Chapter 22: The Light

Caladhel sat beneath the stars for another hour before deciding on a course. Once charted, she crawled into bed and slept soundly until morning. The birds roused her, welcoming the dawn with their song. She rose swiftly and dressed in a plain tunic and leggings. She laced up her boots, and after, drew a small satchel from the chest at the foot of her bed along with her bow and quiver, before hurrying out the door.

The cooks had the morning meal already prepared, but Caladhel waved away the delicacies they offered. Instead she grabbed a water skin along with some lembas and dried fruit and stowed them in her bag. Readied for the day's journey, she made her way to Thranduil's talan.

Caladhel found him a few minutes later seated upon the terrace, reading. She noted first his tired eyes and then the clothes he wore. They appeared remarkably similar to his previous day's attire. His head rose at the sound of her footfalls and his spirit followed suit, his eyes brightening and the corners of his mouth drawing upward into a smile. He closed the book in his hands and laid it aside.

"Good morning, Thranduil."

"Caladhel."

He was clearly pleased to see her, but in his voice Caladhel noted unease. She should have expected as much, given their brief but tense conversation the day before.

"Am I correct in assuming there will be no council meeting today?" She would have expected him dressed and readied had her guess been mistaken.

"You are, indeed," Thranduil replied. "Amroth suggested we extend our break an additional day. I suspect he feared I would be in an ill mood today."

"Are you?" Caladhel asked, for in truth she feared the same.

He considered her question a moment before shaking his head. "If I was earlier, I cannot now recall."

Caladhel could not help but find his sentiment touching. Thranduil did have a way with words, or so she thought, and he could be incredibly charming when he chose.

"Would you care to join me, then, for a day trip?"

"To where?"

"North, near the border."

If Thranduil considered her invitation surprising or her explanation vague, he gave no indication. He merely nodded his head. "If you will give me a moment, I will change into something more suitable for journeying the wood."


They traveled to the edge of the city and after followed a narrow footpath northward. Thranduil understood now why Caladhel had favored boots and leggings for their journey, for the path they followed was overgrown for want of traffic. A briar snagged his tunic more than once and he had to pull no fewer than three spiders from his hair, for though Caladhel walked before him, her height was not quite enough to shield him from the lofty spinners or their silken threads. Under different circumstances the thorns and spiders might have caused him minor irritation. Today they merely served to pique his interest. Caladhel led him north with a purposeful stride, and while he longed to ask her where she led him, he chose to bite his tongue. He was sure to learn her purpose in due time.

They spoke little as they traveled and their brief conversations focused mainly on the naming of plants and animals foreign to Thranduil's eyes. It surprised him how different Lothlórien was from his own wood. It was not only the great mellyrn Galadriel planted that made Lórien strange, but the tiny differences as well. Even the damselflies stalking prey beside the brooks were of a different sheen. In Greenwood they were various shades of green, but in Lórien they shone bright blue and pink.

Caladhel was a knowledgeable guide, answering each of his questions with thoughtfulness and a smile, and afterward they would walk in silence for a mile. Thranduil guessed they had covered ten or more by the time they arrived at their destination. He heard the rushing of water first. It grew louder as they approached until at last they emerged from the wood.

Thranduil stepped out from beneath the shelter of the trees and was greeted by the sun and the clear blue waters of a small lake fed by a most picturesque waterfall. While the waters at the base churned and bubbled they grew peaceful and calm across the expanse. At the west end, the water drained down a small stream bed that disappeared once more into the wood, winding its way slowly to the Celebrant or Anduin along its journey to the sea.

"It is beautiful," said Thranduil.

He thought so, truly, and marveled at the serenity of the scene. There were several waterfalls along the rivers in the north of Greenwood, but they formed no lakes and the waters in those places were treacherous. Nowhere within the border of his land was there a sight as peaceful as this.

They walked closer to the falls and Caladhel settled herself down upon a patch of grass overlooking the shore. Thranduil joined her, taking a seat to her right, and they admired the scenery together. Thranduil's gaze passed over the falls, the sparkling water and rounded the shore. He thought it strange that more of Lórien's citizens did not frequent such a beautiful spot.

"I am surprised this place does not have more visitors."

Thranduil knew immediately he had said something wrong, for a flicker of pain flashed across Caladhel's face. Her serene expression vanished and a cloud of sorrow settled in.

"It did, once, but no one comes here anymore."

"Why not?"

"A few centuries ago, when Sauron's forces were once again beginning to stir, a raiding party broke through our border north of here. There were not many children in Lórien then, and those few were precious to all. Several were playing by the water when the attack occurred. The call to arms was swift and sounded throughout the wood, but our warriors did not reach them in time."

Thranduil's heart ached for Lórien at this news. Greenwood had lost much to Sauron, but by a blessing Thranduil knew rightly named luck, his people had lost no children.

"A terrible tragedy," he said.

"Yes, it was."

Thranduil now understood why none came to this place, beautiful though it was, but it begged the question of why they had come. He knew Caladhel had not brought him all this way merely to share a tale of lost children. He studied her expression close, seeking the answer to their journey's purpose, but could not find any hint of it written there.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I wished to speak with you," Caladhel replied.

"But why here?"

Caladhel turned her gaze upon him then, for it had been fixed upon the falls the entire time. "It is the only place in Lothlórien I am certain we will be neither seen nor heard."

"And what matter would you have us speak on that requires such secrecy?"

Thranduil had not thought it possible for Caladhel's expression to grow more intense. He was mistaken. She eyed him cautiously, searching for something in his eyes. He knew not what, nor whether she found what she sought, or found it lacking. Her next question clarified the matter.

"Will you let me see your face?"

For the briefest of moments Thranduil did not understand her question. When its meaning finally struck, he felt as one who had fallen through thin ice. He could not breathe or think for what felt like forever.

"Why?" he asked, when his voice finally returned.

It was the first word that came to his mind and he spoke it without thinking. It was an unnecessary question. He knew why. No doubt she feared if he could hide his scars, he could hide other signs of truth from her eyes. Her answer confirmed it.

"I would prefer not to have this conversation while you wear a mask."

Thranduil did not know how to respond to such a request, one no other had ever before made of him. He could not refuse her, but in truth, did not know rightly how to comply. He had never before chosen to drop the illusion. It fell from weakness alone, and when he grew strong again his mind drew it around him like a cloak, without the need for a conscious decision. He did not know what force it might take to strip the mask away when the greater part of his soul clung to it still for protection.

Thranduil closed his eyes and focused all his thought as he had the day he took the arrow, seeking out that place from which the illusion sprung. He took hold of that part of his mind. It screamed in protest, but he willed it into silence, and tore away the root of its power.

"Thank you."

Thranduil's eyes opened with a flutter and a quick glance at his left hand announced his success. Caladhel offered him a smile, too, in gratitude, wan though it was. She drew up her knees, wrapped her arms around them and returned her gaze to the water. Thranduil did not know why, but the loss of her attention made him feel more exposed than when her eyes rested upon his face. He waited for her to speak, but she continued to sit silently watching the water. He tried to be patient, but it was too much now to ask.

"If you do not speak soon, I will go mad."

Caladhel's attention returned swiftly to Thranduil. "I am sorry," she said.

Thranduil had not wanted to press, but the anxiety rising within him was well beyond what he could bear, exposed the way he was. "Tell me why we are here." He had to know, but dreaded the answer.

Caladhel sighed, and catching his eye, told him one of the many things he did not want to hear. "Haldir believes you will hurt me again."

A blade driven through his heart could have been no more painful. Thranduil had suffered injury many times before, from fist and sword, arrow and flame. Pain was expected from such things. It therefore amazed him how easily Caladhel could wound him with words. Thranduil knew in his heart that was not her intent, but knowledge did not lessen the sting.

"What do you believe?" he asked.

"I believe I will anger you, more than once, probably often."

"That night…" Thranduil sought for the words to explain that night, the suspicion behind his plotting and the centuries' worth of resentment and rage that moved his hand. He could spend the rest of the day and night explaining why he did what he did, but he knew, in the end, his actions in that moment came down to one thing. "You meant nothing to me then."

"And now?"

"Now…" You are the sum of every hope I've ever had.

Hope.

He banished it so long ago, he had all but forgotten. The hope that he would one day be healed, and again know joy in the world, as he had so briefly in his youth. He wished to speak these words, but they would not come. Instead he spoke others.

"I want to promise I will never hurt you again."

"Why don't you?"

"Because I fear to say so would be a lie."

"Why do you think that?"

"Look at me," he replied.

"I am looking at you."

"But you do not see. It is not my body alone the dragon ruined."

"Is that what you truly believe?"

Of course he did. He always had, right from the very beginning. And it was Caladhel who confirmed it when she reached out her hand. "I believe that the first time I felt whole in over an age was the day you touched me."

Caladhel found this declaration puzzling and that emotion was writ clear upon her face. "I do not understand."

Neither did Thranduil. It made no sense, except in light of one possibility. In the living, the fëa and hröa were bound, and so it was, perhaps, that from where his body burned, his soul had retreated, until it again had purpose to rejoin the ruined flesh. It was as good a reason as any to explain what happened.

"The scars are numb to feeling," he explained, "but when you touched me, I could feel your hand. I know not how or why, but since that day I have longed to know that warmth again, if only for a second."

Thranduil looked away toward the falls, for he could not bear the weight of his shame with Caladhel's gaze upon him. "So you see, my feelings for you are not pure. They are driven by selfish desires."

Caladhel did not disagree with Thranduil. She did, however, think it naïve of him to believe one could so easily separate desire from self-interest. "Are not all our needs and desires ultimately selfish?"

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But some are more dangerous than others."

"How do you mean?"

Thranduil exhaled deeply, but the cleansing breath failed to calm him and it made his next confession no easier. "I fear my need for you will cause you pain."

"So you believe Haldir's concern to be justified?"

"Yes," said Thranduil, "but not in the way he imagines. I could more easily put a sword through my heart than raise a hand to you again."

"If that is true," said Caladhel, "then how do you imagine you might hurt me?"

Thranduil shut his eyes briefly and when he opened them again his good eye once more sought the water. It lingered on the base of the falls, where the water struck stone and transformed into roiling foam.

"You will never trust me again."

"How am I to trust you now," she countered, "if you hide your darkest thoughts from me?"

Thranduil cringed at her question, but he knew its purpose right. Trust was something earned. This he understood, for he, himself, was not given to trust easily. And it was, perhaps, for that very reason that others found it so difficult to trust him in return.

Thranduil had spent many hours in the weeks and months leading up to Celebrían's wedding musing on how to win Caladhel's heart. In recent days that focus shifted, bent by Amroth's warning and Celeborn's demand. He found it a hopeless task, to appease them all, and in that hopelessness a thought was born. It had been lurking in the shadows all along, banished, but not wholly forgotten.

"I have thought of returning with you to Greenwood," he admitted.

"And if I do not wish to go with you?"

"I would steal you away."

Caladhel found this plan of Thranduil's both amusing and doomed from the start. She had already proven she was no easy captive. "And I would escape," she said, "as I did before."

Thranduil returned his gaze to her face. By his dark expression, it was clear he did not share in Caladhel's amusement. "I would keep the gate barred and only permit you to walk in the sun while I watched over you."

Caladhel knew she and Haldor were to blame for that last bit of Thranduil's wisdom. She found the idea of him hounding her every step humorous and very nearly laughed. He had clearly considered every detail of this planned abduction, all but one, perhaps.

"You could hold me captive in Limrond forever, but that would not make me yours."

Thranduil's gaze faltered and he returned his attention to the falls. He could not bear the sight of humor in Caladhel's eyes, for he knew it would not linger. "I have thought of that as well."

"And you have found a solution?"

Caladhel's curiosity gave way swiftly to concern. Her questioning had visibly upset him. Thranduil closed his eyes and even the unfeeling side of his face seemed to twist in pain. Caladhel reached out her hand and laid it upon his arm. The contact startled him and he looked down in surprise at her hand.

"Tell me," she said.

Thranduil shook his head. "You will think me evil."

"You might be right," she replied. "Tell me anyway."

Thranduil pulled his arm free of her hand and Caladhel did not protest his retreat. She sat in silence while she awaited his answer. A full minute passed before he spoke again, the darkest thought his mind had ever conjured.

"I would keep you locked in the dark, until your want for light became unbearable, and I would not free you until you chose me."

Caladhel heard Thranduil's answer clear enough, but it took awhile before the meaning of his words sunk in. Her thoughts returned to the room in which he first imprisoned her, to the stream of cold light beneath the door. She trembled at the thought, and the memory of those few hours spent alone in the dark.

They felt like forever.

Caladhel wondered how long she could stay imprisoned in darkness before she confused Thranduil with the light. Weeks? Months? Years, perhaps, if her will was strong? She did not know, but she did not imagine her resolve would hold forever.

Never in Caladhel's life had she felt such hopelessness as she had in those few hours locked in the dark. And it was in that memory of darkness that she understood the depths of Thranduil's despair. For though it had not been her purpose when she reached out to touch him, she had in that moment become his light.

Upon this realization, Caladhel again found her voice. "What if your plan failed, and I faded in the dark?"

"You would not fade," he replied. "Your spirit is too fierce."

Caladhel wondered if he was right and a smile forced its way forward in answer to his praise. It lit her face briefly and faded as her mind again sobered. They were silent, both, for a time, watching the water churn at the base of falls, considering one another. It was Thranduil who finally broke the silence.

"Do you fear me now?"

Caladhel thought it an odd question. She had feared him before, back in Limrond, and the night she spoke with him of Dagorlad. Surely he had not been blind to her in those moments.

"I feared you before," she said, but that was clearly not what he meant in asking, for he shook his head.

"Do you regret coming here alone with me?"

"Why would I?" she asked.

"I could steal you now. We are but a half day's journey to the northern border."

"So we are, but you will not steal me."

"How can you be sure?"

"You just told me."

"I told you I have considered it."

"You have," Caladhel replied, "and the thought pains you. You do not want to steal me away."

"What do I want, then?"

Caladhel wondered if he asked in order to hear her thoughts, or because he did not know his own. Either way, the answer was the same. "You want me to need you, as you need me. You want me to love you."

The bark of mirthless laughter that issued from Greenwood's king startled Caladhel. He set his hand over his heart and a mask of disbelief spread across his face. "Is that what you would call this madness I suffer from now? You would name it love?"

"I believe I just did," Caladhel replied, "but only you can know the truth of it."

She watched him struggle with her answer, thinking it strange, for all his pursuit of her, that he had not considered what it was he felt. A minute later she reached out her hand and set it upon his left.

Thranduil startled, surprised by her touch and watched in wonder as she laced her perfect fingers between each of his scarred ones. When she was done, she held tight his hand.

"I cannot make you whole again, Thranduil. That power is beyond me."

He said nothing to this, merely continued to stare at her hand as her thumb caressed the side of his small finger.

The gesture, one meant to comfort, seemed only to cause him pain. Caladhel wished to assuage it, but did not know what to say. "Have you not thought of winning my heart another way?"

"I have thought of little else since the day you left Greenwood," he admitted, "but even now, I know not how to begin."

She nearly laughed at him, but fought back the urge, for she knew he meant every word. "What if I told you the beginning is behind us?"

Thranduil's gaze moved from their joined hands to her face. "I would find that difficult to believe."

This time Caladhel did laugh, a gentle sound softened by her smile. She squeezed his hand, and leaning close, touched her lips to his.

Thranduil's heart stopped beating. The kiss was brief, a gentle caress, before she drew away. She sat now watching him guardedly. Thranduil lifted his right hand to his face, for Caladhel still held his left. His fingers grazed his hollowed cheek. He had forgotten the mask in the moment she kissed him, forgotten what lay hidden underneath. But Caladhel was not blinded by deception. She saw him now, as he was, truly, and she did not hold back. He gazed upon her in wonderment.

Caladhel smiled shyly in return and rose to her feet, drawing Thranduil up alongside her. "Shall we explore the falls?"

Thranduil, breathless as he was, answered with a nod of his head.


A/N:'Calad' means 'light' in Sindarin.