Part III
Chapter 41: Beloved

Greenwood
Third Age 110
Feast of Starlight

Thranduil's nervousness grew by the hour, matched only by his elation. The autumn sun lighting the king's chamber climbed high, shining cool but bright. It was past midday, and in a few short hours he and Caladhel would be wed.

It took a considerable effort for Thranduil to hide the whirl of emotions raging inside him, enough to affect an image of calm. Only long practice made it possible. But as Thranduil surveyed his many guests he found one of them made no such effort to mask his ill mood.

Amroth had been unusually subdued since his arrival in Greenwood. Today he was quiet, listless. His eyes were somber as he stared out across the forest from his perch on Thranduil's apartment terrace.

Thranduil had no prior opportunity to address his friend's notable lack of humor, for his last few days had been scheduled full. Only now, as the sun began setting, did the lords of Greenwood disperse. They had their own preparations to make for the evening's celebration.

When the bulk of the crowd departed his chambers, Thranduil finally had a chance to speak privately with Lórien's king. "You are less jovial today than usual, my friend. Have I rubbed off on you at last?"

"Perhaps you have."

Amroth said no more. He continued to stare out across the sea of trees. Thranduil stepped out upon the terrace to join him. He stood at Amroth's side and set his hands upon the railing.

"Is there something on your mind you wish to share with me?"

"Not really," Amroth replied.

Amroth's gaze abandoned the trees and alighted on Thranduil's face. He laughed, despite his sour mood, before falling silent once again. Thranduil could almost hear the argument behind Amroth's eyes. They worried for what answer would be deemed appropriate on this most joyous of days.

"I suppose I find myself a little envious of you today."

Thranduil had not expected envy to be the cause of Amroth's ill mood. After all, the King of Lórien had put much effort into bringing Caladhel and Thranduil together.

"You claimed not to love her in that way," said Thranduil.

The corner of Amroth mouth curled upward, a wry expression, and one lacking in mirth. "I do not envy you Caladhel. I envy you your love returned. Her willingness to embrace your people... your crown… and all the burdens that come with marrying a king."

Thranduil understood the source of Amroth's temper now, for Caladhel had spoken to him of the Silvan elleth who held Amroth's heart. This elleth bore no love for the Sindar, or their foreign ways, but somehow she had come to love Lórien's king. The tale had made Thranduil uneasy, even as Caladhel told it. For Thranduil knew no good could come of a love that was not wholly returned.

"This Silvan maid you love…"

"Nimrodel."

"Nimrodel," Thranduil repeated the name. It was lovely, as he was certain the elleth must be to have won Amroth's devotion. It was why Thranduil hesitated to speak his thoughts, though he could not help but offer Amroth his most sincere advice. "Perhaps it is unwise to give your heart to an elleth who cannot love all of you in return."

"I never claimed to possess an overabundance of wisdom," Amroth countered, though there was no trace of upset in his voice. He looked upon Thranduil with unveiled curiosity. "Do you think your heart could have loved another, if Caladhel had turned away?"

Thranduil was unnerved by the question, for it was one he had asked himself many times before. He hoped he would have possessed the strength to move on, but the truth was he could not now imagine his life without Caladhel.

"I do not know."

This answer seemed to comfort Amroth a small measure, and he offered Thranduil the barest of smiles. "It is fortunate you need never answer that question." Amroth's gaze flicked to the sky, marking the hour. "I should go and find my place among the guests before I succeed in ruining your day." He laid a hand on Thranduil's arm. "Congratulations, again."

The King of Lórien hurried on his way, passing another well-wisher at the door. Amroth acknowledged the elleth with a nod but Thranduil barely recognized her in the dress she wore.

Roewen greeted Amroth as he passed before turning her attention to her king. "My lord."

Thranduil forced himself to contain his amusement at the sight of the Silvan warden's attire. "Did you wear a dress just for me?"

Roewen tugged self-consciously at the waist of the gown she wore. "I do not often have reason to trade in my ranger garb for such finery. I thought it fitting for the marriage of our king, though I am beginning to regret my decision."

"You look lovely," Thranduil assured her.

"Truly," a voice concurred. Both Roewen and Thranduil's attention was drawn to the door. Faentôr stood upon the threshold. His eyes were on Roewen, his face lit with delight. "It would seem the competition is won," he said.

"What competition?" Roewen asked.

"You are clearly the most beautiful captain in all of Greenwood."

Thranduil smiled, but Roewen's gaze was withering. Her displeasure had no effect on Faentôr. He took her silent reprimand in stride, as he did whenever Roewen rebuked him. He merely shrugged and returned to the front parlor where he and other ellyn of Thranduil's court were milling about.

When Thranduil was certain Faentôr was out of earshot, he addressed Roewen. "He means it, you know."

Roewen's gaze lingered on the door. "I know he does."

"He has loved you for a long time." Thranduil closed the distance between them and set his hand upon her arm, drawing her attention away from the door. His voice lowered to a whisper. "He would want you to be happy."

Roewen understood the second 'he' Thranduil referred to was not Faentôr. She closed her eyes and nodded. "I know that, too." She breathed deep, and when her eyes opened Thranduil could see this particular conversation was drawn to a close.

Roewen inspected her king from head to toe. He had barely begun to ready himself for the ceremony. His outer robes and jewelry awaited him and his hair was a complete mess.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked. "Those little hooks the seamstresses favor can be a nightmare."

"Shouldn't you be aiding Caladhel?"

"Your bride has no need of me," Roewen replied. "She is surrounded by a dozen court ladies and her kin, besides."

Thranduil needed no help, but he found himself unable to turn Roewen away. Having her near brought back fond memories of his cousin, though they would speak of Brandil no more that day. Thranduil welcomed her assistance with a nod, and by both their efforts, the King of Greenwood was made a respectable bridegroom.


Beleth set the crown upon Caladhel's head. It had been Thranduil's want that she wear it for the wedding ceremony, and Caladhel obliged. But staring at her reflection, Caladhel began to reconsider her promise. Adorned thus, she looked foreign to her own eyes. The mirror no longer reflected a Lady of Lórien, but the soon-to-be Queen of Greenwood. It was more than a little overwhelming.

Celebrían gasped as loudly as Daerel when Beleth set the crown upon Caladhel's head.

"It is exquisite!" Daerel exclaimed.

Caladhel's hand rose to touch the crown. She eyed Beleth and her aunt nervously in the mirror. "You do not think it too much?"

"Not at all," said Beleth. "It is a crown fit for a queen."

Galadriel's hands were already at work arranging Caladhel's hair beneath the circlet. She echoed Beleth's sentiment with a smile and a nod.

"Why ever would you think it too much?" Celebrían asked.

"I don't know," Caladhel replied.

"The crown is only a token of King Thranduil's love for you," said Galadriel. "A trifle, compared to his heart."

"Your aunt is right," said Beleth. "You should heed her wisdom."

Caladhel glanced briefly at Celebrían, who gave her an encouraging smile before she returned her gaze to the mirror. Caladhel inhaled deeply, and with her next breath, fare-welled the Lady of Lórien.


Roewen fastened the final hook on Thranduil's collar and stepped back to admire her king. "I do believe your bride will be pleased," said Roewen.

"I hope you are right."

Roewen was about to say something clever, but before she had the chance, Faentôr appeared at the door. "My king, you have a visitor."

"Has my aunt come to ensure I look presentable?" Thranduil was certain Beleth would want to make a final appraisal of him before the grand event.

Faentôr shook his head and stepped aside, allowing the Lady through the door, but not the elleth Thranduil expected.

"Lady Galadriel."

"King Thranduil," she nodded in greeting. "May I steal a moment of your time?"

"Of course," he replied and gestured for Roewen and Faentôr to leave them. The former hurried out the door, leaving the King and Lady to their conversation.

Galadriel said nothing at first. Instead her gaze swept across the room. She crossed the expanse to the terrace and took in the view. "The view is breathtaking, as Caladhel described."

"Did you doubt her?" Thranduil asked.

Galadriel's eyes abandoned the trees and sought out Thranduil's. She held them in silence a moment before answering, "Never."

The Lady turned her back on the terrace and approached the King of Greenwood until she stood but an arm's length away. "It is a custom of the Noldor for the mother of the bride to give a gift to her son," she said.

"I am aware of the custom."

Galadriel's hand disappeared into the folds of her gown and from a hidden pocket she withdrew a small case. She held it before him and opened the lid, revealing a mithril brooch with a large yellow stone set in its center. It was a work of art, truly. Even Thranduil's keen eyes could find no fault in its form.

"What is the stone?" he asked.

"A yellow sapphire."

Thranduil mind sought a memory of the stone's meaning. A trivial lesson, one easily lost to time. "Power and strength," he recalled.

"Wisdom and justice," Galadriel added.

"And you had this made for me?"

Galadriel's gaze fell to the jewel cradled in her hands. "Not quite. It belonged to my brother, Finrod. Before his death, he gave it to Caladhel's father, in recognition of his friendship and service."

"Your brother must have abhorred jewelry," said Thranduil, "judging by the number of heirlooms he gave away."

Galadriel laughed lightly at his jest, despite the weight of her memory. Few understood Galadriel's brother as she did. Finrod had been a generous ellon, both in life and in death. It was a trait Galadriel had long lamented. After all, Finrod might yet be alive if it had been only a ring he gave to Barahir, and not a promise. But a promise he gave, and in payment of his debt Finrod died saving Beren's life. Galadriel believed her brother's life an unfair trade for that of a mortal man, no matter how nobly his sacrifice was recalled in the songs of old.

"He was a generous ellon and fiercely loyal to his friends. Lostechil was the same."

Despite his better judgment, Thranduil was curious to learn more about Caladhel's father, an ellon whom he had never known, but who he would soon be bound to forever.

"What was he like – Caladhel's father?"

Galadriel gave the question some thought before she spoke. "He was a formidable ellon, both in council and in war. A sober mind, the kind one looks to for wisdom. There was an intensity about him, in his eyes and in his heart. He was loyal to a fault. He sacrificed peace in Valinor for the sake of his friendship with my brother. He regretted it, I am sure, but not once did he decry his decision to join us. He would do anything for those he loved." Galadriel's eyes sought Thranduil's once more, and when at last she held them, she peered long into their depths. "You are much like him," she concluded.

"Caladhel would argue that point," Thranduil said.

"Her memory is that of a child," Galadriel countered. "She knew him not as an ellon, or as a friend. You are more like her father than she knows, in one matter above all."

"And what matter is that?"

"You both love her more than life."

Thranduil was certain she was right. He knew his own heart in the matter and he had suspected long that Lostechil's harshness towards his daughter was born out of love and fear for her safety.

Galadriel removed the brooch and set the case on the table beside her. She stepped close enough to affix the pin to his collar. "Lostechil left this in my keeping, for if ever his daughter married, I should pass it on to his son."

Thranduil turned his attention to the mirror and the jewel he now wore. "Thank you."

"The jewel is merely a symbol. The gift we set in your hands today is more precious than any stone."

Thranduil caught the Lady's eyes in the mirror. Her gaze was intense, but Thranduil did not look away. "I will treasure her, always," he said.

Galadriel nodded, and bowing once to the King of Greenwood, she departed.


The feast was glorious – a match for Celebrían and Elrond's, to be sure. Thranduil and Caladhel sat at separate tables with their respective kin, following Noldorin tradition. It had been one of several concessions Thranduil made in order for the marriage to take place in Greenwood instead of Lothlórien. Despite their distance, or because of it, Thranduil could not take his eyes off of Caladhel. She was radiant as Anor in its splendor, glittering with her own inner light and the light of the jewels adorning her crown and the gown she wore.

Thranduil devoured his dinner, perhaps in an unconscious effort to speed the feast to its conclusion. It came in due time. The tables were cleared. And after, Iordor called those gathered to attention. Silence descended upon the crowd and before them Caladhel and Thranduil stood forth. With them came Túven and Galadriel, who stood in place of Thranduil's father and Caladhel's mother. It was a testament to Túven's love for Thranduil that he agreed to participate in the ceremony, one of ancient Noldorin form. Another compromise, but worth it in Thranduil's mind so that his people would be the first to see them wed.

Caladhel and Thranduil were made to join hands at the direction of Túven and Galadriel. Galadriel invoked Varda in the prayer, and Túven, Manwë. They prayed to Eru, as well, asking the great creator of the world to bless the union of their kin.

When the prayers were done, the bride and groom were instructed to exchange the silver bands they wore during their betrothal for the gold bands that would mark their marriage. They did as bidden. Thranduil took the silver band from Caladhel and replaced it with one of gold. It bore a motif of spring flowers. After, he handed Caladhel his own silver band. She drew the gold from a hidden pocket. Her eyes flicked briefly to meet his and she hesitated ever so slightly before extending her hand. The ring she placed on his finger was in the form of a coiled serpent.

After the rings were exchanged, the ceremony was done, and Túven announced them both as husband and wife to the people of Greenwood. Thranduil could barely hear their cheers over the pounding of his heart and Caladhel's laughter as he lifted her off the ground for a kiss.

Thranduil laced the fingers of his hand in hers before he set her feet on the ground, vowing that none would part them again this evening or ever again. They made a circuit around the field, accepting thanks from all their well-wishers, before weaving their way to their shared table to view the night's entertainment.

Neither Thranduil nor Caladhel cared about the musicians or the dancers. They had eyes only for each other. There was only one competitor for Thranduil's gaze. It moved time and again to his hand and the gold ring he now wore upon his finger.

Caladhel noted his scrutiny on the band. She had been nervous about the choice of design and was even more so now. "If you dislike the ring, we can have it re-made."

Thranduil's eyes abandoned his hand and alighted on Caladhel's face. He had no idea why she would suggest such a thing. "Do you imagine I would choose to destroy a gift you have given me?"

Her hand rose to the jewel at Thranduil's collar. "I did not know my father intended to pass on Finrod's brooch. Some in Greenwood might think it improper for their king to wear so many symbols of Finarfin's House."

"It would take more than a few pieces of jewelry to turn me into a Noldorin lord."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

Thranduil set his hand upon hers in an attempt to reassure. "I do not honor Finrod or his father by wearing these gifts. I honor you and yours."

Caladhel's gaze fell to their hands. She fingered Thranduil's ring, spinning it on his finger so to admire serpent's head. Her eyes were thoughtful.

"What is it?" Thranduil asked.

"There is another reason I chose the serpent for your ring, beyond my father's sigil."

"And what reason is that?"

Caladhel was silent for a time, and when she answered she spoke in a whisper. "If not for Morgoth's dragons, you might never have loved me."

Thranduil drew her hand to his lips and set a kiss upon her fingers. "I like to imagine that had we met under different stars, I would have loved you still the same."


After much revelry Caladhel and Thranduil found their way to the dance floor. They danced for a few hours until at last the band slowed the tempo. Caladhel rested her head upon Thranduil's chest in response to the change in pace.

"Tired?" Thranduil asked.

She lifted her head and lifted her gaze to meet his. "I had not imagined this day would be so taxing."

"Indeed. We have expended much energy honoring our forefathers' traditions."

"At least that part is done."

"We have followed Noldorin tradition," said Thranduil, "and Sindarin, too, but Silvan custom has yet to be honored."

Caladhel grew anxious at Thranduil's words. She racked her brain in an attempt to recall what prayer or ritual they might have forgotten. She was not aware of a single one. "I hope we have not offended your people in some way," she said.

"Offended, no. They are merely impatient."

"Impatient for what?"

"For us to take our leave of them."

"But the wedding is far from over," she said, confused by their want.

Thranduil stroked the ring he set on her finger only hours earlier. "The feast, the ceremony, the rings – they mean nothing to the Silvan elves. We are not yet married in their eyes. They wonder why we wait."

A light of understanding lit Caladhel's eyes. It was true. They were not yet married, even to the Noldor and the Sindar. The formal mode of the ceremony and the rings were unnecessary. It was the joining of their bodies and souls that made them one.

"Roewen asked me why we were still here nearly three hours ago," said Caladhel. "I had no idea what she meant."

"Now you know."

Caladhel's gaze wandered across the field of revelers. "We cannot abandon our guests at our own wedding celebration."

"What need have they of us? Galion will see that the wine never ceases flowing. Shall we honor the elves of Greenwood by slipping away?"

"Do you think we should?"

"I think our people would like nothing more."

Surely he was right, but Caladhel knew his argument to be only half the matter. "And you?" she asked with a smirk.

"I do tire of sharing your company with others."

"Where will we go?" Caladhel asked.

"Wherever you wish. Would you marry me beneath the stars as the wood elves do?"

Caladhel blushed at his suggestion. "In the forest? Where anyone might come upon us?"

"We can retreat to your chambers, if you prefer."

"Or yours," she suggested. "We can have the stars and our privacy, too."

"As you wish." He retreated a step, and wrapping her arm in his, proceeded to lead her from the dance floor.

Caladhel dug in her heels, drawing them both to a sudden halt. "Wait. You don't think they will notice us leaving?"

"Of course they will notice," he replied. Sensing her nervousness, he turned his gaze to the field. It landed on a gathering of his captains. "What if I arrange for a distraction?"

"How will you manage that?"

Thranduil slipped away without a word. Soon he was at Faentôr's side, whispering in the captain's ear. A moment later Faentôr leapt upon the stage. He struck a pair of cymbals together to attract the attention of the crowd. "A challenge has been laid," he cried. "A contest of skill! Captain Roewen claims her talents at rhyme are superior to mine. I take her challenge, and ask my challenger to name her prize should she stand triumphant."

Roewen was clearly surprised by the announcement for she had laid no challenge at his feet. Despite her confusion, she played along. "You will serve on the border for a year's time, so I might have a respite from you!"

A chorus of cheers rose from the crowd and questions directed at the stage. "And what of your prize, Faentôr?" they shouted.

To which Faentôr replied, "If I win, I will require a kiss from my challenger."

The crowd roared with laughter and more cheers. Caladhel swore she could see the color rising on Roewen's cheeks despite the distance between them. In the midst of the crowd's distraction Thranduil returned and took up Caladhel's arm.

"Come, we must make our escape while the crowd is distracted."

"I think Faentôr has had a bit too much wine," said Caladhel.

"He is sober as ever I have seen him."

"Roewen may never forgive you if she loses."

"Or maybe she will thank me." Thranduil led Caladhel through the crowd back toward the palace. They passed only a handful of guards standing duty at the gate. The remaining celebrants took no note of them, or were polite enough to pretend not to notice their escape.


A/N: Intimate moments follow in Chapter 42, but they're not vulger. I like to keep my Tolkien fics classy.