewell.
"When he told me I would be returning home, for a second, I thought he would apologize."
Beleth smiled and shook her head. "Thranduil does not do humble well, in that, he is much like his father. But he might get there, in time." She took Caladhel's hands in hers and squeezed them. "We will see you again for the wedding."
Caladhel returned Beleth's smile. "I look forward to it."
"Good journey."
"Farewell, Beleth, until we meet again."
