Chapter 38: Tiny Victories
The Lórien company was ready to depart early the next morning. So, too, were Thranduil and his warriors. Caladhel did her best to maintain a stoic facade in the face of so many farewells. They came upon her hard, one after another, each in their turn threatening the walls restraining her emotions.
"How went your argument last night?" Amroth asked when he finally came around to speak with her.
Caladhel's gaze flitted briefly to Thranduil. "I was defeated in the end."
"He does what he judges to be right for his people, as do I."
"I know," she replied, "but I wish he shared your judgment in this matter, and in other matters, at times.
"If he was more like me, you would not love him as you do."
Caladhel was less sure on the matter than Amroth. Her forehead furrowed and her lips tightened at the corners. Amroth marked the signs of distress upon Caladhel's face as easily as if she had cried out. He took up her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze in a final attempt at comfort.
"This battle will be over in a heartbeat. Thranduil will return before you think to miss him."
"I already miss him."
Amroth could tell by the shadow lurking behind her eyes that her words were spoken in earnest. He drew her into his arms and placed a kiss atop her head. "All will be well. I promise."
Amroth moved off to have a final word with Iordor and Greenwood's king, leaving Celeborn to farewell his niece. Caladhel had barely spoken a dozen words to him since his return to Limrond, and already he was leaving. The prospect of his departure before a battle always made Caladhel feel like a child. She had bid her uncle goodbye many times before he rode into danger and each instance was no easier than the one prior.
"Uncle. Be careful."
Celeborn hugged his niece warmly, and like Amroth, he set a kiss upon her head. "Always." He stepped away and his gaze strayed to the kings, who stood together, talking. "I meant to come see you last night," he added, "but I did not wish to intrude on your private gathering."
Caladhel suspected she knew the purpose of her uncle's intended visit. "Did you plan on asking me to come home with you again?"
"The thought did cross my mind, but it did not linger long."
"No?"
"No. I had a revelation while watching you and Thranduil together last night."
"What revelation?"
"You are home," he said.
Caladhel considered her uncle's words and her own thoughts regarding Limrond and Thranduil's court. "Not quite," she replied, "but I think I could be."
Celeborn smiled at his niece's earnest reply. He had expected nothing less from Caladhel than a thoughtful answer. His expression sobered some as his thoughts turned to another matter. He reached into his pocket and drew forth a small roll of parchment.
"Before I forget, your aunt wished for me to give this to you."
Caladhel took the letter from his hand and eyed it curiously. "What does it say?"
"I have not read it."
Caladhel wondered what subject the message contained. It was telling that her aunt had chosen not to share it with her husband. Caladhel tucked the letter into her pocket, supposing Galadriel had good reason for not sharing her thoughts with Celeborn. And her uncle aside, Caladhel was not eager to learn what news the parchment contained, at least, not just yet. She farewelled her uncle once the letter was stowed and stepped aside to allow others one last chance to speak with him.
Greenwood's court saw the Lords of Lórien off before they, themselves, prepared to depart. Beleth and Galion ensured that the company was adequately provisioned for the days ahead. Despite their preparations, it still took a few hours for the lords who would ride with Iordor and Thranduil to assemble. Caladhel did her best to stay out of everyone's way. She was feeling unuseful - and frustrated, too, by her uselessness. Caladhel knew all was nearly prepared when Thranduil turned his attention to her and she could not help but breathe a sigh of discontent when he reached her side.
Caladhel did not wish to add to Thranduil's burdens, nor to rehatch their the previous night's argument, but she could not restrain her need to question. "Must you leave Limrond this very day? It will be eight or more at speed before my uncle and Amroth arrive in Lórien."
"That is not so long to prepare as you imagine." He took up her hands and cradled them to his heart. "Beleth will be here to keep you company," he said, "and that twittering child of Gwendeth's you seem so fond of."
"I happen to find young Daerel charming," Caladhel said.
"I have noticed." Thranduil's eyes sought the young elleth in question, held tight in her mother's arms as the pair farewelled Daerel's father. "She reminds me of your cousin," Thranduil said.
"So you find her annoying."
"I would not say that."
"Not where others might overhear."
Thranduil laughed lightly at her jest but when his gaze returned to Caladhel's eyes, his amusement faded. He kissed her hands, her forehead and set a final, gentle kiss upon her lips. Caladhel had no tears left to shed. They were spent the night prior. Nor did she have any words to express her grief at their parting.
Thranduil did not say goodbye. He could not. There was only one comfort he could offer Caladhel before he rode off into danger. "Remember my promise."
And with a sweep of his cape he was away, mounted on his horse a second later, calling all those who would join him to attention. Caladhel watched his every movement. She was so entranced by the grace and majesty of Greenwood's king that she barely noticed when Rowen and her mount pulled up beside her.
"Be safe," Caladhel said.
"What fun is there in that?" Roewen asked.
"I would wager more fun than a sword in your gullet."
Roewen mulled her answer over. "You might be right," she said. But the elleth's good humor quickly receded, replaced by a determined mien. "I will see he returns to you in one piece."
"I will hold you to your word," said Caladhel.
Roewen accepted Caladhel's charge with a bow of her head and a hand set upon her heart.
Caladhel watched Thranduil and his company depart with a growing measure of unease. When the last of the riders disappeared from sight, she stuck her hand into her pocket and withdrew her aunt's letter. She closed her eyes briefly and breathed deep. She hesitated only a moment before breaking her aunt's seal, fearing she should have opened it at once and that whatever warning the message contained had come too late. She unrolled the parchment. The note was brief, lacking both a greeting and a farewell.
Do not give in to fear. I have seen him again. Older, this time.
Caladhel's breath hitched and a flood of tears threatened to escape from behind her eyes. Her trembling form was steadied by Beleth's hand upon her shoulder, for the Lady had witnessed the sudden flood of emotion wash across Caladhel's face.
"Are you well?" Beleth asked.
Caladhel quickly tucked her aunt's letter into her pocket and with her free hand wiped the tears from her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I am."
Beleth was not so easily convinced and she expended much of her own nervous energies doting on Caladhel in the hours following Thranduil's departure. She went so far as to have Caladhel's favorite foods prepared for their midday meal. Beleth did not imagine such small comforts would ease Caladhel's mind, but she was certain they would do no harm.
The pair shared a quiet meal together in Caladhel's apartment. Beleth did her best to keep the conversation topics light and Caladhel appreciated her efforts, unnecessary though they were. Galadriel's letter had been a comfort to her, despite the caution one must always consider when facing the future. Nothing was certain. A truth, perhaps, but Galadriel had seen the child again, and that vision boded well.
Caladhel chose to distract herself now with a challenge of her own design. But before diving in, she required Beleth's advice. As their meal came to a close, Caladhel brought up the topic of Linnarial's recital and Caladhel's planned invitation list. When the subject came around to Amariel, Beleth breathed an exasperated sigh.
"Do you imagine I simply forgot to invite Iordor's wife? I did invite her, and she declined my invitation more than once, so I stopped asking."
"What about the others?"
"The others will not come without Amariel. She holds court with the Silvan ladies in her talan. I suspect they are there now. Most of their spouses have departed Limrond with Thranduil."
"Then I will call upon them at Amariel's home." Caladhel rose to prepare herself for a meeting with the Silvan ladies. The matter could not wait, for Gwendeth had arranged for the recital to be held in two days. Caladhel suspected, also, that the Silvan ladies would be in need of a distraction, so there would be no more opportune time to present the invitation.
Beleth, for her part, could not allow Caladhel to leave without tempering her hopes, for she was certain the Lady would be met with disappointment. "Do not be surprised if she declines your invitation. For two thousand years Amariel was turned away at Naerwen's door. It is a slight not easily forgotten - or forgiven."
Caladhel followed the path beyond Limrond's halls which led to Amarial and Iordor's talan. There were several such paths in the wood just beyond the palace where those who cared not to dwell in rooms of stone had built residences in the trees. A young warden pointed her in the right direction and a few minutes later she arrived at the stair which took her up into the forest canopy. Caladhel could hear soft voices from within the talan when she set foot on the terrace. They must have heard her approach, for they fell silent as she neared the door. She knocked once, and a second later the door swung open.
Amariel's younger sister stood upon the threshold. A lady of Thranduil's court, Merilin was her sister's opposite - brown-haired and eyed where Amariel was fair. She was lighthearted, too, beside which Amariel could only be described as stern. Merilin wore a curious expression upon opening the door which quickly morphed into surprise. She blinked once, twice, as if to assure herself the elleth before her was real.
"Lady Caladhel, forgive me, I did not expect for you to call upon us here." She stepped back, ushering Caladhel inside.
Caladhel eyes swept across the room, taking a silent inventory of everyone and everything inside. The talan was large, with numerous passageways disappearing out from the main room where five ellith sat in a circle, four ladies, and Ithilwen, Haldor's guest.
"I am the one who should beg forgiveness for not sending word ahead," Caladhel said. "I hope I am not intruding."
"Not at all, Lady Caladhel," said Amariel. "Please, come in." She gestured to an empty seat across from her. It had clearly been vacated by her sister who hurried off to retrieve another.
"Ladies. I hope you all are well, despite our current circumstance." Caladhel greeted those assembled before turning a smile upon the youngest among them. "Ithilwen, it is so good to see you again."
"We are as well as can be expected, my lady," said Amariel.
"We are trying our best to lift Amariel's spirits," another lady said. "She frets over her husband so, despite him being one of the most celebrated warriors in our wood."
"I know first hand of Lord Iordor's skill," said Caladhel, "and your son's. They are both fine warriors."
"Thank you," said Amariel, and again she gestured to the empty chair. "Please, sit."
Caladhel joined the ladies in their parlor chatter, studying each one, including Ithilwen, who sat silent all the while. Most of all she studied Amariel. Her impression of the Silvan lady was the same as before. Amariel reminded Caladhel greatly of a cross between Roewen and Gwendeth, for she possessed a fierce but calm demeanor. And beneath it all, Caladhel suspected a touch of Túven lie hidden - a long memory, and a spirit given to bearing a grudge.
"We must find some cause to distract us," Merilin said, looking to all present for what ideas they might have to offer.
Caladhel had one, and she thought it no better time to put it forth than now. "I think I have something that might help distract us all."
"Anything!" another of the ladies exclaimed.
"Lady Linnariel has agreed to play her harp for me," said Caladhel. "A private concert and diversion from our present troubles. I would be pleased if you all would join me."
"Where will the concert be held?" Merilin asked.
"I am staying in the Queen's Apartment," said Caladhel.
With this admission, all eyes in the room turned to Amariel. The silence was heavy with nervous anticipation, but Caladhel remained outwardly calm, even as Amariel's darkening eyes fixed upon hers.
Caladhel could not read the emotion behind Amariel's eyes, but she knew with certainty what thoughts were circulated by the room's occupants. "I know you were not afforded welcome by Queen Naerwen," she said, directing her words to Amariel, "but I would welcome you. I would welcome you all."
Eyes flitted back and forth between Amariel and Caladhel. A tense silence extended a minute before Amariel spoke. "Would you all excuse us, please? I would like to have a private word with Lady Caladhel."
The ladies rose swiftly to their feet and hurried from the talan at Amariel's bidding. Caladhel followed them with her eyes, feeling strangely worse for being left alone with Amariel.
When the ladies' footsteps finally faded into the distance, Amariel spoke. "They can't stop talking about you."
"Who?" Caladhel asked, unsure to whom she was referring.
"Everyone. My sister, the Silvan ladies, courtiers and commoners, alike. The wood elves have already begun referring to you as our queen."
Caladhel took the whole of Amariel's declaration in stride, refusing to appear at all flustered. "I appreciate their regard," she said, "but to do so is premature."
"I don't think so," Amariel countered. "Have you any idea how many ellith have tried and failed to catch our king's eye?"
"I imagine quite a few."
Amariel's indelicate snort told Caladhel her guess was an underestimate. The Lady eyed Caladhel with a look one might give a second place prize. "There would be more bitterness toward you, I think, if not for the time you spent at Iauron's farm - working and dancing and fighting beside us. It has endeared you to the people. They adore you."
"Not everyone adores me."
"Nearly so."
"And what is your opinion of me, Lady Amariel?" Caladhel asked, for she was nearly certain that Amariel could be counted in Túven's corner, ironic as such an alliance might be.
Amariel read the thought in Caladhel's mind and she allowed it time to fester before offering an answer. "You made my son look a fool before our king upon your first visit. I admit, that did not endear you to my heart."
Caladhel was not the least surprised by her answer but she did her best to appease. "It was not my intent to cause your son any dishonor, and I did apologize for the trouble I caused him."
"I know. He bears you no grudge in the matter, and neither do I."
"I am glad to hear it," said Caladhel, for indeed she was grateful. She was, however, slightly confused as to why Amariel would have mentioned the subject, if, indeed, she bore no grudge. "I do not wish to be at odds with any member of Thranduil's court."
"Which brings us to the question at hand," Amariel said.
"And what question might that be?"
"Why would you welcome us at all?"
It was not a simple question and Caladhel was not sure how best to answer. "Why would I not?" she asked.
"Do not fence with me," Amariel warned. "I can give you a list of reasons, all of which you already know."
She was right, of course, and Caladhel regretted now her first response. There was, after all, more than one reason behind Caladhel's invitation, but she was unsure which of them Amariel would accept.
"I am not Naerwen," she said at last, "anymore than Thranduil is his father, though I might well hold the title of Queen of Greenwood some day."
"Is that your only reason?"
It was not, and Caladhel sensed Amariel knew it. She studied the elleth's eyes. They were again unreadable and bore for Caladhel in that moment the memory of Galadriel's gaze - older, wiser, sure in purpose.
"Do you desire a gentle answer," Caladhel asked, "or the truth?"
"I suppose truth would be wiser."
Wiser, perhaps, but not necessarily easier to swallow. Caladhel considered her words carefully before she spoke, more truth than she had shared with anyone on this particular matter, save for Thranduil. "I have not spent much time in Limrond, but I have seen enough to know. A court divided is a danger to all of Greenwood. Thranduil cannot be king to the Silvan elves alone, nor to the Sindar solely. He must be king to all. That unity need be forged here at court if it is to reach every corner of the realm."
Amariel was silent a long while after Caladhel finished her little speech. Caladhel sat with practiced patience, all the while holding Amariel's gaze, waiting for the Silvan lady to speak.
Amariel's eyes softened suddenly and the edges of her mouth crept upward. "You are right," she said. "You are not Naerwen."
A wave of relief washed over Caladhel at her judgment, for in the softening of Amariel's gaze Caladhel knew she had won.
"I do admire Linnariel's skill with a harp," Amariel continued. "When will the recital be held?"
"Two days hence. We will gather after the noon meal."
Amariel rose from her seat and Caladhel followed, for she sensed their conversation had come to a close. "We will join you then," Amariel said.
"I look forward to it."
"As do I," said Amariel, and the emotion behind those words told Caladhel the sentiment was genuine.
Caladhel's first private event was a resounding success. Beleth was surprised, to say the least, upon learning Amariel had agreed to attend and Gwendeth thanked Caladhel profusely for convincing her aunt to join them. It became a regular affair thereafter for Caladhel to entertain in the Queen's apartment - every fifth day following the midday meal. All were welcome to attend and many did, as their schedules permitted. It was a small but significant step forward in healing the wounds within Thranduil's court, but Caladhel knew there was much left to do regarding its lords. There was nothing much she could do on that front at present, not until Thranduil's return.
Days bled slowly into weeks. Beleth shared what news she could garner, though little made it past the council chamber doors. Túven was tightlipped regarding council matters at the best of times, and he failed to see what good it would do the court to spread rumors regarding Amon Lanc.
In the meantime, Caladhel found myriad ways to distract herself from thoughts of Thranduil. Each of them failed to one degree or another or after varying lengths of time. She had found reading to be the best distraction. She particularly enjoyed tales of the Silvan origin, compiled during the second age by the Sindar. There were many such tomes archived in Limrond's library, but there was one book of poetry in particular that she enjoyed most, a collection Thranduil, too, had claimed a favorite. Caladhel could not find the book on the library shelves. She feared it misplaced and when she asked the ellon in charge about it he politely reminded her that she had taken the book some weeks ago and not returned it. Her face flushed from embarrassment and she assured him she would find the book and return it promptly.
It did not take Caladhel long to recall the book's whereabouts. She had last been reading it in Thranduil's study, keeping him company while he worked. She recalled setting it down upon a table beside her chair.
She made her way to Thranduil's study, slipped inside and went straight to the chair and table where her memory led. The book was no longer there, but Caladhel was sure it had been. She would not rifle through Thranduil's things, but she scanned every open surface in hopes Thranduil had simply moved it. She found it not. Instead she spied his red cloak draped across the back of his chair. She caressed the velvet lining with the tips of her fingers. His scent lingered on the cloth, reminding her of how much she missed his presence.
Caladhel drew the garment into her arms, clutching it against her chest. She shut her eyes against the tears she did not wish to fall, but her meager efforts were not enough to contain her grief. Tears fell away down her cheeks and onto Thranduil's robe. Caladhel was so consumed by heartache in that instant, that she did not note his presence until he spoke.
"What are you doing here?"
Caladhel was startled by the sound of his voice. She spun around on her heels towards the door. There was no time to collect herself, for she already stood facing him - tears and all. "Lord Túven. I came to retrieve a book, but I… I could not find it."
Caladhel was certain Túven would not appreciate her presence, unattended, in Thranduil's private space. She awaited a reprimand. She waited long while Túven studied her, marking her tear-streaked cheeks and Thranduil's cloak in her hands.
"What book?" he asked.
Caladhel feared he meant to call her a liar, or cast upon her some other accusation. "A book of Silvan poetry," she replied. "I was reading here while Thranduil worked."
Túven moved directly to the shelves behind Thranduil's desk. He drew a tome from the topmost shelf and handed it to her. It was the very book for which Caladhel had been searching.
"Thank you," said Caladhel. "The ellon in charge of the library will be relieved I did not lose it."
"Indeed," said Túven. "Onethron takes his duties as seriously as anyone."
"As well he should." Caladhel's gaze rose from the book to find Túven studying her again. She did not care for the intensity of his scrutiny, but there was nothing she could do about it. A question pressed to the fore of her mind, and since she now had Túven's undivided attention... "My lord, have you received any word from Amon Lanc?"
"I have," he replied.
"Anything you are permitted to share?"
He could have said no, so Caladhel was surprised when he did not. She was even more surprised when he offered details without further prompting.
"Our armies have surrounded the fortress," he said. "There will be no escape for the orcs sheltering behind its walls, and scouts have been stationed in the forest to waylay any others who might attempt to summon aid."
"Can our armies breach the walls?" she asked.
"They can, and they will, when the time comes."
"How long will they wait?"
"Until the orcs begin turning on each other."
"And how long might that take?"
"Not long. We have had scouts watching the fortress for weeks. They were not provisioned for a siege. They will run out of food stores within two weeks. After that, they will begin butchering each other for meat. Once chaos takes hold, our armies will crush those who remain. All they need do is wait."
Caladhel was grateful for Túven's candor. She suspected he told her more than her own uncle would have in his place. "It seems a solid plan," said Caladhel.
"It is a simple plan, but appropriate for this particular occasion."
"Then I shall pray it succeeds as you envision."
Túven nodded at her words. It was clear he would say no more on the matter and Caladhel would not press, though she did long to know if he had heard anything directly from Thranduil.
"I should go," said Caladhel. She moved to return Thranduil's cloak to the chair where she had found it.
"Take the cloak with you," Túven said. "He would want you to have it."
Caladhel found Túven's thoughtfulness utterly unexpected, but she was grateful for it in that moment. She forced herself to smile, despite the fresh wave of tears rising behind her eyes. She managed to utter her thanks and flee his sight before the next swell broke.
