* This chapter has not been beta read. I apologise for the roughness.
** All present dialogue in this chapter is Sindarin.
*** No known timeline for next chapter yet.
**** Thanks to all who have enquired after the next chapter. At this point I have no intention of abandoning.
Pretty and colourful, the serving buffet was filled and enough for twenty. Petite cakes, tarts, and sweets, delicately decorated with moulded sugar brightly coloured with fruit dyes, glazed dried fruits, and drippings flavoured by a rare dark bean only found in the hot jungles far away to the east.
From the side entrance, a young serving elleth floated in with a tea tray, balancing dainty cups and a pot of fragrant tea. Her steps did not make a hint of noise. The chamber was eerily silent.
Despite his ill heart, Legolas amused himself remembering the boisterous women of Carthal; their laughter and singing, with Mydedis and Mereniel's constant bickering, Foruyndes singing wrong words to well known songs. Even old Sali's distasteful antics; passing close enough to brush passed him, or trying to land a pinch with eyes filled with sly intent.
The children running amuck through the hall, trailing mud and screeching with gay noise.
The rangers singing to many mugs of ale after a long day of duty.
It surprised him just how much he missed them.
Again his eyes trailed around the distilled chamber, tastefully decorated if a little sparse, silent serving elves moving about unseen-
Three days had passed since Legolas returned to his father's halls in Lasgalen. From his flight from the north the world had grown quiet. Three days he'd walked the halls, his fellow elves standing aside to make way for their prince with a bow, their eyes never truly meeting his.
His father's kingdom was too quiet. Mundane, and with so little warmth.
How he now longed to be seated beside his friends back in Cathal's hall for afternoon tea, enduring all their banter and joviality. Their laughter and honest friendship. Urion and Aragorn to one side, Joust and the two youngsters, Baradon and Laeron on the other. Mereniel and Cordoves bickering with Camaenor. Cunning Faron and morose Sirdhem across the table with all the others of their 'group'. And little Briel coaxing her way uninvited to sit on his lap, grinning victoriously and swiftly helping herself to his dessert plate.
How much did living in a human community change him? Did he not long ago escape for peace, to be away from all the noise?
Upon arrival his father welcomed him 'home' with their customary embrace, a custom established nigh thirty years ago, then ushered him quickly into the king's private halls. There his father plied him with food and wine, and pressed him for information.
Legolas held his tongue on anything other than Carthal's situation, giving him a full account of the Dunedain status and the missing army of Angmar. At the conclusion of Legolas' report Thranduil wasn't to act in haste, instead deciding to sent word out through his spy network to bring back further information regarding Angmar's army.
'Within a week,' Thranduil had soothed his son, 'or thereabouts. Henceforth I will know how to proceed.'
When his father broached the subject Legolas bore no intention of discussing, he prevaricated and pled in need of cleansing and rest.
Thranduil was not fooled but bid him good night.
For two days since, Legolas craftily avoided talking any other topic.
Craftily, yes, but it was also clear Thranduil was displeased. Who knew when the king's patience would wear thin? Soon he would demand an explanation.
At least for the present Legolas was grateful.
Looking at the colourful spread filling every space on the table, some delicate with flavour whilst others bursting, he could not help but yearn for Sali's scones with butter and honey.
With a nasal sigh, he reached in and pulled out the pouch from inside his tunic. Fondling gently in his fingertips, he brought it to his nose and breathed in deeply.
A parting gift from Foruyndes; her powers for foresight astonishing once again. Saying nothing but a few stifled coughs she pounced of him before he'd left. Thrusting a vittles bag into his arm and a leather pouch stuffed to the brink of dried urulias and left him with a dramatic swish of her skirts.
He savoured the warming scent down to his toes. What the mystical herb failed to warm was the deep hole in his chest.
Nor would it bury the memories which were always so keen to play on his tender spirit-
So light in his arms, under his hands all soft and silky, but then firm with lasting youth, wholly feminine and delighting. Fragrant and sweet. The most luxuriant confection. Her embrace insistent, ensnaring, and him a willing captive to her passion. The taste of her mouth, her tongue, feeding yet starving him for more, driving him to the cusp of madness . . .
Abruptly he surfaced from the memory. Pulling the pouch away from his face, he quickly but discreetly homed it safely back inside his tunic.
It was fruitless, however. For there was but one whose approach failed his notice.
It seemed Thranduil's patience was now at an end.
"My son."
The reproach in those two words grated upon his nerves. "I do not wish to speak of it."
His father didn't press or insist. Warily Legolas glanced through the corner of his eye; Thranduil's long pale fingers picked a small rose decorated cake. His ancient head lifted and Legolas was skewed by his probing eyes.
Turning back, Legolas stood taller and vowed he would not play his father's game.
Behind him Thranduil slid a chair along the floor; slowly, the sound low, four wooden legs scraping along the stones, threatening a shiver to his spine. His father 'knew' it irritated his ears.
The chair stopped. Thranduil sat, the seat cushion gushing air under his weight. Legolas heard the cake breaking away under the tear of teeth. Then chewing. Slow, slow chewing . . .
Legolas faced him. Thranduil's eyes, the same silver grey of his father and son, stared back patiently. Calculating. Swallowing his mouthful, Thranduil took another bite, meticulous, his gaze unmoving. Chewing, rhythmic . . .
Grind.
Grind.
Grind
. . . Swallow.
Dropping his eyes, Legolas released his tightly clenched fists. In all his years he'd never succeeded in withstanding his father's . . . ways. "Father-" grasping his arms over his chest having no idea how to begin.
"Legolas," Thranduil sniffed, "I am hardly at your feet."
Gritting his teeth, he raised his eyes.
"Thank you," Thranduil commented lightly, "Now speak with your tongue what your eyes already confess. The lack of ring on your finger means you remain unwed?"
"My eyes may tell you many things," he muttered, "but my fingers speak the truth."
Thranduil breathed in noisily through his nose, "Has this person who robbed you of your love also left you impure? You gave yourself to her?"
His eyes went wide, "I did not!" He breathed hard," How can you think me so low?"
Thranduil waited coolly.
Choking down into the pit of his stomach, he quivered from the effort, "I-am-not-impure."
The same silver eyes as his own gave no reprieve.
"You bid me speak," Legolas reminded, his calm already pushed to the limit, "Will you hear me or not?"
Finally Thranduil eased his stare and lounged back in his chair, his long legs crossing, "Speak."
Legolas spared a moment to brace himself. This would not end well. Even so, without going into great detail, Legolas confessed his story.
Admitting Eryndes, Mistress of Carthal and kin to Aragorn, the rightful heir of men, was the one who'd taken his heart did little to appease his father's outrage and Thranduil tore at once to his feet. His long powerful strides him taking him across the room, his bulk tense and face as hard as stone. He said nothing for a long time.
Legolas waited with bated breath. His father was not known for witless rages but that didn't meant it was not impossible.
Then after what felt an eternity, without looking at him Thranduil waved for Legolas to continue.
When Legolas got to the last, most painful part of his tale, his head whipped around, one of his bold brows lifted, "This mortal rejected 'my' son."
"She knew not my lineage," Legolas growled lowly, his top lip curling, "her rejection is no reflection upon you, father."
There was another long pause.
"You made an offer without your name?" The quietness of his inquiry was not good.
"I- never intended not telling her-"
Thranduil's snort cut him off, "You would but after she accepted you?"
Legolas swallowed against the rising pressure in his throat and chest, "Nay, at the time-"
"You 'forgot'?"
Legolas blinked and slowly his brow lowered, "You find this amusing?"
"Indeed, I do not. My son, birthed from the great line of noble sindar, offering himself of marriage to a mortal peasant?"
"She is not a peasant!"
His father glowered darkly, his thick brows lowering over his eyes, "And furthermore neglecting to include his name in his proposal?" Thranduil soured, "Perhaps her rejection is well and wise."
Those words hit like a strike in the face. "How can you say that? Her choice . . . is a-a wasting sickness in my heart!"
"Draw breath, my son," his father bid gently, "I did not mean to cause you pain."
"I had to act! In haste!" Legolas gushed forward, "My failure to declare myself sooner did nought but allow another to her door. My name would have little bearing if her attentions were stolen by a callous thief!"
"Then your proposal was based upon jealousy?"
"Upon love, father! My love and the love I know she bares for me!"
"Calm yourself, there is no need to shout. Are you so sure of her love?"
"Yes! At first my inexperience fed my doubts but all was revealed after I . . ." he snapped his lips shut, unwilling to share the precious, and private moment.
"After you?"
"Made myself known," he said through gritted teeth.
Thranduil's eyes darkened. "You imposed yourself on her? With her permission, I do hope? From your face it would seem not." With a dramatic flare, Thranduil threw himself back into his chair. Legolas stared at him, his blood thudding in his ears. "Are you sure it was not just your own heart you saw, or relief she didn't cry foul against your - imposition?"
Legolas shook his head slowly, his fists squeezing tighter-
"Or perhaps what you saw was promiscuity by her sheer lack of virtue-"
"Shut up!" was out before he could stop it. Staring agog, ashamed, he waited for the avalanche to fall. Never in all his years had he ever been so rude to his father.
Thranduil however stared back at him, waiting too and gave nothing away.
"You are wrong and if you knew her . . ." Legolas tried, his shame and anger, his heartache wrestling with his control. With a long sigh, he stopped. It was pointless to argue. Thranduil only ever saw things the way he wanted to see them.
There was nothing more to say.
Fists unclenching, he spun on his heels for the exit-
"Legolas."
The soft plea caught his steps but did not turn to him.
"You're hurting and this aggrieves me. But you must come to sense; mortals are fickle. Untrustworthy. They don't know love as we do. Learn from this. Give yourself time to heal, and become stronger for it."
His head shook before he finished. "Years ago I would've agreed," he stated firmly, "but to hear you now shows how little you know of humans."
Thranduil hissed. "You, a child, thinks he knows more than his king-?"
"Perhaps it is not she who fails to be worthy, Adar, but I," he stared down his quickly silent father and confessed what was truly at the heart of his pain, "when all I have ever known is grief and hate? Maybe my heart is what is impure."
The hard steel behind his father's eyes melted, "No, my son-"
"It was out of concern for 'my' fate she refused me. Fearing for my life!" he pounded his chest. "With your infinite wisdom, is that not love; selfless and sacrificial? How does it fit in with your view of mortals?" he shot a glance back at him, "I won't heal. Not in the way you seek."
This time his father did not stop him.
"My lord!" She strode swiftly into the chamber, neck to toe in her forest leathers and armed for patrol, "I heard you'd returned but your father's orders forbade bringing the patrol back sooner." She came around the tables and daybeds of his private suite to stop before him, face beaming with a wide smile offering her bow.
Legolas allowed her bow but took her shoulder in far less formal greeting; as a friend. "Tauriel."
She went to return his gesture but her hand stopped halfway to his shoulder, "My dear friend, what has happened?" She finished returning the gesture, her frown deepening.
And it had been said sylvan weren't as perceptive as the sindar?
Legolas tried to ease the severity of his face, "I am pleased to see you." He was pleased to see her and she looked unchanged and unaffected by time or season.
"Legolas, I see your eyes-"
"I have a gift for you," he spoke over her, lifting the object for her to see. A rock, jagged, and dark in colour. "Not as large as I'd have wanted. Considering it came from battle damage of times past, I think it is better not to be any larger, no?"
"Carthal Manor?" Tauriel inquired with interest despite her persistent frown.
"It looks dull but with your skill and decent light-," he shrugged.
"As Carthal Manor holds to its fame." Accepting the rock from him she peered in closer, "lodestone, yes, and I can see the slight schist-"
"Please spare me the particulars of rocks," he scorned lightly, "I am no dwarf."
She chuckled, "I won't bore you. Thank you."
He smiled genuinely and lead her back outside his suite. There was little of interest there and only served to remind him of the cone of isolation surrounding him.
"How has it been?" Legolas asked quietly as they walked together down the halls.
Her full wide lips lifted further, "You mean to ask how has your father has coped with your absence?" She continued when he returned her smile, "He is as he always is; almighty, all knowing, moody and misses his son."
His smile dropped. He felt Tauriel's keen eyes boaring, searching . . .
"You're too rigid," Tauriel announced loudly, "Your journey home was tiresome?"
Legolas blinked, "Rigid?"
"You barely stand and walk like an elf anymore." She stood up tall, proud, even though her stature was laughable compared to his. "Or is it you've been on flat ground too long; you wouldn't pass as a challenge anymore. These Dunedain rangers have made you soft?"
"The Dunedain may not be able to bound through the trees like us, but they are hardly soft," His eyes narrowed, "and you'd better be prepared to back up your words."
"One circuit; tonight the loser serves the other's cup."
Legolas' smile grew.
A handful of minutes later they stood poised, abreast, muscles flexed in anticipation.
Not too far off a leaf bent dangerously towards the ground, swaying gently with the weight of a single drop of dew clinging to its tip.
The leaf bobbed and swayed-
-then shot up straight with the release of its burden.
Legolas was quicker, his sharp reflexes gaining him a full metre. The forest floor was damp and sponge-like from the constant winter runs. Yet his booted feet did not dig in. Each flying stride barely skimmed the leaves and grass; his tread so weightless and nimble.
From behind him, Tauriel leapt. Snagging a branch, she took to the canopy. A foolish tactic was Legolas' first thought, but she quickly recovered the ground lost from his perfect start.
Bloody pulsing under his skin, Legolas leaped skywards with a primal growl and a smirk. Taking to the trees so quickly might have afforded her a lead, but it was going to be short lived. If she was slower than he on the ground, she was outmatched utterly in the trees. She did not have his lengthy stature.
Tauriel was quite short for an elf.
Blood now pounding like a fine bred horse changing into the frey, Legolas used his longer legs to full advantage. Pushing harder he increased the distance, striding and swinging further between the trees. His arms and shoulders push and pulled, soaring him forth in flight. The fresh, fragrant air whisked by his face. Swarms of insects dived from his path. Woody twigs bare by winter brushed by him and birds squawked in irritation to the sleepy afternoon's disturbance.
Grinning now, Legolas soared, his body light and free in the treetops. His lungs breathed in the life of his old home, his forest, the place of his own roots firmly buried into his soul.
With a cocky chuckled, he snatched off from the path, swinging and leaping to a short cut to the left. Tauriel glanced at him, but didn't stop her own flight or change her path.
Using the trunk of a large willow, he hugged and threw out his legs, sailing free-
Straight into a swarm of bees!
Swearing, he twisted mid flight to avoid the angry hive, skimming the outer edges. A handful of bees gave pursuit, then gave up. Their quarry was fast and whose direction was away.
Legolas however immediately knew he'd lost strides. He pushed, harder, flinging himself through the canopy from tree to tree like a skipping insect on a pond.
Ahead of him, Tauriel reached the finish tree first.
Two steps behind Legolas crossed the tree. The bees had cost him.
Both panting, Tauriel owned the greater smile. "You shouldn't have tried to cheat with that short cut."
It has felt good to be out amongst the treetops, flying, breathing, the loss barely stung at all. The challenge and the forest given him new life.
He cocked his head, "A different branch and you call it cheating?"
"And running straight into that nest like a clumsy elfling. Where was your unrivalled sight?" She calmed her breath then cackled, "My cup awaits your service!"
With a raised brow he stared at her with challenge as was his instinct. Always playful banter, lively, passionate arguments, and even flirtation were at his core, hidden away from the world by layer upon layer of taught decorum.
"My lord," she quickly added, lowering her eyes.
His spirit dampened. He forced the corners of his mouth up. "Regardless what changes in the world it is . . . comforting you will never." Comforting and yet not quite enough. It wasn't her fault; she'd been born to see him as her prince. Even after six hundred years she would always demur. She'd never stand up to him as an equal. Sure, she'd have a go sometimes, but never seeing it through. Perhaps that was the difference, the defining flaw; in her eyes he would never be any less than her king's son.
And that was the essential difference and why he could never feel the same for Tauriel.
'Put the eyebrow down, Master Elf. You lost! This evening I 'own' you.'
Keeping his face lightly amused, he washed Eryndes' boastful blue eyes from of his mind. "You're right; tonight I am at your service."
He held out his hand in supplication and her smiling returning, she took it.
It was on their return walk inside when she finally spoke. "Of what changes do you speak this time?" she asked as gently as the soft late afternoon breeze rustling the leaves. He had missed the breeze in the leaves, the scent of late afternoon.
"You walk as an elf once more, being out in the forest has rekindled you," she continued when he remained silent, "but not even a challenge has moved the sadness from your eyes."
He really didn't want to talk about it. Once with his father was suffering enough-
"And none could mistake the shift in your light. You have love."
"Tauriel," he sighed wearily.
"You don't wish me to ask if you're wed? Do your eyes lie?"
He said it quickly, harshly, "There is no need to ask; I am not."
"Then-?"
"My eyes speak the truth; I have succumbed to love . . . but was refused." It was becoming easier to say those words.
For a moment Legolas stared at Tauriel. He turned away from her and kept walking.
"Legolas," she followed, "Refused? Refused how?"
"Marriage," he uttered quietly. "She refused to marry me."
"Who would ever refuse you?"
That made him scoff, "Apparently there is one."
"Who is this person?"
He walked to the side where a fallen branch lay in the golden light. He sat heavily. Without looking he felt Tauriel standing close, ready to share in his confidence. Silent and waiting.
"Aragorn's sister."
At once her fair face deepened, "Aragorn has no sister."
"You think I wouldn't know that!" He grimaced seeing her flinch, "Forgive me. The grief in my heart . . ."
"I understand," she slid onto the branch next to him. "Aragorn does have a sister?"
"By vow of honour, not blood."
"Will you speak of her?"
He could've refused and for whatever reason he chose not too. Maybe he yearned to share the burden. "The first time I saw her, I was an clumsy oaf. I saw her labouring amongst fruit trees and felt the inexplicable need to speak to her . . . in doing so found her likable and thought there was no harm in it."
"In it?"
"Enjoying my attraction," he shifted awkwardly-
"You mean you-?" her mouth grew rigid but her eyes danced.
Clearing his throat, "Flirted, yes."
Tauriel shook with amusement. "To later discover she was his kin?"
"I was embarrassed; foolhardy. A mortal woman and Aragorn's sister notwithstanding? I did try to overcome it, this . . . her influence over me, but Carthal has a way of keeping everyone close and no matter the distance between us; I was . . . caught." He rubbed his face, "Tauriel, I could barely speak to her and the times I could was with the tongue of brute; harsh, cruel even."
"You must have found a way?"
"I did. After awhile, when I accepted- when I stopped fighting it, I wasn't eloquent in the least but over time . . . speaking grew easier. I felt I had to follow this urging, the call of my heart, and I kept trying." The muscles around his shoulders relaxed and the corners of his mouth threatened to lift. "Time passed, we grew comfortable, too comfortable perhaps, and she came to value me as a friend."
"And to love you?"
He breathed his answer, "Yes."
They sat there in comfortable silence. After his confession, he did feel better.
The forest around them began the turn down towards the evening. The leaves and grasses took on a deeper colour, the air shifted as it cooled and all manner of birds sung to the end of the day.
Breathing in, his mind wandered. What would she be doing at that time? Helping the women in the kitchen to prepare supper? Or joining Aragorn and the others for a pre-dinner ale by a fireplace in the great hall?
Would his name be uttered? Did brother and sister talk about what happened? Did she bear him ill will and wish him never to return?
"Come," Tauriel said finally, cutting into his thoughts. She stood in front of him with a smile, "I wish to exhibit my work."
"I think they're fine," he commended honestly, turning one of a life-sized oak leaf made from a transparent green stone, "very fine indeed."
Tauriel beamed, "Thank you. Though I may never obtain the skill of a dwarf, I do find the discipline pleasurable."
Looking up from the oak leaf, he scanned the shelving displaying her work, "You do not share your art with the others."
"I did for a while. Most supported it, perhaps assuming it a passing phase, easing the despair of losing my love. Nowadays I keep them to myself. Some I trade with the folk passing our borders. Your father doesn't approve either. He pretends I paint and has the elders look the other way when I leave to trade."
Legolas chuckled. No, Thranduil wouldn't openly approve any elf delving the hobbies of dwarves, such as stone sculpting. His father would never stop Tauriel though. And although Legolas found it enjoyable to tease her, he was glad she did it too. The figures and miniatures of animals, flowers and iconic buildings she crafted were beautiful, and a testament to her enduring love for that dwarf.
The nephew of Thorin, whatever his name was.
And no elf should wholeheartedly disapprove of any harmless pastime if it was done for love. Not Thranduil and not Legolas.
Perhaps now he understood even better than before.
"That one you're holding? It's made of omphacite jadeite stone, rare and incredibly dense."
Legolas raised an eyebrow at the stone crafted into a leaf, "A difficult toil to make?"
"I made it for you."
Warmth spread through him, "For me?" then he frowned and levelled his glare, "'A green oak leaf'? Your attempt at humour?"
"Not at all," she walked over and took it from him. "Rare, dense? That would be my attempt at humour." She handed it back. "But I would never dare call my prince so."
With a shake of his head he accepted the stone with a chuckle.
"Thank you." He secured the stone in a deep pocket, "I should let you dress for the feast."
"Any suggestion for the Carthal stone?"
Legolas took a moment. "Blackthorn berries."
Tauriel smiled in pleasant surprise. "They grow there?"
"And made into fair jams and compote."
Considering for a moment, she then smiled, "Ever since I've know you, you've always tasted after sweeter things."
He didn't reply.
'You are such a child; always seeking sweets!'
"Thank you for the gift," cradling the stone oak leaf, he turned and went through the opening to the outside walkway-
"Legolas?" Tauriel followed after him. When he stopped to look back, she hesitated, "I'm glad your back, however long. We miss you. Your father most of all."
A grunt was his only reply.
He watched them from the trees, not hiding exactly, but also not standing in plain sight. One might call it a choice to stand in company with a pair of fine pear trees.
"Sindar," Briel whispered from his side, "Shouldn't we move closer? I can't hear the story."
"You have legs, child, if you wish to join them then do so."
Briel sniffed and drew in closer to rest the back of her head against his stomach. Automatically he ran his hand over her head in affection. Her long hair smooth under his fingers.
He was becoming partial to the darker hair of her kinsfolk. The womenfolk mostly, for it was they who generally took greater pains in grooming. Unlike their male counter-folk.
'Hers' was his favourite; longer than her back to brush the span of her hips and as thick as a boat's anchor rope when braided. Dark and glossy as the finest onyx, and in the bright afternoon light it looked from afar like the breaking of the dark onto a brand new day.
During the sleepy lull of night he'd imagined her hair loose, splaying messily over his pillows . . .
Legolas cleared his throat and reshuffled his position against the pear tree. This was not the place or in the company to remember scandalous fantasies.
From his not quite so hiding place, he watched her sitting in amongst the women and children. Etchel was telling them a tale of mystery, subtle clues and waiting for the first child to arrive with the correct answer. Eryndes and the other women shared knowing looks whilst giving whispered encouragement and clues to those children closest to them.
From his position he could also admire her fine hands at work pulling needle with thread; so small and delicate, yet labouring with practiced ease.
"But why can't we, so we can hear?"
"Sometimes it is agreeable to join them for a story and not be obligated to be the one doing the telling." He was being honest. Every time he went to join them, Etchel pressed him to take over the storytelling. While he didn't mind for the most part, was it necessary every time?
Briel sighed dramatically and grabbed his hand within her tiny one. "Come."
Her voice carried and as the group turned to them. Legolas was now obligated to join them.
Etchel's face lit up, "Ah, Sindar-!"
Briel kept her pull on his hand firm and directed him over to a spot just passed Gueniel and Eryndes.
"Respectfully, Etchel," Briel announced firmly, "Sindar and I've only come to listen." With a quiet titter from the women, Etchel looking surprised, Briel tugged his hand one last time and collapsed to the grass with no hint of grace.
Folding his long legs, Legolas sat beside her-
"Of course," Etchel said pleasantly, "But to listen in is not free."
"Pardon?" Legolas' stiffened.
Gueniel reached over and dumped a whole hand full of fabric shreds into his lap, along with a ball of thread skewered with a needle, "Get cracking."
Legolas relaxed and looked at the pile of fabrics spilling through his fingers while a satisfied Etchel continued the telling of the mystery.
"This is the design," Eryndes advised softly as not to be heard by the others, scooting closer and holding out a square of fabric, scraps all sewn together to form a pattern; they were making patchwork. "It's a down cover for Celegeth. A traditional gift to a bride."
He scanned the pattern then nodded, "Running stitch?"
Eryndes stared at him, her lips apart.
"Do not look so surprised," he admonished her indignantly, "I 'do' tend to my own mending."
Her face lit with amusement. She lent in further brandishing a small flask, "Don't let the children see."
Discreetly, he took a nip. Brandy and nothing special, but he handed it back with genuine gratitude. "One of the many secrets of women?"
She laughed quietly, "You saw nothing."
"Indeed," he agreed conspiringly and took needle to fabric. "What other secret's do these female gatherings hold?"
This time when she leaned in to whisper, her shoulder grazed his upper arm. Her almost never loose hair fell down to skim over the leather of his trousers. "Well," she breathed, barely holding her laugh, "it is said that the first maiden to draw blood upon a needle will be the first to lose their virtue. After the bride, of course."
Legolas snorted, "That is preposterous."
Her hand covered her laugh but not the mischief in her eyes. "Don't stick yourself or there'll be a scandal."
"I am hardly a maiden, Eryndes." He threw her a conspiring look through the corner of his eyes, "What if we were to both draw blood? At the same moment?" He nodded to the needle in her hand. "How scandalous-?"
When her laugh rose from muted to loud, Legolas' joining her but raised his head, "Forgive us, mistress Erchel. Please continue."
"Scandalous would not begin to explain it!" Eryndes whispered when Erchel continued her tale, "The women would be in frenzy!"
"Well, shall we?" he smirked, holding up his needle and pretending to aim it at his finger-
"Don't!" she gushed, grabbing his finger before he could stab it. He playfully pulled away, she pulled back until finally she yielded and let him go, "Only you would delight in causing a cacophony so you can watch in amusement."
Gueniel nudged her friend sternly, "Shh. You want the children to hear?"
Both he and Eryndes tamed their laugh for a while until they couldn't contain themselves any longer and continued whispering conspiringly.
He was slower than the women, and although yes he did know how to sew it had never been enjoyable. It was something he'd done through necessity, birthed from the first time he joined the rangers in the Wild.
But that afternoon's labour earnt him three more nips of brandy, the esteem and gratitude of the women, and a few hours exchanging secret whispers with his love in the warm sunshine.
It had been that evening when Celbriel, Celegeth's elder maiden sister came to him with a token of appreciation on behalf of her family.
"It isn't necessary," he'd told her, embarrassed.
She had been firm though, and didn't accept his refusal, "We're honoured you would take the time."
When he'd accepted her gift of a handsome wooden horse comb she smiled a smile to rival her sisters and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Joust had watched them with astonishment, "This is how you would challenge me for the affection of the womenfolk with knitting and needles?"
Legolas' answer was a very-smug-smirk.
"Why do they insist every good intention must be met with reciprocation?" he asked Eryndes when they'd ventured out for their walk that night.
Eryndes met his question with a wry smile, "And elves are entirely altruistic?"
"Of course not," he countered, "but we don't feel the need to pay for every good deed and intent."
"Words can be cheap; easily spoken aplenty. What other way can a poor people show true gratitude than with our labours or possessions?"
"I have no need of possessions," Legolas felt uncomfortable admitting it, "my father is wealthy. I feel, guilt, each time I am gifted with something which means so much to them."
"It is not statement about your need, but their gratitude and their need to show it. It doesn't matter to them if you have a kingdom of wealth or are a pauper. You help when you don't have to and the Dunedain find this . . . remarkable. Such generosity must be answered."
Legolas looked away into the night, "And what do you suggest I do with all these gifts?"
Eryndes shrugged, her arm looped around his tightening with the gesture, "You're the wise one." She then sobered for a moment, "Although I would suggest not returning anything or re-gifting, at least not to another Dunedan; you know the gossip of small communities."
For many amble steps along the wall they remained silent, comfortable yet both lost in thought.
"You say your family is wealthy," she tendered, "but what of you? Do you not yearn to build a nest of your own? By your own means?"
"I am not a bird."
She playfully slugged him in the shoulder, her thumb on the outside he was pleased to note, "You know what I mean!"
Blinking away the memory, Legolas straightened to loosen his back muscles. The memory was not old. How quickly did the weather change in the north, how different the people were from his own, and how so comfortable he'd been.
She called him the wise one.
Later she called him a fool.
A fool because he did want to build his own nest. His own life. With her by his side. A life together.
Pursing his lips, Legolas swallowed against the lump in his throat.
If only she'd accepted them as fated, he'd still be there.
No. That wasn't true. He'd still be in Lasgalan; counselling his father toward aid was likely the most important mission he'd complete for the Dunedain people.
Taking a long drawn breath, Legolas took in the vast halls of his father's kingdom; open caverns filled with soft light, streams of water casually cascading through rocky underground rivers, elves meandering with quiet chatter, cheerful music and the smell of a magnificent feast being readied . . .
The difference wasn't that he was here, but that he was miserable.
"Your bearing is stiffened again."
Legolas grimaced but picked up the wine pitcher from the table beside him and walked over to her, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Tauriel held up her cup and he poured her wine as was the wager he'd lost. "I have a theory, if you'll hear me?"
He shrugged, not feeling the mood for anything; not feasting, dancing, or even talking.
"It is not for the time spent in the flat lands and outside of the forest," she took the pitcher from him and poured wine into another cup. "It is the weight of your heart."
He looked at the wine filled cup she held out to him.
"It wasn't a fair wager if you were distracted by hurt of love."
He closed his eyes, "Tauriel-"
"What I don't understand . . .?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"She refused your offer of marriage yet accepted your courtship? Why ever would she-?"
"We weren't courting," he admitted in a low growl, "At the time my intention was to seek courtship but I – asked the wrong question."
Tauriel offered no comment, until finally, "Will you tell me now? What happened?"
Legolas' initial reaction was to tell her to keep to her own business. He didn't. After their discussion that afternoon, it did feel better to have confided in a friend; one who hadn't judged him like his father had in the days past.
Tauriel would never judge him unfairly.
"I'd be honoured to venture north and seek vengeance for my prince?"
He cracked a smile, "Vengeance? Not necessary. Had she clubbed me in the face when I kissed her? Shrieking she thought I loathsome, foul and disgusting? No," he looked down, "No, this-this was much worse..."
"You-" she started tentatively with a sly smile, "You kissed her?"
Warmth spread over his cheeks, "Aye. Clumsily."
Then the warmth faded and he told his story.
When he told of Eryndes' final words then marching away from him, Tauriel held his hand with sympathy. "What happened next?"
Legolas stared after her, each of her steps in the snow driving the stake deeper into his heart.
His anger lessoned.
Seeing through her deception it didn't change anything. The end was the same; he'd been rejected.
He was alone, as he'd always been.
Where had he gone wrong? So very wrong?
He recounted their embrace. Having held her in his arms, so soft and delighting.
An uncertain first kiss, warm supple lips against his, gently leading, teaching, until he'd willingly surrendered to feeling.
Made delirious by her taste.
Driven to madness by her passion for him.
The elation of finally revealing himself to her.
She did not understand. None of it. She knew nothing of elven love and how any elf would willingly make the ultimate sacrifice for it.
If maybe he'd taken the time to explain before proposing?
If he'd asked her for a period of courtship? . . . allowed her time to consider, accept . . . instead of . . . grabbing her, losing control of his own desires . . . then begging marriage . . . only then to explain their love may eventually kill him.
He'd been hasty, true. But she?
A fool, was he? Befuddled?
To know love yet callously throw it away; she was even more foolish than he was.
He would go.
Now. What was to be gained by remaining? If she would not have him, then she would do without him.
Marching around the trees and the manor coming into view, Legolas sharply came to a halt.
A man stood there alarmingly without his notice. In her quick retreat, Eryndes hadn't seen him either.
It was the last person he'd wish to see. It was Gell.
And he was furious. "Teaching her to fight, was it? Rather strange teaching technique. Unless you're instruction included tongue warfare."
"Get-out- of-my-way."
Gell didn't heed his warning. "If you were any other, I'd flay you where you stand."
Legolas reacted instinctively, tensing, drawing him up to full height, "You would not land a single strike, not one, before I kill you."
Gell reacted too, drawing his longsword slowly, menacing, "You are unarmed, Sindar."
He stuck out his chin high, smirking down at him with sadistic malic. "Just try it, 'human'," he spat, "See how far you get."
Gell held his stare. His posture showing no sign of backing down. If they fought it was clearly going to be grievous; neither of them would back down until the other was incapacitated or dead.
But then Gell surprised him. With a long drawn sigh, he sheathed his sword.
Of course that didn't mean the man wouldn't jump him. Legolas shoved passed him, daring him to try it.
Gell didn't answer the challenge and Legolas continued walking.
"I cannot fight you over a woman yet to be bound by betrothal."
Legolas stopped, his eyes narrowing back at him.
Gell's body was still as rigid as his eyes and just as ready to pounce. "But I warn you, the Dunedain'll seek retribution, elven lord or not. If you touch her again, if you hurt her, thieve her virtue-"
Instantly he was in Gell's face, "(Speak again and I'll tear your tongue out through your rectum!)"
The man didn't flinch, "Do your worst, elf, because I will speak; to all who'll listen. You'll be run out of here as quick as that pony of yours can run. You dally with her again-"
"(Dally)?" he spat, his whole body shaking with the insult, "(Filthy human! Elves do not dally)!"
The hard, fury edges on the man's face fell, his jaw slackening enough to open his mouth, "You mean, that you actually-? Your intentions are sincere? Honourable?"
"My intentions are not your business!"
"-with a 'mortal' woman?"
If men had half the hearing of an elf, Gell would've already known that. Baring his teeth, Legolas turned his back on him, "(Go mate with an troll!)"
"Sindar!"
The man's call went unanswered. Legolas would not waste any more time here, here where she was, where her suitor was, and he marched towards the manor. He would collect a few items from his room, then he would finally be free of this place . . .
"You were angry."
Legolas swallowed his mouthful of wine then looked at her incredulously, "Shouldn't I have been?"
"Well, yes," she acknowledged, "but your anger has a way of . . . blinding you. Would things not have changed if you'd stayed? You do not regret leaving?"
"No," Legolas ground out, but then amended with further thought, "Perhaps a little in the way I left. I owed the friends I'd forged there better. I owed Aragorn better . . ."
"You mustn't go."
Legolas didn't pause, tightening Aglarebon's girth strap through the silver buckle.
"Melloneg, I need you here."
Using the leather ties, he fixed his pack to Aglarebon's saddle.
Aragorn's hand landed on the pack, "Give her time-"
"No," he circled around Aglarebon's hindquarters to the rest of his belongings.
"A few days. Or at least wait until morning?"
"I am not leaving because . . ." he stopped the lie before it was born. "I am leaving because-, however it is not the only reason. You may believe the addition of your ranger commander Gell and his soldiers will be sufficient to stop Angmar. We both know I do not."
"You're going to seek your father's aid?"
Finally he turned and looked at his friend, concern etched deeply upon his features. "For the Dunedain," he sighed, "for you and-" her name stopped in his throat, "for her."
Aragorn looked down and away, then with a slow shake of his head, came back to Legolas, "No, no. It doesn't have to be you. We can still send out riders. I need you! Here!"
Legolas gave his friend a patient look then continued his preparations. "My father will not be easily persuaded-"
"She is a foolish girl!"
Legolas nearly dropped the bag of vittles Foruyndes had mutely shoved at him before storming back towards the manor.
Aragorn took a step closer, "Don't mistake her actions. She doesn't know how to deal with your immortality. For Valar," he cried, thrusting a pointed finger towards the manor, "she wanted me to arrange a marriage to a stranger rather than face it!"
Clenching his eyes shut, Legolas fought to hold his temper. He was not going to stay and Aragorn's plea made the desire for escape dire. "Aragorn-"
"I warned you of her unworldliness, her naivety. She's injured you. But it is not the end; she will come to see reason. You must give her time to realise-"
"-her decision is made. As is mine." Tying the last to the saddle pack, Legolas pulled his travelling cloak over his shoulders and tucked the small leather pouch into his innermost breast pocket. "I am sorry, brother."
"I never thought revealing my sister to you would have caused a rift between us."
Aragorn's words put pause in his determination. With every effort to speak cautiously, he tried to amend something of the damage. "It pains me to know it has. I-regret that it has," he took a deep breath, "I would have you know I love you both regardless."
Aragorn slowly nodded.
Climbing up into Aglarebon's saddle, Legolas took the reins and urged him forward.
It wasn't until they'd cleared the stable doors that he heard Aragorn call out, "And we both love you. . ."
"And this is worse than being slapped and called loathsome?"
"Indeed."
"How?"
"She will not have me," he said at length, each word pressing a little in his chest, choking in his throat, "not because of choices I've made or the kind of person I am. No, it's something unchangeable, beyond my control. She rejects how I was born, an elf, immortal, and no other reason." He caught his breath, "If I were a man or she an elf-"
"Then you would not be who you are, nor she," Tauriel soothed, tentatively. "You're certain she returns your love?"
He turned away to hide from her scrutiny and refilled her cup first, "She wouldn't-confess it." He breathed in, "but she does."
"If she won't say then how can you be so sure? How . . . well do you know this 'woman'? The women of men are said to be devious-"
The wine pitcher hit the table with more force than necessary, "I warn you. Do not begin those horrid accusations-"
"I seek not to be cruel but what if toying with you was the truth?"
Her tone was softened and Legolas made the effort to check his temper. His spirit however felt lower than ever. "Tauriel, regardless of your intentions do not attack the woman I begged to marry not one month ago. My father has already done so and I care not for a repeat."
"I'm sorry, my friend. I wish for the right words, or that I could make things right for you. The only comfort from your father after Kili was . . . 'be grateful for the pain for it proves your love true'."
"Wisdom of my father's usual morbid tang." A small sad smile touched his lips, fleeting, then he turned away. "Excuse me, I will go make my excuses; my mood is not one for feasts tonight."
Tauriel tried to stop him, "But the feast is in your honour!"
"What does that matter?" he muttered. "Feasts are for celebration, joy. What have I to be joyous? I am here in the halls of my father, of my people, sulking. I've not spoken to my father in these days passed because he chooses to rejoice in 'the mortal's wisdom' for breaking our 'doomed relationship'."
"Your people wish to welcome you home!" she rushed after him through the high pathways far above the mulling crowds below.
"Home?" he scoffed, his longer legs outpacing her until she was trailing behind him in a light jog, "Not since the death of my mother have I known home. This is but a cold, empty cave, bereft of love, and I but a shadow, a haunting ghost of days long dead."
"It's not true. Legolas, your father loves you!"
He stopped, his head low, "Yes, I know. But am I not a constant disappointment to him? The son who will never be as great as his father?"
Two steps further and Legolas noted Tauriel had stopped. He looked back to see grief paining her beautiful face. Her eyes blinked, "It is not true."
Swallowing down the rest of his words and most private thoughts, back down to a place guarded beneath his every armour, he sighed, "Forgive me, my friend. It was not fair to have burdened you with this. Now I do see you were right; I should have stayed. Coming here was a mistake. I should have stayed at Carthal and faced my pain instead of running from it. I called her a coward, but am I not one too?" He gave her a reassuring smile that he did not feel, "Thank you for listening. You're a true friend. I will see you again before I leave."
He continued on his way-
"You're wrong, Legolas. Your father is proud-"
Her voice fell away when he shot around the corner. He didn't acknowledge the elves stepping aside to let him pass.
That's how he nearly missed seeing an elf of great importance.
Legolas stopped dead on the wooden walkway. "Bardir?"
"My lord?" Bardir answered with clear surprise, bringing his bowed head straight up.
"The king sent you to the north."
"Aye, my lord." The silvan spluttered to continue when Legolas waited,his expression hard, "I returned but a few hours ago."
"Yes?"
Bardir blinked, "I reported my findings directly to the king immediately."
Legolas breathed in to cool his irritation, "And what did you find? Speak."
Bardir's face fell in pity, "Oh, my lord, I regret to report; Carthal is under siege. An army of Angmar surrounds the Dunedain."
"There you are. My scout has returned with news-"
"Were you going to tell me?!" Legolas thundered, shooting through the double doorway into his father's council chamber. "The scout returned hours ago-!"
"Legolas!"
Words died in his throat.
In less than a blink Thranduil's bulk overshadowed him, his face broiling in fury, "I understand your pain but you will not disrespect me!"
Legolas swallowed.
"I am your father AND your king! Speak with respect or hold your tongue."
Pure anger wasn't ever seen in Thranduil's. Ever in control, never losing his temper . . . Legolas was shamed and his head hung low. "My lord, they are under siege."
"And what would you have me do? Send 'my' army and leave our people defenceless? I'm asking you, prince of Lasgalan, what would you have me do?"
He went to speak-
"Raise your head and look me in the eyes."
He did as bidden, but the sight of his still enraged father made his stomach clench. "I would help them."
The anger in Thranduil's eyes died, replaced once more by the controlled king, "Be specific! What sacrifice your people must make to save a couple hundred humans?" He raised a finger, "Oh, and not forgetting your ageing mortal friend and his sister, the one who tossed you aside."
Astonished, Legolas stared at him, mouth agape. The shame he'd felt melting and he stood sure footed, his mind clear. "You should do as you see fit, what is right for you and your people, my lord. And I shall do what I can. Excuse me, I have a long journey ahead of me." He bowed and started to turn-
"A lone elf?" Thranduil followed him, "As great a warrior as you are, my son, you cannot turn the tide of war."
Remaining facing the other way, he spoke in absence of feeling, "Maybe that is so but I go regardless. Nothing short of your dungeon will stop me."
"My dungeon?" the question was a mere whisper, "you think I'd chain you like a criminal?"
He didn't answer, only to look over his shoulder at him.
"You intend to die for them?" Thranduil demanded, his voice hollow.
"Yes, if that is all I can do, I would die for them. My mortal friend and brother, his people and yes, for the woman who rejects me." Legolas returned to face him fully, "but it doesn't have to be this way. Carthal is well defended, even an army as large as Angmar's would take massive losses to hold siege successfully. Losses and time. There are ways in, with a small force-"
"You ." Thranduil gained on him, the severity of his expression the gravest he'd ever seen. "There is not a soul on Earth I would trade for the life of my son. You I could never sacrifice."
Legolas felt his throat constrict, his words choking, "I do not ask you to-"
"And you will not let me protect you from your own folly, choosing a peasant mortal-"
"You and her are the same!" he snarled, standing in even closer, forgetting his father's height and any civility, "You both think I need saving! I am not a child. I make my own decisions! They are mine; successes, mistakes, failures, every one of them are mine to make!" He gasped, but it kept coming, pouring out from the place deep within him where he'd kept all the words he'd not dare speak, "You say I am precious to you? But what am I but your shadow if you won't let me be me! You ask why didn't I tell her my name? Because I feared she'd never look me in the eye! That we'd be ever less than equals. Because for once I was able to live my life out of your shadow, out of your constant condescension! To live by my own means, to have friends who weren't afraid of me, to-to earn another's love, to know her love, to trust her - praise be - for the person I am, not for who my father is!"
"Legolas."
The soft way Thranduil said his name stopped any further tirade, and he breathed, and felt moisture upon his cheeks. Reaching up he touched something which had not happened since his mother perished.
Darting back and burning with shame, he swiped away the wetness, as if he could hide them.
"Legolas," Thranduil repeated, and Legolas felt the touch on his shoulder, guiding him back, "look at me."
"Give me a moment for pity's sake-"
He stopped when his chin was taken, urging him back to face his father. But Thranduil's face held no disgust or anger. His long dark brows were deep, lowered over sad eyes. "Forgive me?"
Without no more words Thranduil swept him into his arms, his long broad frame wrapping around him.
All the things said over the past week flew away and Legolas returned the embrace tightly.
Neither spoke for a long moment. Legolas didn't feel anymore tears fall. His shoulders rose, he felt lighter, the weight hanging over him was gone.
"I know the trials upon the son of a king, I know it well. I lived it as you have. What you have yet to see-understand- is the fear every father faces. The consuming fear for his children. I would spare you every danger, every grief and heartache. I would keep you here where I am, where my sword is in my hand ready to protect you. And I would never wish you to know the pain of losing a wife as I have known, and by choosing a mort- this woman, it is guaranteed."
"It is still my choice-"
"Yes, it is," Thranduil let out his breath in finality. "I do not like it but you are right."
Legolas felt the arms around him loosen, and he was held at arm's length.
Thranduil's silver eyes bled into Legolas' face, full of love and sorrow. His hair shifted when his head shook slowly, "When your mother . . . I longed to join her. I will not say I did not. I did not, could not . . . It was for you I drew breath. When the emptiness consumed me, the grief ate at me . . . I held on . . . because I had you."
Legolas stared in disbelief. "You locked yourself away-"
"You lost your mother, I feared you witnessing your father's destruction too." He shook his head, "Over the years I've come to see my failures. It is a testament to your own stubbornness that my failings as a father held no catastrophic effect on you."
"You did not fail as a father-" he stopped seeing the small tell in the corner of Thranduil's mouth. He wasn't serious. Well, not completely. "May I surmise you're advising me to have a stubborn son, so when her time comes my heart will not fade and I won't join her in death?"
"If only the Creator would make the child as every bit as troublesome as you were, then your mother and I can revel in justice."
A smile threatened but then it bled away, "You forget, Adar, she refused me."
"Nonsense," he snorted, the great elf-king returning. "You are my son. You will change her mind."
His eyes were still sad from their shared memory of grief. Nonetheless he waved his hand impatiently, "Tell me, Legolas, what do you choose?"
Two days later Legolas hastily buckled his scaley shoulder armour over his toughened leather jerkin. Finally they were ready to leave. Finally Thranduil had declared them ready to leave. And now Legolas didn't wish to waste a moment longer. Though it was mid afternoon on a bleak, cold winter's day, he would not wait for morning. Every hour they delayed tortured him thinking of what could be befalling Carthal.
"My soldiers know their duty," Thranduil's voice cut into his thoughts. Looking up he saw his father leaning against the door to his sleeping quarters, "Tauriel knows her duty."
Two days they'd prepared. One hundred and fifty of Thranduil's troop were to accompany Legolas and Tauriel to the north; a three week journey to be taken in haste. For this to work, every detail had been planned, calculations made to ensure they'd arrive; quickly but strong and ready to fight.
Additionally, Thranduil and Legolas spent hours with Lanthir, Lasgalan's most experienced commander, whose age was greater than the king's father, to offer wisdom on how to break the siege.
That was if they reached Carthal in time.
"You have been given what you asked-"
"I am grateful-"
"Don't interrupt! Sometimes I wonder if you forget who here is king."
"Never, I assure you," Legolas countered lightly, confident this father was teasing.
Amusement did fill his father's eyes and a curve of a smile lit his lips, "The crown? Gives it away?"
"The clothes, also."
Thranduil clucked his tongue, "Yet you insist upon looking like a common hunter? The wind blew strong the day you were born to have fallen so far from my tree." He shook his head in mock despair.
Legolas crossed his arms over his chest, but kept silent.
"As I am your son," he threw out into the silence, "and I am to change her mind, have you no advice?"
Thranduil didn't miss a beat. "I sung to your mother."
Legolas' eyes narrowed and Thranduil chuckled deep in his throat, "If your woeful singing fails to please her, you could try the dwarven way and bang your head against a rock."
"Not funny, Adar." When his father did not speak further, he raised an eyebrow.
"You are certain of her love?" Thranduil smiled when Legolas's face hardened, "Very well. Remind her why she loves you. Stand firm. If her heart is true, she must respect your choice. Whether it leads to marriage will be up to her."
Thranduil breathed in deeply, "Now, my son, I've given all you have asked. The company is yours, they'll follow their prince's orders to their death. I beg of you in return to safeguard their lives. Do not enter into a hopeless confrontation, even if Carthal has long been lain to waste."
With injured pride, Legolas answered, "I have commander your soldiers for three thousand years-"
"Two thousand eight hundred and fifty seven years," Thranduil corrected. "But never like this. Love can make elves foolhardy."
Legolas sighed, "Jealous, too, I know, Adar."
Thranduil held a stern stare, "I simply request you to consult Tauriel and heed her advice if you ever feel conflicted."
Legolas stammered, "You'd trust Tauriel's wisdom above my own?"
"Generally? Certainly not. But in this? Has your love not already tainted your judgement? I count many such lapses just from what you have told me, and hazard a guess at what you haven't."
Legolas remembered the beast in the far western mountains. Though none could've anticipated being set upon by a beast of unknown origin and intentions, what continued to eat away at Legolas was the helplessness. Had the beast fought with intelligence and strategy, he might've won.
Leaving Eryndes to the beast's mercy and it would've been entirely his fault.
In a safer world, in a safer time, Legolas needn't worry leading Eryndes out into the wilderness, satisfied his skill and knowledge would ensure her safety.
But these were not safe times. Aragorn's anger was valid. As too was Thranduil's warning.
"You have my promise," he vowed.
Thranduil accepted with a small nod. A smirk edged the corner of his mouth. "Why 'sindar'? A tad garish, don't you think? Have you so little imagination?"
Legolas laughed. "Talk to the rangers. It was they who coined the name."
"Yes, well," Thranduil shifted on his feet. "Well. Go, Lord Sindar. Fare well and until you return to me, may the Creator keep you."
Legolas bowed low, formally, "And you, Adar. My king."