Chapter Fifty-Three
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SUMMARY: Things are busy in Dale! There's a new Castle, a coronation, a betrothal, and a wedding - not necessarily in that order! Daeron's friends help him take part in a time-honored male ritual.
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"A portion of your soul has been entwined with mine
A gentle kind of togetherness, while separately we stand.
As two trees deeply rooted in separate plots of ground,
While their topmost branches come together,
Forming a miracle of lace against the heavens."
― Janet Miles, Images of Women in Transition
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City of Dale, 2nd of November 2943 T.A.
At last, Bard had felt ready to be officially crowned as the King of Dale.
Well, it wasn't so much that he felt ready, but Hilda put her hands on her hips, stomped her foot and announced that this nonsense had gone on long enough. After some discussion, it was decided the Coronation would take place on the anniversary of their arrival in Dale: the second day of November – two days after Laketown had been destroyed.
"It is fitting, Meleth nîn," Thranduil had agreed, "for that was the day you claimed your birthright and became a King."
"So, you keep saying," Bard rolled his eyes. "I was just getting them to some shelter. I don't know about all that fuss for me."
"It won't be for you," Percy told him. "It will be for the people of Dale."
Still, Bard was uncomfortable, because his people didn't know the entire truth about their King; his marriage had changed him, and strictly speaking, he wasn't even a Man anymore. After giving it some thought, he knew he couldn't accept the crown until his people knew everything.
"I have to tell them, love," he told Thranduil back in September while they were in bed. "It would feel like I'm taking the Crown under false pretenses, and I just can't do that."
"What will happen if your people do not accept you as you are?"
Bard sighed. "Then I'll step aside. I'd hate it, but it would be better than sitting on a Throne with a lie on my heart. There's another reason, too: a secret like that could be used as leverage by anyone who wanted to undermine me."
"I think you are correct." Thranduil eased Bard's head onto his shoulder and kissed his hair. "Tell them when you hold court next week. Whatever happens, we will stand by you. And should they depose you," he nudged his Bowman, "you can all come live with me at the Palace."
"As wonderful as that sounds, I'd like to stay."
"I know, Meleth nîn."
So, the King of Dale nervously stood before his people in the Great Hall, and told them everything.
After all that bother, the reaction of the crowd was annoyingly anticlimactic.
"That's it?" was the general response, along with, "And?" Others just shrugged their shoulders and said, "Tell us something we don't know!"
Rod stepped forward to explain to the befuddled King. "My Lord, we always knew you'd be different, back when you married the Elf King! We're not worried; you've proved your quality a hundred times over, and made a good life for us here, and no one can say different! Personally, I don't give two shits if you grow pointy ears and start swinging from the treetops; you're our King, and that's how it is!" Then he cleared his throat. "If you'll pardon my language, Lord Bard."
The rest of the crowd murmured their agreement.
"We knew all this when we signed that scroll last year," Farmer Jarvis crossed his arms, "and that still stands, My Lord. You're our King, you'll stay our King, so let's get on with it, yeah? I've got crops to tend to!"
"That went well," Bard said to Percy, later.
"Course it did. They pretty much guessed when you wouldn't do your weapons training in front of anybody." The Steward grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "They'd never get rid of you, anyway."
"What makes you say that?"
"If they ousted you, one of them would be stuck with your job!"
Today, the newly-finished Throne Room in the almost-finished Castle was filled with invited guests, all dressed in their finest. There was a low hum of murmured excitement, until the trumpets announced that the ceremony was about to start.
The tall doors opened, and the Council Members of Dale led the procession: Lords Ben and Alun, Lord Percy and Lady Hilda, followed by Evan who escorted Lady Rhian, then Tom the now-Chief Constable and his son Egon.
The Royal Family was next in line, and Lady Tauriel came next, looking beautiful in her dark green velvet dress, wearing her gold and Peridot tiara which shone against her red hair. She was holding Princess Tilda's hand, who was grinning and waving to the audience to her left and right, like her Ada had taught her, which made everyone smile and chuckle. She looked cute with her dress that matched her eyes, and her hair was done in ringlets, adorned by her thin diamond encrusted headband with the silver dragonfly.
Princess Sigrid walked solemnly on her brother's arm, and of course her garnet-and-diamond parure sparkled against her dark hair and neck but could not compare to how lovely she was. Crown Prince Bain's head was bare (he would receive his princely crown on his 18th birthday), but he stood tall and proud next to his sister, wearing formal regalia with the Seal of Dale embroidered over his heart, and a crimson sash that crossed his right shoulder and was pinned at the hip with an Elven brooch.
When everyone was assembled on the platform, the music changed, and the King and Queen Under the Mountain entered in full regalia, followed by Balin, Dwalin and all the remaining members of the Original Company. King Dáin was resplendent in his crown and wore the bejeweled Chain of Office of the Northern Kingdoms around his shoulders. Queen Dilna carried a red velvet pillow bearing the original crown of Dale. This crown had been found in the Lonely Mountain amidst the hoard of Smaug, and though it had been badly damaged, the Dwarven smiths worked carefully to restore it to all its former glory.
Next to enter were six members of the Royal Guard of Dale: Daeron, Turamarth, Ivran, Ruvyn, Nualë and Dior, looking resplendent in the golden armor of the Woodland Realm, polished to perfection, and wearing the red capes of their rank. On their left, they carried their shining helmets, with their swords hanging from their right hip (No one missed the look that passed between Daeron and Rhian, as they stood on either side of the platform, nor the blush on Rhian's face, when the Elven Guard smiled and winked at her).
Then came Commander Feren, in his armor and green Cape with gold-and-red trim. With him was Lt. Commander Mablung, Feren's Second-in-Command, in a simpler, less-ornate version of his Commander's cape, yet looking just as smart and beautiful as all the rest of the Fair Folk present.
The pause in the music was the signal for everyone to stand. Then music turned jubilant, as King Bard the First, entered his Throne Room for the first time, wearing his brand-new suit of mithril armor (a gift from his husband), bearing the golden seal of Dale on his chest, and a cape of royal blue, swept over one shoulder to reveal its crimson lining.
Just as with Dáin, the matching livery collar of the North draped across his shoulders with the Golden Seal of Dale hanging gracefully in the Center. At his throat he wore the Elven clasp (a wedding gift from the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien), and on his right forefinger he wore a large emerald and gold ring, with his name engraved on it, which was a gift from his children (with the help of Uncle Dáin).
Bard slowly walked toward the throne with his hand resting atop that of his beloved husband, Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, also wearing his mithril armor, his black cloak with crimson lining (wearing his matching clasp), and his diadem with the single moonstone on his brow. Around his neck was the gold-and-emerald Necklace of Girion, a treasured gift from his husband, and the third Chain of Office hung below it. He looked beautiful.
When they reached the platform, the music stopped, and Bard's voice echoed around the Hall as he thanked his people for their faith in him, and his family for supporting him (at this, his voice became rough, and he had to stop for a second to regain control). He told them he wished to dedicate his reign to his beloved father, Brand, son of Brenin, who had never needed a crown to be a King among his people.
At this, everyone from Dale applauded with enthusiasm, and not a few wiped their eyes. Most of them remembered Bard's father with deep affection and admiration.
Then he turned and knelt on the steps on a large pillow. King Thranduil came to stand before him, placed his hands atop Bard's head, and offered a prayer to Eru Ilúvatar and the Valar for this Man, that he may continue as a good and strong ruler of his people. He prayed for the North, that they would remain united and steadfast before all enemies, and would continue to prosper in wealth and friendship. Thranduil's eyes glistened with love and pride, as he then stepped aside, so the King and Under the Mountain could offer the same.
Queen Dilna came forward, and together, Thranduil and Dáin placed the crown on Bard's head. Thranduil helped the King to his feet, and escorted him up the platform to sit on his Throne. It seemed to everyone present that Bard was more than just the Man they all knew. They could see the strength and greatness of all his forebears, and they knew their Kingdom would be truly blessed.
Lord Percy, the Steward and Herald of Dale, stepped forward and addressed the crowd:
"Behold; Bard the First, Son of Brand, Heir of Girion and Dragonslayer of Laketown, King of Dale and all its surrounding lands! All hail King Bard!"
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After the formal ceremony, the heavy crown was removed (thank the Stars) and put away for safekeeping. Thranduil opened a velvet-lined box, and presented him with another gift: A simple gold circlet to wear for formal occasions where the huge, heavy crown wasn't required.
"I did not give you a 'Princely Crown,' for you were never a Prince, and you will never be buried in it. Still, I thought you should have something, and this seemed to suit you, Meleth nîn."
"Thanks, love," Bard kissed him, then held it up. "It's perfect. I'm not one for all that frippery, and this suits me."
He wore it during the Parade through the streets of Dale, then once they reached the Great Hall, everyone changed out of their armor, and celebrated with a Coronation Feast, where there was plenty of food, toasts, speeches, music and dancing.
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"Oh, that's better," he sighed, later, when he removed the circlet. "I didn't get a headache like with the crown, but still—"
"Wait," Thranduil grabbed his wrist then placed it back on his head. "Leave it on," he whispered, as he began to nuzzle Bard's neck, "My King."
Bard grinned, as he returned the Elf's kisses. "On one condition, My King."
"And what is that, Meleth nîn?"
"You keep yours on, too."
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When Bard took the circlet to Erebor for repairs, Dáin held up the dented gold band. "What the feck did ye do te it?"
"Exactly," Bard smirked.
Dáin looked at him for a second, exploded with laughter.
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City of Dale, 2nd of December 2943 T.A.
One month had passed since the coronation, and three months had passed since the triplets had been born.
Of course, everyone in Dale was thrilled for their Healers, and when Thranduil and Bard held a ceremony in the Great Hall to declare their names, the place was crammed with well-wishers bearing gifts for Ermon & Elenaril's tiny miracles: Chewing beads, blankets, knitted hats, sweaters and leggings, rattles (including three silver ones from Erebor), and stuffed animals, and were all greatly appreciated.
The Elvenking's predictions regarding their personalities seemed to ring true. Almarë the bigger of the two ellyth, had white-blond hair like her mother, grey eyes, and was indeed quiet and docile. She was a bit shy of strangers, but eventually learned to be comfortable with Hannah, Daeron and Thranduil. Bard tried to hold her, but her little mouth frowned and began to cry.
"Uh oh," Bard winced.
"Did you pinch her Bard?" Thranduil smirked, as he jostled Nórimo in his arms.
"Ha, ha." The Bowman rolled his eyes and handed her back to Ermon. "Don't worry, darling," he stroked the baby's hair and chuckled. "You'll learn to love me."
Nórimo, the ellon, and the biggest, was the spit of his father (as Hannah liked to say), with lots of dark hair, and Ermon's deep blue eyes. He was a solid little Elfling, and seemed content no matter who was holding him. He had a curious nature, and contemplated the world around him, as he toyed with his larger, pointed ears. Nórimo was especiallyenamored with Sigrid, and he grinned up at her every time she came to see them.
Calapîa the first born, was the littlest in size, but her personality took up the most room in their family, as if the Valar had crammed as much character into this little Elfling as possible! She was their child of extremes: she was never happy, but jubilant, and if she was unhappy, her screams reverberated throughout their home.
Ermon's leave was extended, at Thranduil's insistence, until the end of the year. No one could've predicted the amount of effort it took to manage three new babies, and the idea of leaving Elénaril to manage alone grated at him. When the Elvenking told him, he pretended to reluctantly capitulate to his King's wishes, then gratefully returned to his wife and children.
Thankfully, the Dale tradition to "look after their own" had been extended to their Elven friends, and the busy family had plenty of help with housework, laundry, hot meals and burping after feeding. Every week or so, a small hoard of women descended on the couple's house and pushed them out the door to enjoy some time as a couple. Ermon and Elénaril protested at first, but soon learned to enjoy their long walks, and dinner at either Rod's Long Lake Tavern, or Adila's new Coffee Cafe.
Since he returned to Dale, Daeron worked long hours at the Healing House, sparred with his cousin, courted his beautiful Rhian and delighted in Darryn, who seemed to be doing and saying something new every day.
He kept his promise to Ben and did not speak of marriage, but he grew uneasy. As much as he loved Rhian, and as much as he knew she loved him, should she not be made to understand all that a marriage to an Elf would entail before she became betrothed? He considered talking to Thranduil about it, but in the end decided to speak to one Rhian trusted most in this world.
He went to Hannah's house several weeks before Yule and knocked. "Hello, pet." She kissed his cheek, let him in, and sat him down at her kitchen table, with a plate of cookies and a freshly-brewed pot of tea. "Now, what is it you need to talk to me about?"
He blew out a breath and began. "I have found joy with Rhian, and I want her to be my wife, but I do not want to ask her until she understands what it means to marry someone like me; especially after Eärendil's Blessing."
"I've heard your folk talk about that, but I don't know what it is."
"Things have changed for Elves, Hannah, and it is good news! There used to be a great deal of difficulties if an Elf entered into a 'mixed marriage,' but the Valar have petitioned Eru to bless us with a different fate, both for the Elf and for the child of Man. You understand what and Elf considers to be the actual marriage?"
"I know about that part, but if Lord Bard and Lord Thranduil can marry without a problem, I don't see why you're so concerned."
"Ah, but you see, an exception was made for them, according to Mithrandir. Yes, Bard will not die, unless he is killed, but he will not be with his children; he will sail to Valinor with Lord Thranduil. The Valar have granted him a special place on the ships. That was established before their own marriage, and Lord Bard could make the choice freely to benefit both his people and the Elves, for otherwise, Thranduil would leave his Kingdom unprotected."
"And you say this Blessing changed things for everyone else?"
"Yes. Lord Elrond, who is the son of Eärendil, send King Thranduil a long missive with the details concerning the blessing."
"Which are what, exactly?" Hannah was puzzled.
"Much is given in detail, but much is still not quite known. Should Rhian marry me, she would gain a much longer life, longer than several generations of Men, as would the children of our union, yet their Ultimate Fate would be the same. We would all be together, but not in Valinor. We would be with your kind."
"But wouldn't you miss out on being with your people?"
"I... have given this a great deal of thought, Mellon, and I want her. I know there will be bitterness, no matter what happens, but she is the One, I have no doubt."
"Well, I don't see what the problem with be with that, Daeron. It sounds like Rhian is gaining a lot. Will she inherit extra abilities, like Lord Bard has?"
"That is one of the things I do not know." Daeron looked at her nervously. "What I also do not know, is if I would lose some of my gifts."
"You mean…" Hannah realized what he was talking about. "Oh, my boy…" she put her hand over her mouth and looked stricken, then asked. "And how do you feel about it?"
"Hannah, I have spent over 1,800 years enjoying my gifts while I was alone. Then there was Sellwen, and I loved her, but she was taken from me before I had a chance to consider anything. Since then, I have worked hard, but I've been lonely. I want a life with Rhian, however much or how little the Valar will grant me. If I had any doubts, I would not have asked Ben for permission to court her, and it is only my promise to not speak before Yule that I have refrained from telling her this. I want to propose, but it is unfair to ask her until she knows everything, and she understands what I really want!"
He looked down and ran his hands over the rim of his cup. "If I am completely honest, I am afraid to tell her myself, because if she decides she cannot accept, I…" He gave her a pleading look. "Please; I am asking you as a friend; could speak to her? Take her to see Elénaril, and the two of you can help her understand; she deserves that."
"But what if you lose your gifts?"
"Then I will continue to serve, in a lesser capacity. I am a skilled soldier, and will have the same capabilities as a Healer as you, so that would not be a complete tragedy. I am ready for such a consequence, Hannah; I love Rhian.
"And what if Rhian can't allow you to make that sacrifice?"
Daeron swallowed, and tried to speak, but couldn't.
"Oh, love…" Hannah took his hand and squeezed. "You'd leave Middle Earth, wouldn't you?"
"I would have to, I think. But you cannot tell Rhian that; she must be able to accept or deny me freely! I will not accept her hand out of guilt or obligation, can you understand?"
"Well, I'm glad you spoke to me; I'll make sure she knows how much you truly love her, then we'll hope for the best, yeah?"
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The Eve of Turuhalmë, 27th of December 2943 T.A.
Tomorrow night, there would be the gathering in the Great Hall for the Tale-Telling, but tonight was a night for family. Two days earlier, Indis and Ómar, along with Idril and Adamar came to Dale for the festivities.
On this night, they were dressed up and heading to Lord Ben's house, for a party. Hannah, her son Jon and his wife Darla were going to be there, along with their two children, as well as some other important guests.
"Joyous Yule!" Rhian greeted them at the door with a smile, looking lovely in a dark dress and small white flowers in her hair. "Let me get your coats. Almost everyone is here!"
Darryn looked cute in his little outfit, but he had recently learned how to undress himself, so it was anyone's guess how long it would stay on, despite the cold weather.
Idril and Indis gathered Rhian and hugged her, then swept her, Hannah and Darla off to her bedroom, after handing Darryn over to Daeron.
The Men were gathered in the sitting room, with glasses of wine and cookies for the children, when another knock was heard.
"Oops! That'll be them! Ben, who was wearing the same outfit from the Coronation, quickly entered the front Hall, to find the Kings and their extended family.
"Come in, My Lords and Ladies! Come in!"
"Stop that, you," Hilda kissed him. "No titles tonight, yeah?"
"Well, I'll need it later," Bard joked, "but she's right. Where are your ladies?"
"Chirping and clucking in Rhian's room." He said smiled at Hilda, Tauriel, Sigrid and Tilda. "Go on."
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There was greenery and candles lit everywhere, and the table was laden with food, ale and wine, all waiting for the festivities to begin. A few minutes later, the Men and Ellyn took their places before the blazing fireplace, with Darryn on Daeron's hip.
Ben and Percy stood together in front of Bard and Thranduil and looked expectantly toward the back hallway.
Tilda came out, grinning wildly with a little wreath of holly and red berries in her hair, and carrying a small bouquet of greenery. One by one, the rest of the females stepped forth all bearing the same ornaments and carrying winter flowers.
Then Hannah, looking lovely in a new gown with her hair done up, and wearing a lovely tiara of gold and diamonds (a gift from Ben, for upon her marriage, she would become "Lady Hannah") stepped into the room, on her son's arm.
"Hello, you." Ben whispered, when she reached his side.
"Hello, you," Hannah smiled, then handed her flowers to Darla. Then her son Jon kissed her cheek, and placed her hand in Ben's.
Everyone smiled and sniffed, as Bard married them in a simple, but heartfelt ceremony, which had everyone in tears, and by the time he told the groom to kiss the bride, most of them were grabbing for their handkerchiefs. Thranduil was handing out several spares he had brought before he wiped his own eyes.
During the ceremony, the baby had begun to fuss to be let down, so Daeron placed him on the floor where he seemed to sit quietly with his blankie. He so caught up with the wedding, that he hadn't noticed that Darryn quickly managed to remove all his clothing and had just undone his nappy. He was standing completely naked and pleased with himself, when Rhian noticed him, and gasped in horror and embarrassment at the sight.
"Darryn!" she scolded, and asked Daeron "How could you not notice he was doing that!"
"Well, he constantly squirms, and…" the poor Elf sputtered as knelt to put his tunic back on, but the baby was too fast for him and took off in a dead run around the room.
"I'm so sorry, Da! Oh, you're wedding's all ruined!" she looked apologetically at Ben, but realized he and Hannah were helpless with laughter, as was just about everyone else in the room.
She sighed, rolled her eyes and Daeron helped her get him re-dressed. "From now on, young man. I'm putting double-knots on everything." She tried to scowl at her Elf, then she grinned and kissed him, instead.
"If you two can manage to keep your son's clothes on, it's your turn." Bard waved the three of them over. "Come on."
Daeron picked the baby back up and searched her face. "Are you certain, Rhian?
"I've never been surer of anything in my whole life," She smiled up at him. "Let's do this."
The Elf shifted Darryn to his other hip, put his arm around her shoulders, and they stepped before King Thranduil. Ben and Hannah's family stood by Rhian, and took the baby, while Turamarth, and both sets of parents supported Daeron.
Thranduil switched places with Bard and began: "It seems only fitting that on this night when two families become one, that we celebrate the intention of another couple, who wish to share their lives together."
He smiled down at the couple, then explained to the Men and Women in the room, "Part of the tradition of my people is for a couple in love to have a formal betrothal ceremony, with the silver rings, which will be exchanged for golden ones, at the Wedding Feast. In this instance, Daeron's parents have asked that their own betrothal rings be used for this purpose, as a visible sign of their blessing on this union."
Rhian knew nothing of this, and was deeply moved, as Idril stepped forward, kissed the girl on both cheeks, and hugged her. "You mean, you don't mind at all?" she asked the Elf. "I mean…"
Idril cupped her cheek. "How could we mind, when you have made our son so happy?"
"He has made me happy, too." She sniffed. "I love him, with all my heart."
"I know you do." She kissed Rhian's forehead and handed her one of the silver rings. "This is for you to give to Daeron."
Adamar put his arm around Daeron's shoulder and handed him the ring he had given his mother thousands of years ago. "Your mother and I love you very much, Ion nîn."
"Ci vilui, Ada," he threw his arms around his father and held him tight. "Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn, n'uir."
Ben stepped forward and clasped arms with Adamar and kissed Idril's cheek. "This is a lovely thing you're doing for these kids." He cleared his throat, and his voice was rough. "It means a lot."
"I agree," Thranduil smiled. "Shall we proceed? Now, Rhian, take Daeron's hand…"
And so, in this beautifully decorated room, in this house, on this evening with the moon shining bright outside, not only did Hannah marry the love of her life, but Daeron became officially betrothed to his.
She slipped the silver ring on to his left forefinger, and in a soft, but sure voice, repeated the words in both Westron and Sindarin, promising to marry him, and to share her life with him. Daeron he took her hand and kissed it, then slipped the ring on her finger.
"Gi melin, Hind Calen," he whispered.
She took his face in her hands and whispered back softly. "I love you, whatever that means to us, wherever it will take us, we will face it together. Now kiss me," she grinned, "before someone thinks you've changed your mind."
"I would never, ever do that." Daeron then swept her in his arms, bent her backwards and let her and everyone else in the room know the depth of his feelings. He barely heard the room burst into applause.
"Now, then," Ben laughed as he shook his intended-son-in-law's hand and shook it.
"Let's have a party!" Jon called out, with his arm around Darla's waist.
"Oh, good," Jon's son groaned softly. "I'm starving!"
The celebration went on late into the night. It was the eve of the Tale-Telling, so Thranduil sat down with all the children, and told them several stories of past ages, and soon all the adults in the room were caught up in it.
Hannah sat on the arm of Ben's chair and listened with a smile. Tonight, they would go to Hannah's house, then tomorrow, they would enjoy a honeymoon in the King's private Lodge, which had already been stocked with food and wood for the fire and the bed had been made up with extra quilts. The Elves, who loved romance had even sprinkled some fragrant flower petals on the bed.
Rhian sat next to Daeron on the couch, with her head on his shoulder, as they listened to the Elvenking, and everyone noticed how their eyes were shining when they looked at each other.
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Turamarth sat with his family and felt incredibly blessed. So many of his friends had lost their parents to the dangers of the forest, or Orcs, or by sailing to the West to cope with their grief, yet here he was, surrounded by those he'd always loved, and now his dearer-than-brother had finally found happiness! He was glad the four parents were supportive of Daeron's choice, but he really wasn't surprised. All they ever wanted was for their children to know the same happiness they were blessed with.
Then Tur realized something else, and his chest tightened.
All his life, he'd supported Daeron, helped him cope with the mechanics of daily life, so he could use his gifts the Valar had blessed him with. And regardless of whether he would lose them or keep them after he and Rhian married…
…that marriage meant that Turamarth wouldn't be needed anymore. He was about to be replaced, albeit in a joyous way, but still.
But still.
And so, in this beautifully decorated room, in this house, on this evening, Turamarth, son of Ómar, looked over at the two happy couples, and for the first time in his life, felt incredibly alone. His throat tightened, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
He looked back up noticed his cousin eyeing him with concern, so he blinked back his tears, plastered a huge smile on his face, and held up his glass of wine.
"Geilu, Gwador nîn!"
He knew Daeron wasn't fooled, but he resolved to remain silent, no matter how many times his cousin prodded him. This would be one of his gifts to Daeron; to never let the emptiness show.
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City of Dale, 2nd of May 2944 T.A.
It had been five months since the wedding and the betrothal, and much had happened, in Dale.
Perhaps the most significant for the Royal Family was their removal from the Corridor behind the Great Hall to their new rooms in the second floor of the Castle!
Tilda had squealed with delight at her very own room, with all-new furniture, and immediately began to jump on her new bed. Hilda tried to stop her, but Ada just laughed, and joined her, as Bard looked on with a knowing smile. 1
The King of Dale was also thankful that their brand-new furniture would be safe from her little dog, Meryl. She had finally stopped chewing everything in sight! Thranduil had found a way to use Elven magic to put a stop to it, after he spent a harrowing afternoon chasing her in the Great Hall with poor Charlotte in her mouth, as she dodged between the chairs and table legs fast as lightening. It took him and three guards to finally catch her, and after a stubborn game of tug-of-war, the Elvenking rushed the poor doll to Glélindë for emergency repairs, begging her to finish before Tilda got home from school.
On moving day, when the Corridor was finally cleared of their belongings, Thranduil walked through the empty rooms, and smiled as echoes of their life here filled his memory.
He had learned how to be a good husband in these rooms. He had learned how to be part of a large family, how to endure the ups and downs and the joys and heartaches. He learned to love the noise, and the exuberance, and the arguments, and the laughter. He recalled the weeks he and Bard had been bedridden, as they both recovered from serious injuries, and as much as they hated it, he learned all about his new husband, and loved Bard all the more for it.
"There you are." Bard came toward him. "What's wrong, love?"
"I do not know." He sighed sadly. "I feel... reluctant to leave; I did not realize how much I will miss this."
"Me, too." Bard looked around. "We became a good family, here."
Thranduil looked into his forest-green eyes with worry. "I am afraid our family will change, Meleth nîn."
"Nothing stays the same, love; you know that." He kissed Thranduil's hand. "We built something special in this Corridor, and I won't let us lose it. I promise."
The Elvenking put a brave smile on his face. "We will both make sure."
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10th of May 2944 T.A.
Daeron wiped his hands with a clean towel, as he smiled down at his last patient of the day: a small girl who had been seen for a scraped elbow from the playground.
"What do you say, love?" the mother prodded.
"Thank you," the child smiled shyly.
Daeron reached down at booped her nose. "You are most welcome, hênig. And next time, try to hang on tight when you want to swing so high, yes?"
"I will."
He smiled as he watched them go, then saw Hannah come out of the back rooms, where she was checking on a few of her patients.
"Good afternoon, Lady Hannah." He teased.
"Oh, stop it, you," she smacked his arm. "I'm still just Hannah, and in three days, I'll be your mother-in-law!"
In addition to the Castle, Ben had completed the work on his own house, and upstairs was finished and ready to accommodate the new family. There had never been any question of Daeron taking Rhian to live somewhere else; she loved her home and her garden, and they both knew Ben couldn't bear to be parted from his daughter and grandson.
He and Hannah were installed downstairs, and Rhian's old room was turned into an office, but the nursery remained. It was easier for Grandad and Granny when they babysat Darryn.
Rhian and Daeron would have the run of the rooms on the second floor, which contained a large bedroom, plus four other rooms and a water closet, to accommodate them and future grandchildren (a subject which Ben frequently voiced his encouragement). Rhian was a natural hostess, and would remain as such, when Ben would be called upon to entertain important guests. That was a great relief to her new mother; Hannah would much rather stick to her own job and continue to help bring Dale's new citizens into the world.
The doors of the Healing Hall opened to admit Turamarth, who apparently was an Elf on a Mission.
He pointed at his cousin. " Gwador, you and I are about to partake in a ritual Men call a "Stag Night," in which we are obligated to revel in your last moments of unmarried life, and, to quote Lord Percy, 'drink ourselves stupid.'"
"But why do I want to do this?" Daeron's eyes widened.
"I do not know, but Percy, Bard and Alun have it all worked out. King Thranduil is coming, as well as the Dwarves and King Dáin."
"Wh… Tur, I do not know if I like the sound of this…"
"Too late!" His cousin grinned with glee, "Lord Bard has rented the Long Lake Inn for the evening, and the Lord and Lady sent you a surprise gift, which is waiting for you there."
"But—"
Ivran and Ruvyn came in just then, and at Tur's behest they each took an arm and lifted Daeron off the floor to drag him out. The entire City of Dale must have known what was going on, because all the men were whooping and laughing and catcalling to him, as he was carried to the Inn. Turamarth opened the doors, and the Elf's eyes widened; the big room packed with people, tables laden with food, and several of the Dwarves brought instruments.
"Daeron, lad!"
"There he is!"
"The Elf of the hour!"
"'Bout bloody time ye go' 'ere laddie!"
"Where's the booze?"
Daeron just stood and stared at the crowd with his eyes bugging out of his head. "This is...unexpected."
Then the crowd parted, to reveal a small group of tall, blonde Elves, facing the bar, alongside a dark-haired companion.
Then they turned and smiled.
"A!" Daeron gasped, "Suilad, Mellyth nîn!" He ran across the room and embraced Haldir. "You came! And Orophin! Orlin and Penlod; you are all here! I cannot believe it! How can this be?" He threw his arms around Haldir again, then hugged the rest of his friends.
"Of course, we came, Mellon. The Lord and Lady arranged things with your Kings, after meeting your beautiful bride."
"You've met Rhian?"
"It was she who arranged housing in the Castle for us." Haldir smiled at his friend. "She is truly everything you said she was, Daeron."
"She is lovely, Mellon," Penlod agreed. "We have also met her little son, and he is enchanting. We are happy for you."
"I hope you do not mind," Orlin said, but I brought my sister with me." And put his arm around a blonde Elleth's shoulders.
"Of course not!" he reached over to take Evranin's hand and kiss her cheek. "It is good to see you again; how do you like Dale, so far?"
"We have only just arrived and have gotten settled in our guest suites," she said. "In fact, I am going to leave you to your merriment; Lady Rhian has invited me to something called a "Hen party," although I am not sure what that will be."
Probably a female version of this nonsense," Daeron rolled his eyes. "Do you need someone to escort you?"
"No thank you, Evranin smiled. "Lady Tauriel is on her way to pick me up, and we are going to the Castle." She looked toward to door to see who came in. "Ah! I believe my escort has arrived."
Just then, the red-haired Elf entered with a smile and waved at all the shouted greetings.
"You must be Evranin! I am Tauriel, and pleased to meet you," she bowed her head and saluted, then grabbed her hand. "I have come to rescue you from this rabble! Enjoy yourselves, everyone!"
And they did. Daeron had no idea how much he drank or how long the party lasted, but he had a wonderful time! He was inundated with free marital advice, which made him blush to the roots of his hair. Then Bard stood on one of the tables and shared a few lewd jokes, as Thranduil rolled his eyes and laughed, as he enjoyed the wine Haldir had brought with him.
But the highlight of the entire night was Ori! While normally shy and quiet, this young Dwarf's intoxicated persona was the polar opposite. To his brother Dori's absolute horror, Ori sang some bawdy songs that even made Dwalin blush. He also won the belching contest, although Judd, Farmer Jarvis' boy came close.
.
.
"Gwador? Are you dead?"
Ai, gorgor… Daeron woke up, but only because Turamarth stood over his bed and lifted one of his eyelids. "How did I get home?"
"I do not remember," Tur moaned pitifully, "but if you are dead, Rhian will kill me."
"I am not dead, although I wish I were. Close the curtains!"
"They are closed."
"Then why does the light hurt my eyes? And why do you shout?"
"You and I drank too much of that accursed wine Haldir and Orophin brought with them. And I am whispering, Gwador."
"Uuuuuugh... I should have known better, when Haldir passed it around...". Daeron opened one eye slightly, and looked his cousin, who was pale, wobbly, and a bit green. One hand was clutching his head and the other arm was around his stomach.
"I am sick from the drink," he whined, "I need you to heal me. I cannot *belch* do it myself."
"Penig ind?" Daeron groaned and put the pillow over his eyes. "What time is it?"
"I do not know," he whined. "I cannot make the clock make sense."
There was a knock at their door.
"Raich!" Tur moaned and flopped on the bed beside him. "I cannot do it. I will not make it to the door. Gin iallon...
"I hate you; you know that."
The knocking was louder.
"Fine…" Daeron forced himself to stand, then leaned heavily on the walls with his eyes closed and felt his way to the sitting room.
"Coming," he whispered loudly. "Who is it?"
"It is your King, Daeron. I am here with your mother."
"Ai! Naneth nin?"
He managed to unlock the door and squinted in the light to find Thranduil standing there grinning. And Idril was nowhere in sight.
"Forgive me," the Elvenking laughed. "I could not resist."
.
For almost two thousand years, Daeron had served Thranduil to the very best of his ability, and to stand there and make light of his misery was just plain cruel.
Daeron opened his mouth to tell him just that…
…but threw up all over him, instead.
.
.
ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ci vilui, Ada – Thank you, Dad
Ant gîn vîr vin faer nîn, n'uir. – I shall treasure your gift in my heart, always.
Ellyth – Elven females (pl.)
Ellyn – Elven males (pl.)
Geilu, Gwador nîn! – Blessings, my Sworn-brother!
A! Suilad, Mellyth nîn! – Oh! Hello, my friends!
Penig ind? - Are you insane?
Gin allon - I'm begging you.
Ai! Naneth nin? – Eek! My mother?"
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NOTES:
[1] From "What Makes a King," CH 22