Chapter 18: An Untimely Conversation

Caladhel knew something was amiss when she entered the banquet hall for the evening meal. The mood was notably subdued and the companies at each table spoke softly amongst themselves. Caladhel took her usual seat at her uncle's table but neither he nor her aunt offered an explanation. They spoke instead of the weather and their daughter's impending departure. Caladhel could not judge well the earnestness of their conversation. She knew the leaving of Celebrían weighed heavily upon their thoughts, but suspected they raised the topic now as a distraction.

When dinner was done, Caladhel excused herself and sought out Beleth who sat alone now across the hall. The Lady greeted her warmly and patted the chair beside her.

"Come sit with me."

Caladhel did as she was bid, taking a seat beside Greenwood's lady. Beleth took Caladhel's arm in hers and patted her hand warmly. Caladhel leaned closer to Beleth, whispering, "Do you know what caused the disquiet tonight?"

Beleth frowned and kept her voice low when she answered. "There was some disagreement among the council. They decided to adjourn for a day or two before reconvening, to allow time for reflection."

"You mean to prevent a fistfight," Caladhel offered in translation.

Beleth suppressed laughter at her companion's assessment. In truth, she had been thinking the very same. "That too, I suspect."

The ladies shared a smile and shortly thereafter Beleth changed the topic of discussion to one she had been eager to speak on for many hours. "How went your practice this morning?"

Caladhel's hand rose to her mouth to muffle her laughter, not wishing to disturb the room's somber tone. "My backside will be aching a few days for how much it hit the ground," she admitted, "but Thranduil was gracious enough to break my fall as often as he could."

"How romantic." Beleth's sarcasm was clear in her voice and her expression told Caladhel she did not care a lick about the practice part of her and Thranduil's morning. "My nephew needs lessons on how to court a lady. He did not consult me before inviting you to the training fields."

Caladhel suspected Beleth would have counseled Thranduil differently, but she was oddly relieved he had not sought his aunt's advice. "It was an enjoyable morning, Beleth, truly. He felt at ease and spoke freely of his thoughts, things I would not have thought to ask. I feel I know him a little better now."

Beleth was pleased her nephew had managed to turn a sparring session into something more useful. She followed Caladhel's gaze as it moved across the room to where Thranduil stood speaking with two of his counselors.

Caladhel's brow furrowed and her mouth turned downward in a frown. "He does not look happy tonight."

"Why don't you go speak with him?" Beleth suggested. "Perhaps you can brighten his mood."

Caladhel looked back at Beleth in surprise. "I have barely spoken to you."

Beleth's eyes twinkled with a light Caladhel had come to equate with the Lady's well-meaning mischief. She released Caladhel's arm and gave her a little nudge. "I can wait. Go on."

Caladhel nodded her goodbye to Beleth and rose to seek out Greenwood's king, who had by that time stepped out onto the terrace encircling the banquet hall. She found him staring out into the night, his gaze held not by anything material, but rather by his own thoughts.

"King Thranduil," she said in greeting.

Thranduil turned in her direction at the sound of her voice. The eyes that greeted her were clearly troubled. A whirl of emotions warred within their depths. He gazed upon her in silence for some time before her nervousness overcame her.

"What?" she asked of his strange expression.

"You do not have to address me by my title when we are alone," he said at last.

Caladhel glanced back over her shoulder into the hall. They were hardly alone, in her estimation. "It is only proper at formal occasions," she said.

"I do not care," he replied.

Under different circumstances Caladhel might have counseled him on etiquette, but she sensed the topic would not be welcome and so allowed the argument to pass. "As you wish."

Caladhel's acquiescence seemed to ease some of the trouble in his eyes, but much remained. She thought an excuse to put space between them and the court might be of benefit. "Will you walk with me?"

Thranduil considered her invitation longer than she expected before he admitted, "I will not be good company tonight."

"Do you wish to be alone?" she asked. She had taken much of his time that day and the remainder was spent in council. She would not begrudge his desire for a little solitude.

Thranduil snorted, a sound utterly lacking in mirth. "Not really," he replied.

"Then walk with me," she said with a smile.

Thranduil nodded once and offered her his arm, a gesture she found strange coming from him. She took it graciously and his right hand came to rest upon hers. She led him away from the banquet hall northward along her favored path. They walked in silence together, Thranduil lost amid his thoughts with only Caladhel to guide him. She did not speak until they reached the terrace and stood together gazing out upon the flowing brook, its gentle murmur a soothing melody in the forest's night chorus.

"The council meeting did not go well I take it?"

Thranduil's troubled eyes were fixed upon the water when he answered. "My uncle was right," he said. "Amroth is Elrond's now."

Caladhel was confused by Thranduil's declaration for she knew Amroth well, and if one thing could be said of Lórien's king, it was that he was utterly his own.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He opens his mouth and I hear Elrond speak."

"Is that what you believe?" Caladhel asked.

Thranduil's gaze moved from the water to her face. "It is not my imagining, if that is what you ask," he said. "Elrond speaks and Amroth agrees with him." Here he turned back to the water. His brow furrowed and the frown lines upon his face grew deeper. "I did not think to see the day when a Sindarin king would bend to the will of a Noldorin lord, much less one half-elven."

"Elrond has more Sindar blood than Noldor," said Caladhel, but she could read clearly that for Thranduil, the precise nature of Elrond's lineage carried little weight.

"That might well be so," he replied, "but his allegiance was to the High King of the Noldor before he fell, and Elrond was his heir. He might not have claimed the title for himself, but the elves of the west hold Elrond as their king."

Caladhel knew he was not wrong in that conclusion, but it was not Elrond's blood or station that troubled her. What troubled Caladhel was the long-held distrust born by the Sindar against her father's people. Caladhel did not fault her mother's kin for refusing to forget the past, but in her estimation, the elves of Lórien and Greenwood had paid a steep price for clinging to it.

"Amroth once thought as you do," she said. "He looked for deception behind every word Gil-galad uttered, Elrond as well."

"What changed his mind?"

Thranduil sounded genuinely curious to know the answer, and with some measure of trepidation, she answered him. "I think I did."

Thranduil turned away from the water, his attention now entirely on her. "How is that?"

It was Caladhel's turn to frown. This was not a conversation she wished to have with Thranduil tonight, but she did not know how to turn its course. When she again met Thranduil's eyes he was studying her intently. His eyes demanded an answer. It was an answer Caladhel knew he would not like.

"He asked for my thoughts on Dagorlad," she admitted.

"I would hear them as well."

Caladhel shook her head with some vehemence. "I do not think so."

"Why not?" he asked.

Caladhel swore she heard upset in his voice, as if her refusal to speak her mind had wounded him. She saw it, too, in his eyes, mixed in with the many emotions clouding his thoughts tonight.

She answered his query in a gentle, apologetic tone, hoping to ease any injury she might have unwittingly caused him. "It was more than a month before Amroth spoke to me again."

"I am not Amroth."

He said this with an air of defiance, but it did not lessen Caladhel's unease. Indeed, it had quite the opposite effect. "No," she said. "You are not."

Thranduil stilled at her answer and pain flashed in his eyes when at last he read her full meaning. "You fear you will anger me," he said.

"No," Caladhel replied. "I know I will anger you."

Thranduil's eyes abandoned hers. His gaze moved out over the carved wooden rail to the brook below. He watched the water trickle over stones for some time. His right hand rose and took hold of the banister in an iron grip.

"You need not fear me."

Thranduil said so with an air of conviction, one Caladhel was not certain he felt in his heart. She was well aware there was only one way to know whether fear was justified in this matter. She knew, also, that if she feared to speak her thoughts to Thranduil whilst in the safety of Caras Galadhon, then no promise made would be enough to convince her to return to Limrond.

It had not been Caladhel's want to have this conversation here, now, like this, but in an odd way she thought it for the best, before whatever it was between them went any further. Caladhel stepped away, putting some distance between them, a distance that would mean nothing should he wish to do her harm.

Thranduil sensed she moved away on purpose. He turned his gaze upon her again and waited for her to speak.

Caladhel breathed deeply, summoning the courage to tell him that which he did not want to hear, and braced for whatever response her answer might bring. "I believe it was arrogant and selfish of Amdír and your father to refuse Gil-galad's command, and for their choice, many more of Lórien and Greenwood's warriors died than might have otherwise."

More than a century of suppressed rage poured from Thranduil's eyes when she finished with her assessment, but he made no movement, except for his right hand, which gripped tighter the railing.

Thranduil's voice was menacing low when at last he spoke. "What do you know of war?"

It was the very question Amroth asked her and Caladhel's answer was the same as before. "I know steel armor is stronger than leather. I know a sword and shield are preferable to a bow and long knives. I know a line held is stronger than one broken."

When the full weight of her words struck him Thranduil blinked in surprise, and with it some of the fury ignited a moment earlier vanished from his eyes. These were things he knew well, but like Amroth, love prevented him from seeing those simple truths or giving voice to them. Caladhel saw from the outside, and spoke for them, thoughts they dared not harbor while their fathers lived.

When Caladhel knew Thranduil's anger was well contained she spoke again, as much understanding as she could offer. "Amdír was an uncle to me," she said, "and in my heart I held him so, but my love for him does not change the fact he chose poorly when he broke ranks with the Noldor."

Thranduil stared at her for a time before he released his hold on the rail. He turned away from the path leading back to the city in favor of the open wood. Without a word, he strode away into the night.

Caladhel watched him go and sadness filled her heart at what she thought might well be their final parting.


Thranduil did not return to his talan all night but instead roamed the wide woods surrounding Lórien's great city in search of solitude. At first he stayed on the paths laid down by the Galadhrim, but eventually he broke away, caring little for the mud and moss that stained his fine clothing. The forest here was strange, so unlike his own, but still he found some measure of comfort in it. He ran swiftly through the trees until he was certain no soul would come running, and there he screamed out his rage. Afterward, with a throat sore from the memory, he sat on a tall branch of a mallorn tree and listened to the night creatures sing. His cry had momentarily disturbed them, but slowly they reemerged and continued with their tune, oblivious to his presence once again.

He attempted to clear his mind of all thought by focusing solely on their music. He did not wish to think about the council or Amroth or Caladhel's words to him. The last he tried hardest to forget, but his efforts were not successful. His mind wandered back to days he would rather forget, older councils beneath war tents while his father still lived.

As dawn approached he slowly made his way back to his guest talan and there old memories consumed him. He did not sleep, nor did he seek to shed the muddied clothes he wore. He merely sat himself upon the terrace lounge and remained there, lost in thought while the sun rose to midday and again descended.

Thranduil's solitude was only interrupted after dusk. Amroth stood at the edge of the terrace and greeted Greenwood's king with a bow. His gaze passed over Thranduil, noting he wore the same garments as the night before, only wrinkled now with splashes of dirt upon the hem.

"You were missed at dinner," said Amroth, "breakfast and lunch as well."

"I was not aware my presence was required."

"It is not," Amroth replied. "I only noticed because Caladhel was also missing. I thought you might have absconded with her." He had watched them leave the banquet hall together the previous evening and since had seen neither.

Thranduil frowned. "I have not seen her since last night."

"Did she reject you already?" Amroth asked. "I thought she would give you more than a handful of days to prove yourself before sending you on your way."

Amroth's question held more humor than Thranduil liked and he was in no mood for the Lórien king's jests. "She has not rejected me," he said.

"What cause, then, have you to be in so unpleasant a mood?"

Aside from your betrayal? he wished to say, but Thranduil was schooled enough in politics to bite that answer back. And in truth, it was not the previous day's council that weighed most heavily on his mind. What cause? "The same as you, or so Caladhel claimed."

Amroth's expression turned thoughtful as he pondered Thranduil's answer and came rightly to its cause. "You spoke with her of Dagorlad?"

"I asked to hear her thoughts," said Thranduil.

"Did she not warn you?"

Thranduil heard a note of pity in Amroth's tone. "She did," he replied. But he had clearly not taken Caladhel's warning to heart.

Amroth shook his head in dismay. "Caladhel does not fear to speak her mind, even to a king." He pitied Thranduil, for Amroth was well aware that Greenwood's king was no more ready to hear what Caladhel had to say than he, himself, had been.

"You agree with her," said Thranduil.

It was not a question and Amroth did not take it as such. He rested himself against the wood railing, his arms stretched out to brace him. "I did not want to, at first. It was too painful a truth to accept."

"But you agree with her now."

"I do," said Amroth. He studied Thranduil in silence for a moment, seeking some sense of the Greenwood king's opinion on the matter, hoping he might offer one. When no opinion was forthcoming, Amroth spoke again. "I have known Caladhel a long time. There is no malice in her heart. She speaks hard truths not to hurt us, but in hope that we will not repeat our fathers' mistakes, should the Shadow rise again."

Amroth watched Thranduil mull over his words. He could say nothing more on the matter that would be of aid to him. Instead, he turned to his other purpose for coming. "Will you join us tomorrow on the training fields?"

At his invitation, Thranduil snorted. "Are you eager for a chance to hit me?" he asked.

"That, yes," said Amroth, his expression brightening measurably, "but also, I have discovered that after being crowned king, it is difficult to find a sparring partner willing to hit me back."

"I do not fear to strike you," said Thranduil, "even under these trees."

"Excellent!" Amroth pushed off from the banister and stood now to full height. "We will meet at the north field at dawn."

"I will see you there," said Thranduil.

Amroth bowed his head in farewell, but offered Greenwood's king one final word before departing. "Caladhel reads by starlight quite late most evenings, if you wished to see her tonight."

Thranduil said nothing to this but a few minutes later he rose from his seat. He did not follow Amroth's advice directly, but instead went inside to seek a bath and a change of clothing.


Caladhel sat reading under the stars as she did most evenings, curled up on a loveseat her father had long before carved for her mother. It was one of her few cherished possessions and whenever she sat upon it she could feel her parents near and hear the memory of their laughter when all three of them were together. She had been a child then, seated on one parent's lap or the other's.

"May I join you?" a voice said.

Caladhel nearly jumped out of her hide at the question. Thranduil had come upon her with the silent feet of a warrior, so that his voice was her first notice of him. She was surprised to see him so soon after their last conversation for she had not exaggerated the length of time it took for Amroth to seek her out again. She nodded once, and shifted in her seat to allow room for him.

Thranduil sat next to her and leaned back in the chair but he did not look at her when at last he spoke. "It does not always take me weeks to see reason."

Caladhel knew he referred to the weeks he held her captive. She smiled at him and shook her head. "I do not begrudge anyone the time it takes to consider a matter carefully."

Thranduil turned to gaze upon her then. Once again, he found himself amazed by how easily she forgave him his faults. There was a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. She wondered why he came.

"You were right about our lack of preparedness for the war," he told her. "Bows and long knives are an asset under the trees. On a battlefield, those with steel armor, swords and shields have the advantage. It has never been a custom of the Silvan elves to build armies."

"I know it," Caladhel replied.

"That is something I must change."

"How?"

"I will arrange for our smiths to train with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain who dwell now in Imladris. They will learn the skills we need while the enemy sleeps."

It seemed a prudent plan, but for one obvious obstacle. "And if Elrond refuses your request?"

"I will bargain with the dwarves of the Gray Mountains."

His answer surprised her. "I did not imagine you to be a friend to dwarves."

Thranduil frowned at her observation. "They have skill," he said, "greater than ours in some things. I am not blind to that fact."

"Does Greenwood have stores enough of steel to outfit an army?" she asked, unsure of the extent of the land's riches.

"We have some, not enough, but we have Limrond."

Caladhel's brow furrowed in puzzlement at his statement and he answered her unspoken question. "The dwarves covet all things that glitter and shine. They will trade us steel for adamant."

Thranduil had clearly given the matter some thought, but Caladhel noted he made no mention of his father, or Oropher's decision to reject Gil-galad's command. She did not pursue the matter. It would surprise her, indeed, if it took only a day for Thranduil to judge his father. Still, Thranduil claimed willingness to work with Elrond, despite his lingering distrust, and that, at least, was something.

"I do not believe Elrond will deny your request," said Caladhel.

"Nor do I," Thranduil replied.

"But still, you do not trust him."

"I am not Amroth," he said in echo of their previous conversation. This time his tone was less severe than when last he spoke those words.

Caladhel smiled at him and nodded her agreement. "I know that well."

He returned her smile with his own and his gaze passed over her face to linger on her hair. The sky was clear that evening. The moon and stars shone brightly overhead and their light danced upon her hair. He took up a lock in his fingers and studied it close. The silver strands were much like his own, inherited from their long father who awoke upon Cuiviénen's shore.

Caladhel watched as Thranduil curled a lock of her hair around his fingers. The intensity of his scrutiny upon it puzzled her. "What is so fascinating?"

His gaze rose to meet hers. Much of his former dark mood was absent now from his eyes. "It is good to see you inherited something from your mother's kin."

Caladhel brow arched. "It is my father's brown," she countered.

"Not all of it," he replied. "The silver strands sparkle under starlight."

Caladhel looked upon him with an expression strange, as if he had sprouted three heads.

Thranduil laughed at the face she made. "What is that look you cast me?"

Caladhel reached out and drew the lock of her hair from his hand. She studied it herself for a moment, though she had little need. She had been told a time or two before how the pale strands reflected the stars. It was not the observation that surprised her, but the observer.

"I have a difficult time imagining you taking note of something so trivial."

"Why do you think it trivial?"

Caladhel shrugged. "Of what importance are a few strands of hair amid thousands?"

"They are a part of you," he replied.

Caladhel could not tell if he spoke in earnest or attempted flattery. She did not care for the latter and could not help but glare at him in disapproval. To her surprise, Thranduil returned her silent admonishment with a smile.

"I have noticed something else about you," he said, "something not so trivial."

"What might that be?" she asked, wondering what he would come up with next.

"I know how to tell when you are truly angry from when you only feign to be."

"And how is that?" she asked.

"Your eyes," he replied. "They betray you, Naurhin."

Caladhel felt as if she had been struck in the chest, her breath driven from her body. Not since her father sailed had she heard that name. Fire Eyes. They ignited now with the wave of anger that washed over her at the memory of so many past arguments.

"There, see," said Thranduil, "now you are angry."

"How do you know that name?" Despite the fact she spoke to a king, Caladhel's question was nothing short of a command.

Thranduil, himself, was amused by her aggressive posture and answered her directly. "Your uncle told me."

"I would ask you not to use it again."

"Why?" he asked, curious now at her reaction. "I thought it suited you."

"I do not care for it," she said.

That much was clear to Thranduil, though the cause of her anger was not. He thought to coax the answer out of her. "Why not?" he pressed.

Caladhel crossed her arms before her and huffed. "It was what my father called me whenever we argued."

Thranduil winced, wishing now he had not mentioned it. "You consider it an insult, then?"

Caladhel's eyes met Thranduil's, now studying her face. She did not know quite how to answer his question. She would not say her father had used the name as an insult, but it had hurt her just the same. "I think my father would have preferred it if I defied him less."

"Did he say this to you?" Thranduil asked.

Caladhel frowned at him, before she looked away. "He did not have to."

"Then maybe you are mistaken."

"How so?" she asked.

"Perhaps he was impressed by your strength of will," he said, "but did not know how else to tell you."

Caladhel shook her head. She thought his line of reasoning flawed. "You did not know my father," she said.

"No, I did not. But I have come to know you some, and I cannot imagine he would want you to be less than you are."

The pain in Caladhel's heart was eased some by Thranduil's unlooked-for compliment, but she was not sure her father would agree with him. "I would still prefer you not to call me Naurhin."

Thranduil nodded his assent. And once more taking a lock of her hair in his hand, he offered her a playful grin. "Shall I give you another name?"

Caladhel laughed and shook her head. "I need no other name."

"I fear it is too late for that," he admitted.

Here Caladhel's expression turned in an instant from humor to surprise. "And what would you call me?"

"That is a secret I am not yet ready to share." He allowed her hair to fall from his hand and rose smoothly from his seat. "I would ask to see you on the morrow," he said, "but Amroth has requested I spend the day throttling him on the training fields."

"He does mourn the lack of sparring partners."

"I will see you for the evening meal."

"Until then," Caladhel replied.

But instead of departing, as she expected, Thranduil turned back. He took her hand in his, and bowing low, laid a gentle kiss upon her fingers, and after, bid her a final goodnight.

Caladhel drew back her hand and gazed down upon it as if it were a thing altogether strange. She grazed her lips with the backs of her fingers where moments before Thranduil had kissed. She smiled to herself, thinking all the while that Beleth, too, would be pleased.