Chapter 37: A King's Duty
Caladhel could not sleep. Instead she roamed Limrond's Halls in the early hours of the morning, returning time and again to the doors of Thranduil's council chamber. The kings and their counselors were still in session twelve hours after Amroth's arrival. She could hear the gathered lords talking inside – or arguing – depending on the hour. Servants came and went, delivering trays of food and drink. And all the while, Caladhel could do nothing but wring her hands in frustrated anticipation.
"Have they been in there all night?"
Caladhel startled at the sound of his voice. He appeared out of nowhere and she had expected him to be inside. "Iauron. Were you not invited to take part in the war council?"
"I was invited," Iauron replied, "but I know nothing of warfare, nor do I have any desire to learn. Best to leave such matters to those with experience – and interest."
Caladhel was surprised – and confused, as well. "Thranduil put you in charge of defending the farm."
"I know how to defend my own, but attacking a fortress teeming with orcs is another matter entirely."
"Of course."
Iauron studied her carefully, marking well her anxious demeanor and the fatigue behind her eyes. "Was your seat in Thranduil's council revoked?"
"My uncle did not think my presence was appropriate and Thranduil had no will to argue the matter."
"And why is that?"
"My uncle was angered by Thranduil's decision to allow me to remain at the border."
"Ah. Then it was wise on our king's part not to anger Lord Celeborn further."
"You think so?"
Iauron took up Caladhel's arm and gazed down upon her with sympathetic eyes. "Family is forever, child. Some arguments between kin are worth having. Most are not. It would have been unwise for Thranduil to provoke an ellon who stands in place of your father."
"You are probably right."
Iauron led her to a bench carved into the portico across from the council chamber doors. He took a seat, drawing Caladhel down beside him. "Thranduil knows how to pick his battles. And he will fight for you, if a battle must be fought. You need not worry on that account."
Caladhel was not surprised when Iauron addressed the very thought that worried her most. She had been startled by how easily Thranduil acceded to her uncle's will in this matter. The calculation behind that choice was obvious to her now. Her presence in the war council was unnecessary, and she would likely have sat silent the entire time, but it still stung a bit to be left outside by those she loved and respected.
"You know Thranduil very well," said Caladhel, for a change of subject was needed and this observation was the most pressing thought on her mind.
"Indeed," Iauron replied. "I know all his secrets."
"All of them?" she asked, in a tone such that one who knew of Thranduil's scars would understand.
Iauron stared deep into her eyes, seeing in them what he saw once before when they spoke of Thranduil at the farm. "Yes. I know that one, too."
"Did he tell you?"
"No. He showed me."
"When?"
"Not long after he and his kin first arrived in Greenwood."
Caladhel had suspected Iauron knew Thranduil's secret, but she had not imagined Thranduil had told him, much less that he would have willingly revealed his true face. She wondered what inspired him to trust Iauron with this secret so soon after their first meeting.
"What made him decide to share his secret with you?"
"I suspect he needed to," Iauron replied. He fell silent as his thoughts drifted back to that particular conversation, now three thousand years past. "Our people were willing to welcome the Sindar to our wood, but Thranduil's behavior caused him to be disliked by many within a few short months after his arrival. Oropher would tell us nothing of his son's affliction, only that he suffered greatly in the war, and suffered still. So I questioned Thranduil directly about it."
"What did you say to him?"
"I asked him what cause he had to be so rude to everyone."
"You didn't."
"I did."
"And so he showed you his face?" Caladhel could not quite believe Thranduil would respond so to such a rude challenge.
Iauron shook his head. "Not that very instant. First, I convinced him that he was not the first to suffer horrors at Morgoth's hand, that I would understand."
"How did you manage that?"
Iauron fell silent again and as Caladhel studied his face his expression darkened. And his eyes, lit always with an ancient light, appeared now unfathomably old.
"I told him what it was like to use only rocks and bare hands to slaughter beasts whose faces I had known – before they fell into Morgoth's hands. I told him how I would lie awake beneath the stars, praying I would not be made one of them. I told him I understood terror and pain, and that they need not break him. It was his choice to allow them to take root in his soul. It was his choice, too, to fight them. Then he showed me his face."
Caladhel griped Iauron's arm tighter in comfort, for she had felt the slightest tremble beneath her hand as he spoke. He set his free hand upon hers. His smile told her he was well, despite those terrible memories.
"What did you say to him afterward?" she asked.
"I told him a few scars were no excuse for rudeness."
"You didn't."
"I did. And he needed to hear it, too. His father and uncle – all his kin – they treated him like a broken thing. It made him feel weak, powerless. It was not what he needed. I refused to excuse his ill behavior. So did my children. We demanded more from our would-be prince and our demands served to strengthen him."
"And his disposition?" Caladhel asked with a glint of humor.
"Markedly improved," Iauron declared. "But even after all these years he is subject to bouts of melancholy. An unfortunate trait, inherited from his mother."
"So I have heard."
A sudden commotion behind the council chamber doors brought their conversation to a halt. The doors swung open and the lords of Greenwood and Lórien began to file out.
"It looks like they have finally adjourned," said Iauron. He stood and was soon greeted by one of Thranduil's many counselors.
Caladhel, too, rose from her seat. She took no more than three steps before Thranduil spied her, a look of surprise upon his face. He weaved through the crowd to reach her, Amroth at his side. Caladhel had learned the previous evening that Amroth's presence at the war council had been demanded by many of his lords, those who were hesitant to send their sons off to battle without just cause. Celeborn's word had not been enough for them, for they feared his motives were personal, and not in the best interests of the realm.
"Have you been waiting here all night?" Thranduil asked.
Caladhel shook her head. "I could not sleep, so I took to wandering the halls. I arrived only a few minutes ago and met Iauron."
Amroth wound his arm through Caladhel's as she spoke. He drew her close as if to whisper in her ear, though he spoke loud enough so Thranduil could hear. "You know, when I said I looked forward to an excuse to visit Greenwood, I had more of a celebration in mind."
"So sorry to disappoint you."
"We will have more than one cause to celebrate soon enough," Thranduil said, "and I will be sure to reserve a barrel of wine just for you."
"The King of Greenwood is generous," said Amroth, but Thranduil had no opportunity to respond to his goad. Iordor and two other lords pleaded for his attention.
Thranduil turned to Caladhel with apology in his eyes for once again being drawn away. "If you will excuse me. My work is not yet done."
"I will keep her entertained in your absence," Amroth assured him.
Thranduil nodded his thanks to Amroth before returning to the council chamber with his lords.
"He seems confident you will marry him," said Amroth, once Greenwood's king and counselors were out of earshot.
"He can be boastful at times," Caladhel quipped.
"At times… but I have found him to be rather modest where grave matters are concerned."
Caladhel could not argue with Amroth's observation, for she knew it to be true. Her gaze passed over the faces of the remaining counselors at the far end of the hall as the company scattered to the winds. Her eyes alighted on her uncle's face. He was speaking with Lord Thandaer and several other members of Thranduil's court. Celeborn nodded to her briefly as he and his companions departed together to some unknown destination. Caladhel wondered briefly why Amroth was not with her uncle, but figured if Lórien's king needed to abandon her, he would.
"I thought that door would never open," Caladhel said once her uncle had departed.
"Did you miss me?"
Amroth's cheeky expression almost made her laugh. Only long years of suffering his humor prevented Caladhel's serious affect from wavering. "I dislike being kept in the dark."
"Celeborn seeks only to shield you from evil."
"I am not a child in need of sheltering."
"You will always be a child in his eyes."
"So you are taking his side."
"I am merely acknowledging the position of one who loves you," he said. "A time will come when your will is no longer Celeborn's to command. He knows that day is coming. I suspect that future will unfold more smoothly if you allow him to play the role of father a little while longer."
Caladhel knew Amroth's advice, like Iauron's, was prudent, but that knowledge did little to lessen her frustration. She decided to change the subject in order to avoid the argument.
"What has the council decided?"
Amroth allowed Caladhel to redirect their conversation, for he knew the matter of Amon Lanc concerned her, as well. "We return to Lórien tomorrow to gather our warriors. Celeborn will send word ahead to Haldir today."
"So soon? You only just arrived."
"No time like the present to clean out a nest of orcs."
"Will it be that simple?"
"It is never simple to lay siege to a fortress, even a crumbling one."
"What will you do?"
"Thandaer and Celeborn will lead Lórien's forces against Amon Lanc. We assault from the west and south, Greenwood from the north and east. Haldir will see our border remains secure. And I will spend my days at court ensuring the more reticent lords of Lórien do not decide to revolt over my decision to aid Greenwood."
Caladhel pitied Amroth on the final matter. Like Thranduil, he was not overly fond of political maneuvering. "How exciting for you," she said.
"The politics of being king is ever a joy," Amroth replied, with as much feigned enthusiasm as he could muster. "Now, if you will be so kind as to guide me to my room. This palace is a maze."
"Of course. I was informed my old prison cell has been set aside for you."
"And where do you sleep?" he asked.
"I am staying in the Queen's apartment."
Amroth's bark of laughter echoed through the halls, and deeply felt, it was.
"What is so funny?" Caladhel asked.
"The King of Greenwood. Not terribly subtle, is he?"
Dinner that evening was a somber affair, so Caladhel welcomed Amroth's suggestion that she and Thranduil slip away with him for a private conversation. Thranduil offered his study, but Caladhel suggested Amroth might enjoy the terrace view from her apartment. Amroth agreed, and upon reaching her rooms, made a cheeky comment to Thranduil about the quarters being fit for a queen.
The trio seated themselves on the terrace. Amroth chose a leather chaise, stretching out his legs and reclining with an over exaggerated display of exhaustion. Thranduil and Caladhel shared a settee. The kings did most of the talking. Caladhel listened quietly as they complained about their more stubborn and mistrustful lords. Thranduil went so far as to mention Túven's hesitation regarding their alliance, to which Amroth expressed little surprise. As their conversation wound through various topics, Caladhel found herself pitying both kings. They had obviously been happier as princes, and despite a century's practice bearing the burden of power, their responsibilities weighed heavily on both of them.
At some point during their conversation Thranduil had taken hold of Caladhel's hand, and in an unconscious gesture, lifted her hand to his lips and laid a kiss upon her fingers.
Amroth, being Amroth, could not allow so intimate a gesture to go unaddressed. "And to think, only a year ago, you imagined her a spy."
"I imagined nothing," Thranduil replied. "She was a spy."
"I am sitting right here," Caladhel chimed.
Amroth chuckled between sips of wine. "I think Thranduil is hoping you will soon be under his employ."
"Is that true?" she asked.
"I appreciate all of your skills and talents," said Thranduil. "And I am curious to learn how you managed to uncover Isildur's secret when so many others remained deceived."
"It is not nearly as fascinating a story as you imagine."
"Indulge me."
"Go on," said Amroth. "I am sure he will find the tale as amusing as I did."
Caladhel would not be surprised if that were true, but she did not lie when she told him that the story was not all too exciting. And as for how she managed it, there was only one person to blame. "You can blame a mortal woman for my success."
This was not the answer Thranduil had been expecting. "How is that?" he asked, intrigued.
"I accompanied my uncle to Pelargir, shortly after the Elendili founded the city. It was the first time I had visited a city of men. There was a servant, an old woman who milled about the council chamber, refilling glasses with water and wine. When her tasks were done she would sit in the corner of the room and work on her embroidery until called upon again. She was the only lady present, other than myself."
"And?"
Caladhel's thoughts drifted back to their conversation, one of the few she had ever had with a mortal, and by far the most valuable.
"Is it considered rude to ask an elven woman her age?"
"Why? Is it rude to ask a mortal woman?"
"Very."
"I am eleven hundred years old."
"Is that considered a great age by your people?"
"Not very. To those gathered here, I am likened to one of your youth."
"I thought so. May I offer you some advice?"
"If you have advice to offer, I would gladly hear it."
"I do not know much of Elvenkind, but of my people, I can tell you this, a pretty face is most often deemed no more than that, and a lady pursuing womanly arts may be ignored entirely."
"I do not quite understand."
"Do you sew?"
"I have learned the craft, but take no joy in it."
"I as well. You see this? I have been working on it for three years."
"You must hate embroidery more than I do."
"I only work on it at meetings such as these. I sit on my little chair and stitch and no one pays me any mind. I have heard many things sewing in my corner, because no one thinks I am listening. You should try it sometime."
"I was surprised to learn her deception worked," said Caladhel. "Not with elves so very much, but with men and dwarves."
"And that is how you discovered Isildur's secret?"
"I was sitting in a window, knitting a bit of lace when his counselors started arguing in the hall."
"And they ignored you?"
"Not entirely. When they saw me, they lowered their voices and slipped into Adûnaic. I am sure they thought I would be unable to hear their whispers at so great a distance or understand their native tongue. They were wrong on both accounts."
Thranduil laughed heartily at the conclusion of her story.
"I told you he would find the tale amusing."
"Amusing," Thranduil agreed, "but predictable. If only they had wisdom enough to see past your pretty face."
"If they had, you both would still be ignorant of the Ring's fate."
"Quite true," Amroth said. "It is a pity we have no need of your talents in the coming battle. I am sure Thranduil would have appreciated an excuse to keep you close."
"I had not planned on leaving Limrond just yet," Caladhel replied, but her comment was met not with humor. Amroth's expression darkened and his gaze shifted to Greenwood's king. Caladhel turned, too, to find Thranduil's face equally somber. "What is wrong?"
"I will lead Greenwood's forces in the assault," said Thranduil.
"What about Iordor?"
"He will command the second front."
In all the hours since the council adjourned, no one had made mention of this fact. Caladhel did not wish to think the omission was deliberate. "Why did you not tell me this before?"
Thranduil felt her rising anger in the biting tone of her question. It surprised him, and he was careful with his answer. "I thought it obvious," he said, though it was clear by the look in her eyes it was not.
His answer was not well received. Caladhel shifted in her seat to face him. She was about to speak but was interrupted by Amroth.
"I believe it is time for me to retire," he said, for he saw the quarrel between Caladhel and Thranduil approaching with speed. He wished to escape before he was forced to choose a side. He rose swiftly, gracefully, to his feet.
Thranduil and Caladhel followed him, rising to farewell Lórien's king, as was only proper.
"Have you need of a guide?" Caladhel asked.
"I think I can find my way," Amroth assured her. "Good night to you both."
"Good night," Thranduil said.
And with a nod of his head, Amroth departed.
By the time Thranduil returned his attention to Caladhel she had stepped away to the edge of the balcony. Her hands clasped the railing, tightly enough to turn her knuckles white.
"You are upset," said Thranduil. "Will you tell me why?"
Caladhel was more than upset. She was fuming, but for all the world, she could not tell him why. It was impossible through the sudden fog of emotion to trace the source of her anger, so she said the first thought that came to mind. "You should not be going."
"It is my duty to lead Greenwood's warriors," he replied.
"It is Iordor's duty. You are a king. Your duty lies here."
"How can I ask my people to risk their lives for Greenwood, if I am unwilling to do the same?"
Caladhel freed her hold on the rail and turned around to face him. "Amroth does not risk his life seeking glory against a nest of orcs."
"I do not seek glory. I honor my people by sharing in their fate."
"This is not a war to defeat some great evil. Your presence is unnecessary!"
"If I were some other king of some other kingdom, you might be right."
Caladhel turned away again as her anger turned to tears. Thranduil approached her slowly until he stood a hair's breadth away. She was clutching the railing again. His right hand came to rest upon hers, while his left hand cradled her waist. She made no attempt to escape, indeed, she leaned back to rest against his chest. He watched her tears fall as he gazed down over her shoulder.
"I do not understand your cause for upset," he said. "I have fought in many battles, against Sauron, and Morgoth, and others besides. I have always returned."
"I do not doubt your skill at war."
"What, then? Tell me."
Caladhel closed her eyes and was silent for a long time. So long, Thranduil wondered if she would ever speak. She took a deep breath and then another, and said, "I fear my heart will break if you should not return."
Her confession was beautiful and painful to Thranduil's heart, so much so he almost gave in to her plea. He drew her closer, in a strong embrace, and leaned in to brush her mouth with his. Her lips were salty from her tears and he wiped the trails away with the tips of his fingers.
"I will return to you," he promised.
"You cannot know that."
"But I do," he countered. "My soul is sure. In this life or the next, I will return to you."
Caladhel recalled their conversation where Thranduil confessed to doubting whether a life beyond this one existed. She wondered if his claimed surety stemmed from sincere belief or whether he said it only to comfort. Either way, Caladhel had no wish to wait upon the western shore until the Valar saw fit for Thranduil to be reborn.
"Be sure to make it this life," she said.
Thranduil mouth curled at her command. "I will do my utmost."
Caladhel accepted his assurance with a nod. She turned and wrapped her arms around him and rested her head upon his chest. His arms rose to cradle her, as she cradled him. They held each other fast, taking comfort in each other's warmth and the beating of their hearts. Thranduil was certain he could stand there, entranced, and hold her in his arms forever. At some point he whispered an oath, a promise to his soul, and to hers, "I will return to you. Always."
