Chapter 27: The People's King
Caladhel was secretly relieved to find she was stationed with Roewen beneath the great tents. Her relief lasted no longer than an hour. The tents served as a staging area for those assigned to collecting produce from the farm as well as acorns in the oak wood surrounding the fields. It was Caladhel and Roewen's task to sort, weigh, catalog and move the filled baskets onto carts for transport where after they would be taken to winter storage. Caladhel's arms grew tired within the first two hours and her hands were immensely grateful for Amroth's gift, though despite the fine leather, she was certain they would soon bear the proof of her labor.
Thranduil worked the neighboring field with a few dozen others. They were harvesting tubers with five-pronged forks. She watched him out the corner of her eye when she had a rare moment to allow her concentration to stray. He wielded the fork with the same fluid grace with which he wielded his sword. There was only one observable difference in his form, and it was not slight, but it was, in Caladhel's opinion, a remarkable thing.
Laughter.
Thranduil's laughter drew her gaze back to him time and time again. She had heard him laugh before, of course, but most often it was guarded, shy even. He laughed heartily now. She could hear his mirth, feel it, and she could see it, too, from across the field as he shared a jest with his companions. She wished to know what made him so merry and hoped his mood would last beyond the day.
When Caladhel's gaze returned to her work she found Roewen studying her silently from across the way. She wore a smirk, but said nothing. Her question was in her eyes.
"I have never heard him laugh so freely," Caladhel said.
"I have not heard him laugh since the war," Roewen replied. "It is a most welcome sound."
Caladhel was surprised to hear her say so. It had taken Thranduil some time to be comfortable enough in her presence to express even a hint of mirth, but she had assumed that was due to their prior interactions, not a constant state of his being.
Roewen flipped the pages of a great ledger back and forth in a vain attempt to locate the onion log amid the many others. Caladhel allowed her to struggle a moment longer before sliding her fingers to what she believed was the appropriate page. She was nearly right, having turned to two pages before the onion tallies.
Roewen shook her head. "I think I should relinquish my position to you. You are more organized than I and you have a better head for numbers."
Caladhel cringed at the very thought. "Please don't. I am still recovering from organizing my cousin's wedding."
Roewen's smirk returned and she allowed Caladhel a reprieve, but only a short one. "Next year, then."
Caladhel said nothing to Roewen's suggestion. She could not bring herself to think so far as the following year, nor consider the idea that she might return next fall.
In truth, Caladhel felt thoroughly out of her element here and Thranduil's unexpected change in mood troubled her thoughts more than she thought it should. It was not that she was displeased by his high spirits, only that she did not understand the cause. Caladhel had believed she was coming to know Thranduil some, and feared now she might not know him at all. Roewen seemed to know her king fairly well, a fact that had not escaped Caladhel's attention. She watched the elleth work out the latest sums from the onion basket they last weighed.
The intensity of Caladhel's gaze was not lost on Roewen, but she did not lift her eyes from the ledger. "What is it?"
With the opening offered, Caladhel plunged in. "How long have you known King Thranduil?"
"Since he first came to Greenwood."
"And you became friends?"
Roewen shot the lady a sidelong glance and shook her head decisively in the negative. "No. At least, not straight away. I disliked him greatly when we first met."
Caladhel found Roewen's account disturbingly familiar. "Why was that?"
Roewen set down her quill and straightened to her full, if modest height. "He was a recluse," she said. "He spoke very little to anyone aside from his kin. My brothers and I thought he deemed us beneath him, but his cousin was swift to correct us." She paused a moment and a shadow fell across her face. "Brandil helped us understand all they had suffered in the war. Once we knew the cause of our prince's silence, it became the mission of many to draw him out. It took a long time and a great deal of patience on the part of those who befriended him."
Caladhel had wondered what it was like for Thranduil coming so soon to Greenwood after suffering such terrible injuries. She did not feel comfortable broaching the subject with him yet, but it was heartening to know the people of Greenwood cared for him in that dark time.
Roewen's answer revealed much about Thranduil's past and about her as well. "You have brothers?" she asked, though Caladhel supposed she knew the answer already.
Roewen's eyes had grown sad when she spoke of Brandil, they grew darker still at this question. "I had brothers. They followed Thranduil to war, but they did not return."
Caladhel cursed the ill luck that caused her to repeatedly remind those in Greenwood of loved ones lost. "I am sorry," she said.
So was Roewen. "My grandfather tried to convince them their place was here, protecting our wood, but they would not allow our princes to ride to war without them."
"And you stayed behind?"
"Someone had to guard our borders."
Caladhel was glad of it. Not only because she liked Roewen and did not wish to imagine her as one of the corpses lost amid the marsh, but also because of her concern and affection for Thranduil.
The sound of the king's laughter drifted once more across the field and both ellith turned his way. Some of the sadness in Roewen's eyes lifted at the sound. "After he lost his cousin and father, I feared our king would never laugh again. I have never been so happy to be wrong."
The hours passed swiftly with the constant stream of work to be done. They stopped briefly for a midday respite, but their food was brought to them so the work teams did not have to disperse. Caladhel was nearly done with her meal when a deer bearing a rider broke through the trees and entered the farm proper. Caladhel recognized Iordor at a distance. He scanned the field and caught sight of her, then urged the animal in her direction.
He dismounted upon reaching her side. "My lady," he said and bowed.
Caladhel was surprised by his coming. "Lord Iordor. Have you come to assist us in our labors?"
The ellon shook his head. "I am afraid not. I am merely passing by on my tour of the eastern border. Your uncle asked me to check in on you. How do you fare?"
"Well thus far," she said, "though I suspect my hands will bear calluses by day's end."
"And the king?" Iordor could see Thranduil far off in the distance and would check in with him after.
"I have never seen him so at ease," she said in earnest. "I think he loves being here, working the fields."
"He always has," Iordor replied.
Caladhel found Iordor's choice of words curious. "Always? I thought only since the war. Thranduil mentioned the kingdom was short of hands."
Iordor shook his head. "That is merely his latest excuse," he said. "Thranduil has worked the harvest since we first came to Greenwood."
Caladhel's gaze passed over the fields to the far distance where she could only just make out the silhouette of the king. "Truly?"
Iordor was not deaf to the hint of upset in her voice and he wished to allay her concerns. "It was not his intent to deceive you, if that is what you think. It is himself he deceives."
"What do you mean?"
"He would not openly admit that the life of a farmer brings him more pleasure than the life of a king."
Iordor's answer struck Caladhel first as absurd, until she took the time to think on it. Thranduil was happy here. And maybe it was true that he found digging potatoes out from the ground a preferable pastime to late-night councils and leading ellyn to war. "But what need has he for excuses? As prince or king, he could surely do as he pleased on these few days of the year."
"Oropher thought it beneath his son's station to work the harvest," Iordor explained, "but our young prince did not wish to be viewed as a stranger here. He wanted to be of this wood, and convinced his father that doing the work of the people would help the Silvan elves accept him as one of their own. It was a fine argument, and Oropher relented on those grounds, but I do not think he would have been so generous had his son admitted to preferring milling acorns over practicing his sword."
Caladhel conceded the point for she was well aware of Beleth's feelings on the matter. She suspected his uncle felt the same. It saddened her to think Thranduil required excuses to hold onto a mere few days of joy.
"And he was right, after all," said Iordor.
Caladhel looked at him questioningly, having lost track of their conversation amid her thoughts.
"Thranduil, I mean," he said. "The Silvan elves love him. He is their king, more so than Oropher was or ever could have been."
Iordor sounded certain of this – as if he spoke a truth set down in the Music before time began. Caladhel wished to know the source of his certainty. "Not being Silvan, yourself, how do you know?"
The answer was simple. "When Oropher lived, the Silvan elves called him 'the king.' When they speak of Thranduil, they call him 'our king.'"
A smile spread slowly across Caladhel's face at this revelation. "I have heard him called thus by many this day."
"I am not surprised." Iordor studied the Lórien lady a moment before he made a confession he had not felt comfortable speaking within the walls of the palace. "I know your first impression of Thranduil could not have been generous. I want to thank you for giving him a second chance."
Caladhel did not know what to say, so she chose a nod in lieu of words.
"I must report to the king and be on my way. I hope your hands survive the remainder of the day."
"As do I," she replied. "And may you have a safe journey."
Iordor bowed his head and a moment later he was back upon his mount, heading off to the far end of the field.
It was late afternoon when Caladhel turned around from the acorn cart and walked directly into the king. Thranduil had come upon her silently and she did not note his presence until they collided. She gasped audibly, surprised as she was by his sudden appearance.
"Forgive me," he said. "I did not mean to startle you. How goes your day?"
Caladhel recovered quickly and gestured to the brimming cart. "I have never carried so many baskets in my life."
"Tiring, is it?"
"Yes, but in a good way."
There was a faint trace of dust on Caladhel's cheek and on instinct Thranduil's hand rose to brush it away. Unfortunately, his hands bore their own fine layer of dust and his action only caused the mark upon her cheek to darken.
"I am afraid I have made it worse," he said.
Caladhel wiped her cheek a second time with the back of her sleeve, though the dirt troubled her little. They would all be covered with it for days to come.
Thranduil turned his attention to the warden who was currently sorting beets by storage quality with the aid of several other ellith. "Roewen, may I borrow the Lady for a few minutes?"
"Only if you have a good excuse," she said.
"I wish to introduce her to your grandfather."
A chorus of giggles issued forth from the ellith working beneath the tent.
Roewen did not laugh, but she did appear to find this an acceptable excuse. Her gaze fell on Caladhel. "Good luck," she said. And the ellith, with their hands obscuring their mouths, giggled again.
Caladhel was puzzled as to why luck should be necessary. She lowered her voice to a whisper so the others would not hear. "Who is her grandfather?"
"They call him Iauron," Thranduil said.
"Is that his name?"
"His epessë."
"Is he very old?" Caladhel thought he must be for the people to call him thus.
"He is the oldest of us. He awoke on the shores and settled here with those who broke away from the Great Journey."
Caladhel could not have been more shocked had Thranduil told her she was to meet one of the Valar. The first generation of Noldor had passed into the west long ago and there they remained. Not even Fëanor's impassioned words could rouse them to return, for the old ones recalled well the darkness of Middle-earth. Those still living among the Sindar had sailed west, too, after Morgoth fell. Caladhel had not thought there might yet be ones so ancient dwelling among the Silvan elves.
A wave of awe swept over her, and a measure of nervousness, too. "I have never met one so old."
"Nor had I, before I met him."
"What is he like?"
The corner of Thranduil's mouth rose in a half-smile. "You will see."
Thranduil extended his arm, but instead of offering it to her, he took hold of her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. Caladhel was surprised he chose so intimate a gesture before his people's eyes. The ellith working beneath the tent were watching them furtively. If Thranduil noted this, he did not care, and Caladhel said nothing on the matter as he led her back towards the main tent.
There was only one ellon working beneath the rallying tent and Caladhel recognized him immediately as the foreman who handed out tasks earlier that morning. He was as tall as Thranduil with dark brown hair and eyes to match. He was no different in appearance from any other ellon of Silvan origin, but for an indefinable quality in his gaze. Caladhel felt very much like a child seeking approval when she and Thranduil finally stood before him. She was rarely unnerved by anything or anyone, but the ancient elf's silent appraisal of her made Caladhel incredibly anxious.
"Iauron, may I introduce Lady Caladhel."
Caladhel dipped her head in polite acknowledgement. "I am pleased to meet you, sir."
It seemed the proper greeting to offer an elder, but Caladhel was not prepared for his response. Iauron burst into a fit of laughter. What's more, he slapped Thranduil heartily on the back and put his arm around the king.
"Sir?" he repeated. And to Thranduil he said, "Very well, then, I concede. She is a proper lady, after all."
Thranduil clearly shared in Iauron's amusement for his smile broadened and he laughed as well. Caladhel, for her part, was utterly lost. "Sorry?"
Both ellyn returned their attention to the Lady. Iauron released his grip on Thranduil's shoulder and stepped forward. He bowed politely to Caladhel. "There is no need to address me so formally, dear lady. I claim no rank or title. But please, do forgive my laughter. Our king here told me you were a proper lady from Lórien's court, but I did not believe him."
"Why not?"
Iauron glanced briefly at Thranduil before offering her an answer. "The Sindar have lived among us for three millennia now, and I have yet to see one of their ladies participate in the harvest."
If he is surprised now, thought Caladhel. "I am only half Sindar," she confessed. "Though I suspect a half-Noldorin lady working Greenwood's harvest is a sight stranger still."
Iauron's eyes widened and he gazed upon her with delight. "Remarkable, I would say."
At that moment an ellon ran up to the tent to call upon the king. "Excuse me, my lord, a question, if you have a moment."
"Of course," Thranduil replied. To Caldhel and Iauron he said, "I will return shortly."
Thranduil stepped away out of the tent to speak with the messenger, leaving Caladhel alone with Iauron.
"Thank you for joining us here," he said.
The sincerity with which Iauron spoke these words surprised Caladhel, for her first thought was that her presence at the harvest made no difference at all. Her contribution, while not insignificant, could be accomplished by anyone with a pair of hands. She might have spoken these thoughts aloud, but something in the ancient elf's eyes told her he did not refer to her work with Roewen when he offered his thanks. Caladhel knew Thranduil had a close relationship with Roewen, and by their familiar interactions, that friendship clearly extended to her grandfather. She suspected Iauron knew Thranduil well and could, perhaps, aid her enlightenment.
"It seemed important to King Thranduil that I come," she said, "though I have yet to discern the reason why."
Iauron looked upon her kindly. He heard the question behind her statement clear enough, but instead of offering an answer, he said this: "Any lady with wits enough to outsmart our king should figure it out in time."
He winked at her a second before Thranduil rejoined them in conversation. And turning to the king, Iauron said, "I hope you both will join my family for the evening meal. My wife is making her famous harvest stew."
"I know it well," Thranduil replied. "We will come find you."
"Excellent," said Iauron, and after he looked to the sky. His expression grew stern and he shooed the king and lady from the tent. "Now, back to work, the both of you. The sun waits for no elf!"
Caladhel learned much about the history of Greenwood over dinner, both the Nandor's settlement of the forest and the later coming of the Sindar. She learned, too, of Iauron's relationship with Oropher, of how the ancient wood elf had, at need, played both father and foe to the first King of Greenwood, and, by extension, grandfather to Thranduil.
Oropher needed Iauron when he first led his people to Greenwood, and not simply to act as an emissary between their peoples. Oropher's loss of his own fathers to Morgoth had been a great pain and Iauron had wisdom and kindness in his heart, such fatherly traits Oropher sorely needed. Both were an aid to the king early in his reign – and later still.
Naturally, Oropher had invited Iauron to take a seat on his council when it first formed, but the old wood elf refused. Iauron thought the creation of a permanent council a strange and unnecessary thing. 'If anyone desires my opinion, they know where to find me,' he said. And he said the same to Thranduil after Oropher fell and the invitation was extended again.
After the evening meal was done, Thranduil wished to introduce Caladhel to others. They thanked Iauron for the food and company and took to wandering from campfire to campfire. Thranduil held her hand again as he had before. It felt strange at first, for Caladhel knew the familiar gesture drew the attention of those wood elves gathered around the fires.
After a few hours of introductions and light conversation they made their way slowly back to their assigned camp. Caladhel's gaze alighted on Thranduil's face as they walked. His features were lit by moonlight and the many torches. Even in the shadows he appeared content.
"What?" he asked, sensing some question in her gaze.
"You are different here," she said.
"Different how?"
"In every way possible."
"Name one."
Caladhel considered all the ways she had enumerated, but chose the most obvious to all. "You laugh more freely."
He considered her answer for a time before he said, "I am happy you are here with me."
Caladhel shook her head. "Perhaps my presence adds a measure, but you would be happy here even had I not come."
"I would argue that point," he replied, "but I fear you would not give up until I lost." And here he lifted her hand to his lips. Their fingers were still entwined.
"And that, as well," she said.
"What, as well?"
"The way you cradle my hand, even before the eyes of strangers."
Thranduil released her hand that very instant. "I am sorry if I offended you. It was not my intent."
Caladhel reached out and took his hand again to assure him all was well. "I did not say I was offended. I am merely curious to know why you would hold my hand here, before their eyes, but not before your court."
It was clearly a question Thranduil had not consciously considered for it took him awhile to puzzle it out. His brow creased and he stood silent for a time deep in thought until at last he found his answer. "I want them to know who you are."
Caladhel very nearly laughed. "All of Greenwood knows my name after the incident with the deer."
Thranduil shook his head. "They know your name, true, but I want them to know who you are – to me."
Caladhel conceded such a gesture was likely to be as telling as any speech and Thranduil did not strike her as the type of ellon to speak aloud his affection for her, except, perhaps, to those closest to him. They came across a tree bolt that had been cut into a low bench, and Caladhel took a seat. Thranduil joined her.
"I feared I would not be welcome here," she said.
"Why?"
"For hurting them… and you." She recalled her conversation with Roewen, and marveled once again at the Silvan elves' practicality. "Your people are very forgiving."
"No they're not," said Thranduil. "They merely see the world through different eyes."
"How do you mean?"
Thranduil considered how best to explain his people. He figured her escape was as good an example as any. "Roewen laughed at me when I told her how you managed your escape," he said, "and she took it upon herself to share the tale with every female warden. She informed me after that all of them found the story entertaining."
"Truly?"
Thranduil nodded. "They thought my disgrace an appropriate punishment for underestimating an elleth."
Caladhel's hand rose to her face in a vain attempt to conceal her amusement. "And the male wardens?"
"They are slower to laugh at me," he said.
"Understandable."
"But I am certain they derived some amusement from my being outwitted by a court lady."
Caladhel did feel a measure of guilt for embarrassing Thranduil so. She had thought only of escaping him, not how his people would view their king after or that her actions would cause him to lose respect in their eyes. "It was not my intent to embarrass you before your people," she said.
Thranduil shook his head. He could see in her eyes she had not understood the lesson in his tale. "I do not recall saying I was embarrassed." He would have explained further, but at that moment Roewen appeared at their side.
"My lord, my lady. Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," Thranduil replied. "But when has that stopped you?"
"Never, so far as I can recall." She turned to the Lady and addressed her direct. "You told me you enjoyed dancing. Now is the time to prove it. Come join us."
"Are you not tired?" Caladhel asked.
"Tired?" Roewen gestured to the sky. It was clear and shimmering with stars. "Who can be tired on a night such as this?"
"Not you, I gather."
"Come on, then. Bid our king a good night and come dance with us."
"I do not know the steps."
"A poor excuse. You will pick them up easily enough."
Despite the long day and the previous night's journey, Caladhel did wish to join in the dance. She turned to Thranduil, not wanting to abandon him, or refuse Roewen's request. "Will you join us?"
"Not likely," Roewen scoffed. "Everyone knows our king does not dance."
Thranduil's mouth curled and he gestured to the fire circle. The musicians were playing and dancers were beginning to join them. "Go on," he said.
"Are you sure?"
He nodded. "I am. Go."
With his blessing Roewen took the Lady's hand and pulled her to her feet. She nodded to Thranduil and threw him a wink. "Good night, my king," she said before pulling the Lady away.
Caladhel took a dozen steps before sighing. "It is a shame he does not like dancing."
"Who told you that?"
"He did."
"Are you sure?"
"He said he never dances."
"Well, that much is true," Roewen agreed. "And here I was about to call him a liar."
Thranduil remained where he was, watching Caladhel dance from afar as he had the night of Celebrían's wedding. She picked up the steps quickly enough, as Roewen said she would, and her laughter echoed across the field along with the rest of the dancers.
"You were wise to bring her here," Iauron said.
Thranduil turned at the sound of his voice. He had been so focused on Caladhel he did not note the elder elf's approach. He gestured to the bench, inviting Iauron to take a seat beside him.
"My kin would disagree with you."
Iauron had expected no less. "Your aunt is a great lady," he said, "and your uncle, a noble lord. But they lack the wisdom of the wood." And here Iauron lifted a hand to halt the argument he saw forming in Thranduil's eyes. "I do not fault them for this. They are what they are, what they were since before they fled Beleriand. And you... you are what you are, too."
"And what is that?" Thranduil asked.
"You are a wood elf."
Thranduil shook his head. "I was not born in Greenwood."
Iauron did not consider this fact of any consequence. "Nor was I, if you'll recall, but you would not deny my nature." He gazed upon the young king for a time before he spoke again. "You were not much more than a child when you settled here. Your spirit was healed by these trees, nurtured by them. The Greenwood lives inside you." He set a hand upon Thranduil's shoulder. "You belong to the forest… to us."
Thranduil knew it disrespectful to argue with one accounted so wise. He knew, also, that what Iauron deemed true, was usually found true. And so if Iauron named him a wood elf, there could be no argument. "Thank you."
Iauron took Thranduil's thanks to mean he had won his case. He followed his king's gaze to the dancers, to the lady he brought with him from Lórien's court. She was dancing with his daughters and his sons, nieces and nephews beyond count. They took her hands, and she theirs and they laughed together under the stars.
"I think your lady belongs here, too."
Thranduil had hoped Iauron would think so, but his assurance did little to ease Thranduil's mind. "I fear she will not agree."
"Forgive me if I think your fear unfounded."
Thranduil was not so confident. "It is easy to love the wood," he said. "I am another matter entirely."
"That is not true. All who come to know you come to love you. My grandsons did. They followed you to their ends. Even I could not talk them out of it."
Thranduil's heart ached at the memory of those lost. He bore much guilt, still, for the deaths of those friends who followed him to war. "I am sorry," he said.
Iauron saw the pain in Thranduil's eyes, but he would not allow his king to bear the burden of other ellyn's choices, certainly not those of his sons. "Sorry for what? That they loved you as a brother?"
Thranduil said nothing in response to Iauron's words, for what was there to say? His gaze returned to Caladhel and Iauron's followed soon after. They both watched her dance.
"She has our spirit, I think," said Iauron, "and though I can make you no promise, I do believe if she comes to know you, she will love you as we do."
"I pray you are right."
Iauron's gaze abandoned Caladhel and fell upon his king. He had not seen Thranduil so content since the war. He wished he could offer his king greater assurance on the subject of Caladhel's heart, but he had no foresight in such matters. There was one thing he could predict, and this he chose to share. "There is a different promise I do feel confident in making."
Thranduil's eyes abandoned Caladhel, curious to know what promise Iauron would dare make. He was not one given to empty words. "And what promise might that be?"
"If you love her," said Iauron, "we will love her, too."
A/N: 'Iaur' means 'ancient' in Sindarin. Since there is no Silvan equivalent it will have to do.
