Chapter 2
Blue eyes the shade of a radiant summer sky snapped into focus as the click of an opening door pulled their owner from a slumber that had only become deep after long hours of restfulness and fitful tossing and turning. The open portal admitted rays of horribly bright sunshine, and the yet weary immortal hid his face in fluffy pillows, jerking a silken sheet over his head to aid the banishment of light. It did little good, and the accompanying sounds of birdsong, impatient voices and a woman's humming helped not at all. He hissed under his breath, and conducted a silent countdown to the moment when the order to rise from his bed would come, followed by sighing and that irritating noise adults made with their tongues when they were displeased. Five... He pulled the blankets closer, savouring their comfort. Four... He pushed his head deeper into the pillows. Three... He released an exhalation of breath, resigned to his fate. Two... He gripped the sheets, preparing to push them away and begin a morning he did not wish to greet. One...
He sat up swiftly before a voice could intrude, only just resisting the urge to touch a hand ruefully to his head as it spun with the sudden movement, and his heart immediately sank. The image of his wooden house in the forest with its quaint, small rooms and modestly decorated furniture was yet imprinted in his mind, and he still received a surprise each morning when he woke to be greeted with splendour and the impressive grandeur of a home befitting individuals of a higher standing than he had ever imagined he himself would become. Surveying the richness of his new sleeping quarters, Thranduil could not help but grimace. Although he was sure he would become accustomed to the large bed, polished woodworked wardrobes and toy chest, expensive paintings upon the walls and his very own private wash chamber, he was equally as certain he would never warm to them. Just as he would never warm to the woman guilty of that humming, who had been appointed his carer in the absence of his soon to be crowned parents.
Casting the maiden's turned back a baleful look as she sorted through his coronation clothes, the child slipped from his bed and out onto the marble balcony which gave magnificent views for miles over the region of Rhovanion. He rested his hands upon the cool balustrade, gazing over the trees which made up the greatest forest in all of Arda and marvelling at the immensity of such a portrait. This privilege was the only one he yet found pleasure in, although that was not to say he would rather gaze upon it than be back in the settlement with his friends and their days of youthful play. He was unsure that anything could replicate the joys of their tree swing or the nearby pool for diving, even this surreal child's fantasy adventure he was entangled in. It had been a daydream of his at times, but now that he was living it with his eyes wide open, he was not so sure he wanted to.
"My Prince?"
Thranduil recalled just in time that rolling his eyes was not etiquette becoming to an Elf of royal status, and looked over his shoulder into the fair face of the nursemaid. He had opened his mouth to ask that she refrain from naming him so by the title which would become his sooner than he wished, but polite requests had done nothing thus far and he was quite aware that they would not gain him anything on that day of all. "Yes, Faelwen," he sighed. "I am awake, I am out of bed, I have not run away. I suppose it is time for me to change into those...clothes, isn't it?"
"Such a simple word, yet you have laden it with enough disgust, one would think you spoke of something truly awful," the lady smiled. "Come, child. They are just items of apparel."
"I liked my old ones," Thranduil muttered. A part of his mind said that response was improper for a Prince, but he shrugged the thought away and stalked off the balcony, back into his room. "You do not need to be here while I change. I know you think I will ruin the clothes to avoid wearing them, but I do not hate them that much. I shall call you when I am finished."
"Your coronation garb was commissioned by your Lord father himself," Faelwen reminded the boy sharply. "These are not a casual pair of play leggings and a tunic to be made dirty by the fingers of a careless Elfling. I would not trust any below their majority to handle them without aid."
"If that is so, I shall be attending the ceremony dressed in my night attire," Thranduil snapped, "because I am not letting you anywhere near me when I am more than capable of tying laces and fastening clasps myself. I may not yet be the Prince of Greenwood, but since you do not treat me as a normal individual – as I want to be treated – you will not mind following any orders that I give, no? So you should leave this room right now, unless you wish to anger a member of your royal family before they are even crowned."
The nursemaid's mouth fell open, and she gazed at her charge in stunned silence for nigh on a minute before turning on her heel and leaving the room with a disbelieving shake of her head. Watching her departure, the golden haired Elfling flashed a grin. Perhaps there was another advantage to having a title before his name. Slightly cheered by the thought and his victory, he shrugged off his sleep shirt, replacing it with the rich garb of dark green and silver he would wear at the impending coronation without even a mutter of disgust. He supposed there was little reason to complain. His clothing predicament could have been much, much worse. The tailor who had taken his measurements the previous week had let slip quite by accident that ceremonial robes were to be made; only long hours of dispute with his mother and father had brought about the conception of his still much disliked tunic and leggings.
Connecting the final clasp of the shirt, Thranduil opened his door to meet Faelwen's critical eye with a gaze which bordered on insolent. "You see? Nothing happened as I dressed myself. The sky did not turn black, lightning bolts did not rain down from the heavens and turn the palace into ruins. All is well."
"I do not believe that impertinence is becoming to any child, but one of your standing should know better," the nursemaid admonished quietly. "Still, perhaps you shall learn in time. I suppose it is yet early days."
The Elfling said nothing as he allowed the lady to take a brush to his hair. Yes, she was right in one respect; it was early days. Despite that, and despite the fact that he had spent his whole life living in a world of routine and normalcy, it was expected that he should forsake all of his old mannerisms and ways of acting to replace them with royal dignity, protocol and impassiveness. He did try to conform to the idealistic image of how a Prince should carry himself and behave, but he found it such a difficult task to undertake. Sometimes he slipped into the way he used to be, the ways to which he was accustomed, and would have to suffer disapproving looks or murmured reprimands that he was no longer just another Elf. Even his mother and father would correct him in voices touched with disappointment and anger respectively, and he wondered often if they found the drastic change any easier to bear than he did himself. It was never more than wonder, though; there had been no chance to ask the question. Since accepting the charge of ruling Greenwood just over two weeks back, neither Oropher nor Felith had spared much time for their only child.
With that last thought embedded in his mind, Thranduil met Faelwen's dark eyes in the mirror. He could not afford to have her refrain from talking to him as well as his own parents. "I should not have spoken to you as I did," he admitted, his voice soft. "It was wrong of me. I know that you were only trying to help."
"Are you apologising, my Prince?"
Hesitating a moment to banish his pride, the child nodded his head in brief acquiescence. "Yes."
"Very well. In that case, you are forgiven," Faelwen said with a gentle smile as she tied off his braid. "Now, I am finished with you for the time being. I suggest you go straight to the dining hall and eat a fair breakfast to prepare yourself for the day ahead. Food will do you good, and perhaps take your mind from the nerves."
"How do you know that I am nervous?" Thranduil asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to face the Elven woman. "I am. This could be the most important day in the history of Greenwood, not to mention my family's. My parents and everyone in the forest want me to be a Prince, but I am not very good at playing such a role. I don't understand how to behave or speak or just be, but I do try. I try, yet nobody seems to see that. They think I deliberately say the wrong words or act incorrectly. It's not true, Faelwen. They forget I was not born into this way of living. They want me to be perfect, but I cannot do that. Not yet. I need time to adjust."
"Would that I was able to say there are no expectations," the nursemaid sighed. "You will fill them one day, but it is as you said; you need time. Now go on, get yourself to breakfast. Remember what I told you: food will do you good."
Releasing a quiet exhale of breath, Thranduil nodded and left the room, although he did not follow the path which led towards the dining hall. Instead he turned to the right, walking through the wing of the palace that had been given to his family as the royal apartments. Elaborate tapestries hung upon the walls, but he paid them little heed, nor the luxurious carpet passing beneath his feet. His mind was fixed upon his destination, and two Elves whom he hoped with all of his heart would grant him admittance into their presence just for a few short moments before they passed the point of no return and their lives changed forever. He knew there was still time for Oropher's mind to sway, and deep down, he thought perhaps that was what he really wanted. But in spite of his wishes, he was not fool enough to believe that everything would go back to the way it was with the coronation lying so close at hand.
Two immortals garbed in green livery with the insignia of a tree upon their tunics stood before double doors, and both bowed their heads towards the child at his approach. He nodded in return, glancing past them to the rooms hidden behind portals of wood. "Are my mother and father in there, or have they come out?" he questioned quietly. "I would very much like to see them, if you could let me by."
"Alas, we have our orders to let none pass," one guard informed him. "Lord Oropher and Lady Felith are being prepared for the coronation, and have decreed that they must not be disturbed."
"Did they mention me?" Thranduil pressed.
"They said none," the second Elf reiterated.
Resisting the urge to raise his voice as he had done to Faelwen, the child folded his arms across his chest and met the older immortals' eyes with his own. "I am their son, and soon to become the heir to the throne of Greenwood. One would think that enough to allow me through, but if you have orders, you must see them done. I am content to stand here and wait, if you don't mind. Do you?"
No reply came from either guard, but the expressions of disapproval fixed upon their faces made his heart pound hard and fast against his chest. Again, the temptation to snap came over him. Rather than give in to the anger and let it control him, he flashed the Elves a frosty look and turned on his heel to stride away. He went swiftly, avoiding passersby and their appraising eyes through the little used back corridors and hidden stairs he had discovered whilst exploring the palace. They took him to an entrance at the rear of the building, and he slipped through the doors before an Elder or a member of the serving staff could catch him. There were many of both parties present in preparation for the ceremony, and it would be just his luck to stumble upon one of the Circle in his current mood and with the thoughts that were in his mind. They would be sure to stop him.
In spite of his surety that he would be waylaid just seconds after stepping into open air, Thranduil found that fortune was on his side for the time being. He escaped the palace grounds altogether, ducking out of the gates and into the woodland, past guards standing attention – a fact which made him silently question their credibility – and Elves flocking to the royal home for the coronation. Rather than use the trees to conceal his presence, however, he walked freely through the crowds. His normal behaviour earned him just a few sideways looks, and he was thankful that Greenwood was home to so many. Had it been a lesser community with fewer habitants, recognition of his face would have made the journey a difficult one. As it was, he reached his destination with no trouble, and released a long breath of relief as he gazed upon it.
A congregation of small forest homes constructed from timber wood stood amongst the trees in the rough form of a circle, tiny and so very different in comparison to the imposing palace built upon the great hill of Amon Lanc. The pang of regret which assailed Thranduil was painful, and as he walked through the quietly empty settlement in which he had lived just a few weeks ago with his mother and father, he was hard pushed to banish it. I miss it here, he reflected sadly. I miss the houses and the smoke from the chimneys, the laughter, the people, the freedom... I miss my friends most of allWith the thoughts flitting through his mind, he stopped at the door to a humble abode and raised one hand to knock, although he was swift to lower his arm and run around the back. He could not risk being greeted by the wrong Elf, especially when his plan had gone so accordingly thus far.
At the window he sought, he tapped upon the pane and waited impatiently for a face to materialise on the other side. Nothing happened for long moments; just as he was beginning to fear that the house was already empty and he had missed its inhabitants, an auburn haired Elfling slightly older than he appeared before him. "Linwë," he breathed in relief. Green eyes widened in surprise, and he gave a small smile as he mouthed, "Hello."
The other child stood as though frozen for a few seconds, and gave no inaudible reply as he glanced over his shoulder as though seeking confirmation from someone else in the room. It must have come, for he lifted the window and leaned out to converse. "Hello, stranger. I thought you had forgotten where I live."
"No," Thranduil muttered. "I had not. Is Veassen with you? Only, I was hoping to speak with the pair of you together, if you have time."
"We have a coronation to attend," Linwë replied bluntly. He waited until the blond boy's eyes flickered with sorrow before holding out one hand to pull him up over the window ledge. "You could have come in through the front door, you know. That is, after all, the way most normal Elves tend to enter a house. Oh, but I forgot... You are not normal anymore, are you?"
Landing lightly upon the floor, Thranduil automatically straightened his clothes and nodded at the second Elfling lounging on the bed. Brown eyes regarded him in silence, the only response to his hesitant greeting. "I did not risk knocking on the door in case you did not open it. Nobody forbade me from leaving the palace, but I am quite sure I should not be here now. As it is, I wanted to tell you – you too, Veassen – something important. Will you listen?"
"Why should we?" Linwë questioned softly.
"I... What?"
"Why should we listen to what you have to say?" Veassen reiterated before the oldest Elfling could answer. "We don't resent you for leaving the settlement and making a new home in the palace. We don't care for your servants and fancy clothes and the title before your name. We do, however, object to the fact that you now consider yourself far too high and mighty to associate with commoners. You seem to forget that you were one, not so long ago."
Unable to keep his eyes from widening in shock, Thranduil took a step back as though dealt a physical blow."Commoners? No, that's not... I would never-
"Then, explain why you have not taken the time to visit us or send a brief letter," Linwë said quietly. "There are messengers at the palace, yes? You could have contacted us without leaving the comfort of your home."
"It is not as easy as you believe; and if I truly thought of you both as commoners, as lesser Elves than I, why am I here now? Why am I here just an hour before the coronation, risking the anger of my parents and countless others just to speak with you?" Thranduil snapped. "It may surprise you to know that I only supported my father's decision because he promised I could remain friends with you two. Since moving from the settlement, I have tried my hardest to get away from the palace and the number of guards, serving staff and Elders surrounding me at all times, but only today, when everyone is too busy to notice, have I been successful. Clearly my journey was wasted. Everyone seems to think it is simple, but they – and you – are so very wrong. This is the hardest thing I have ever experienced, harder even than the journey from Lindon. Don't assume you know what is in my mind, Veassen. And Linwë, don't think those ideas never crossed my mind. They did."
The other Elflings shared uncomfortable glances at the end of his furious tirade, silent as they contemplated the words spoken in anger and frustration. It was Veassen who moved first, rising from his place on the bed to approach Thranduil with a doubtful expression upon his face. "When you did not contact us, we were confused and hurt. It felt as though our friendship with you meant nothing, as though we were not good enough for you."
"That is not true," the golden haired child sighed. "You try being the heir to a throne for one day. I don't think you would enjoy it."
"You do not feel like a Prince from the stories?" Linwë asked, interest colouring his voice.
"Do you think it will become worse?" Veassen pressed. "After all, you are not yet even crowned and you seem to dislike the position already."
"I think the stories lie and that it could be a lonely existence, to answer both questions," Thranduil admitted quietly. "That is the reason behind my coming here today of all days; I don't want to be lonely, and I am not foolish enough to know that my life will be as it once was. Already my mother and father are changing, and I spend more time alone or with minders than with them or friends. I just wanted to promise you, and to have you promise me, that we will not be different. I want us to be the same."
"How can we?" Linwë murmured. "You are to become a Prince."
The royal Elfling shook his blond head at the words, as though they had already condemned him and decided his fate. "But that is not all I am. I can still be me. I can still be your friend. Can't I?"
"Would it not be frowned upon?"
"No," Thranduil declared heatedly. "I swear that I will not allow my title to come between us and ruin what we have...what we had. Or is it still there, our friendship?"
Sharing a glance with the quietly contemplating Veassen, Linwë took a step forwards and placed both hands on either side of the younger child's shoulders, directing his gaze upwards. "Don't be foolish, it does not suit you. Of course our friendship still stands. Somebody needs to remind you of your true identity and keep you from becoming a stuck up, arrogant and insufferable Prince. Who else will do that if not your closest friends? You have your promise: we will be the same. Always."
"Thank you..."
"Besides, two Elves make a poor trio," Veassen contributed with a smile. "We need you."
"Things may change, but whatever I become, it will never be what you said," Thranduil grimaced. "Stuck up and arrogant and the rest of it. That is not me."
"Good, so you will not mind," Linwë began slyly, "if we do...this?"
As his friends launched themselves forwards and tackled him to the ground as though it was just another day of games, the golden haired boy rolled out from underneath them, backing away on his knees with his hands held out. "No, no! Not yet. These are my coronation clothes, and I'll be in enough trouble as it is if my mother and father find out I have been away from the palace. They might banish me if I arrive at the crowning with a tear in my tunic. Or lock me away. I suppose they can do that now."
"There are dungeons at the palace?" Veassen breathed.
"No, I don't think so. They are more like... Just rooms, I think, for criminals and wrongdoers. The Elders said that they are never used, though," Thranduil shrugged. "It gives my parents something new to threaten me with."
Linwë gave a flash of teeth as he grinned. "And it gives us wonderful games of hide and seek, although I dare say you have found every hiding place imaginable by now."
"I left a few for you," Thranduil returned. "Two or three."
As he got up and brushed dust from his clothes, accepting good natured pushing from the other boys, the door swung open with a soft creak and a handsome Elf with braided hair the shade of chestnuts began to stride into the room. He stopped in his tracks in an instant, and the words he had been about to speak fell dead on his lips. There was only silence, punctuated by the expressions of guilt worn openly upon three youthful faces. This immortal was the older brother of Linwë, the one to whom the task of raising him had fallen after the tragic deaths of their mother and father some years ago at the hands of Orcs; and whilst Veryatur doted upon his young sibling, especially so after their sister had sailed to Valinor so recently that the pain of her loss was yet raw, he could be a hard and strict guardian when he wished to. Judging by the fury flickering over his fair features, it was clear that time was now.
"Of all the children to stow away in our house," he ground out, "you had to choose the heir to the throne."
"Um... Well, I didn't..." Linwë's pathetic defence ended before it truly began, and he gave a reluctant sigh of surrender beneath his brother's narrowed eyes. "I am sorry."
"I hope you are," Veryatur snapped.
Before the siblings could break out into an inevitable row, Thranduil stepped forwards swiftly to halt further angry words. "It was my fault, sir. I came from the palace myself and knocked on the window, and Linwë only let me in because I wanted to speak with him and Veassen of an important matter. He even said I should have used the front door, and that should show you he is not at fault. Please do not blame him. And besides, I am not the heir to the throne until my father takes the crown, so at the moment I am just like any other Elf."
"Very well," the older immortal replied dryly. "But you become the heir to the throne in fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen?"
"Fourteen now," Veryatur corrected. "And unless you wish to be standing here when that number changes to thirteen, you had best start running. Now!"
Although he took a second to throw his friends a smile, Thranduil was swift to turn on his heel and gladly take the advice given to him. Making use of the door rather than Linwë's window this time, he went with all haste from the wooden house and through the empty settlement, back along the winding forest path as though the wings of a soaring eagle had been lent to his feet. He received a far greater number of strange looks cast sideways by the Elves he sped past than he had on his journey away from the palace, but he dared not slow lest he arrive in poor time. This is hardly the most perfect timing as it is, he told himself sharply. But you had to go through with your bright idea and leave less than an hour before the coronation, the most important day in your family's history. Well done. His silent words were reproving, but they were not enough to halt the warmth which spread through him at the knowledge that his closest friends were still just the same. That reassurance had surely been worth the risk.
Creeping past a pair of green liveried guards at the palace gates, the child kept his head low in what he felt sure was a futile attempt to avoid being seen by the waiting congregation as he slipped through their midst. Golden hair was a rarity amongst the Wood-elves, and his sunny locks coupled with the cornflower blue of his eyes was enough to announce his identity without the aid of any trumpets and banners. He prayed desperately that his return would be as successful as his escape, and inaudibly thanked the Valar when questions arose only after he was well past the enquirers; nevertheless, one obstacle yet remained before him, and he knew that this final barrier was always going to be the most difficult. Perhaps inevitably, waiting in the entrance hall was a group of immortals he knew to be the Circle of Elders, along with silently impassive guards and the two Elves he dreaded laying eyes upon.
The voices which reached Thranduil's ears as he regarded the scene from behind a pillar were hushed, but his sensitive hearing picked up the quietly angry inflections with ease. He had to grimace. There was no doubt in his mind as to the subject of his mother and father's heated discussion; nor was there any doubt as to what he had to do. Drawing a breath, he stepped out from his hiding place and into full view. "Here I am." His soft announcement was met with many pairs of eyes, and he cast his own downwards rather than decide which to focus upon.
Silence hung in the hall until Felith glided forwards and placed both hands upon his shoulders, guiding him away from the other Elves with a touch he realised was firmer than it had been before the drastic changes in their lives. He wondered silently if she truly was different, or if she just felt she had to act so because of her new position in the forest. A floor length gown of silken green rustled as his mother walked, and silver piping along the wide sleeves and slim waist sparkled without aid from any light. Thranduil supposed she looked quite beautiful, with her waist length hair worn in intricate braids around her face and a crystalline pendant upon a silver chain hanging from her elegant neck, although he would not pretend to know anything of feminine allure. Such discoveries were yet some years away for he and his friends.
"You know what day it is," she said quietly. It was not a question. "The coronation is minutes away, child, minutes."
"I was...distracted," Thranduil began.
"That will not excuse you in your father's eyes," Felith assured him.
Biting on his lower lip, the boy looked away from the waves of disappointment washing across his mother's face, and waited for the swishing robes of dark green in the corner of his vision to come closer. They arrived sooner than he would have liked, but there was nothing for it than to raise his gaze and meet the cold emerald one above him. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I thought there was more time, and I didn't realise how quickly it went."
"I care not," Oropher hissed. "You left the palace, didn't you? Left the grounds themselves, if the guards speak truly."
"I-
"Where were you?"
"He was with me."
Thranduil's eyes snapped towards the sweetly musical voice, and he had to force his expression into corroborating impassiveness as a deceptively youthful looking lady appeared in the hall. Mithril hair hung in loose waves to her waist, framing a heart shaped face above a gown of blue slashed with silver, and her similarly coloured eyes were wide as she approached the family with silent steps. The only member of the revered Circle of Elders to possess an iota of innocence, her gentle manner endeared her to the young of the forest, and it was to her side they ran when troubles overcame them and their own parents were unavailable to offer comfort and reassurance. Indeed, the silken shawl around her shoulders was said to exist purely for the purpose of enveloping children in warm embraces. She pulled it tighter around herself, and smiled at the Elfling before turning a less friendly gaze upon his mother and father.
"My Lord, my Lady, I fear you are hard on him. Your son was with me," she repeated.
"Away from the place he should have been, Elder Nithaniel," Oropher countered, shooting his child a razor sharp glance. "He left the palace."
"Would you have him suffer, my Lord?" Nithaniel questioned.
"Suffer?" Felith repeated immediately, before her husband could reply. "Of what do you speak?"
The very same thought was in Thranduil's mind, but he remained dutifully silent as he waited to hear if this defence would be enough for his father. He chanced a flick of his eyes in Oropher's direction, but the dark haired Elf gave nothing away in his manner or expression. 'Please believe what she says...whatever it may be.'
"As you said yourself, Lady Felith, there are but minutes before the coronation. I would not expect any child in your son's position to know that and feel anything but trepidation in his heart. Since leaving your home and the life you knew in the forest, both you and my Lord Oropher have become, through no fault of your own, somewhat negligent." Nithaniel hesitated, and tilted her head to one side to regard the listening immortals. "Forgive my words, but Thranduil has been lonely and without a close confidante. He needed someone to ease his worries. I hope you will not fault him his apprehension and understandable fear."
As she realised that the Elder's words of suffering had not been literal, Felith released a quiet breath of relief and nodded her concurrence. "You speak the truth, of course you do. It is a strange time for all of us, but no doubt our son especially."
"It would seem I was hasty with my words, and leapt to a false conclusion," Oropher admitted softly. He inclined his head to Nithaniel in thanks, before leaning down to level his green eyes with Thranduil's blue. "I was wrong to let myself become angry. I was worried for you, but also I cannot have anything go wrong on this day of all days. Imagine the heir to the throne arriving late for the coronation. That would surely not sit well with our people. Do you think it would be the best beginning to our rule in Greenwood?" Without waiting for an answer, he let his hand alight briefly upon the child's slender shoulder. "The next time you have worries, come to us. Not a stranger."
Thranduil glanced at Elder Nithaniel lest she was in hearing range and had caught the words. He would have to remember to thank her for aiding his escape from trouble. "I will," he muttered. If you will make time to listen.
"You shall be just fine," Felith soothed.
"There is nothing to fear, although I do understand your nerves," Oropher added as he and his wife guided their son towards the closed double doors which opened onto a courtyard filled to the brim with Elves. Around them, guards were already leaving to take their places outside, and the Circle of Elders preparing to stand before the people of Greenwood. "At least you have no speeches to make. All you have to do is remember what you have been told to do, unless you wish to take an extra responsibility."
"Standing is enough for me," Thranduil replied quickly.
From somewhere outside, the tenor sound of a horn cut its way through the morning air, and silence fell in the forest at the musical announcement. Elves held their breath in excited anticipation, some shifting restlessly as they waited for their first glimpse of the family who would become royalty before their very eyes, others lifting children from the ground for a better view. Even the birds high up in the trees stopped their song as the pair of palace doors opened inward on inaudible hinges, revealing two regal immortals garbed in ceremonial robes of woodland hues and a younger individual who stood no taller than his father's waist. It was the child who moved first, drawing a breath which raised his shoulders and walking slowly down the steps into the courtyard, as had been explained to him in the rehearsed coronation the previous evening.
Then, there had been no spectators, no eyes fixed intently and unwaveringly upon him. Thranduil stared straight ahead at the specially erected platform of wood and the flowers bedecking it that had been wrapped around the dais and entwined to create a subtle and natural beauty with which to crown the new monarchs, but even focusing his attention so determinedly did not distract from the vast number of Elves on either side of him. Walking through the courtyard and noting absently that it had not seemed so torturously long last night, he had to fight hard in order to resist looking over his shoulder. Of all the many complications he had lain awake thinking of, finding himself alone in a great sea of souls had been one of the foremost in his mind.
No sooner had the thought flickered through his head than a hand touched gently upon his lower back, giving him silent directions he was already well aware of. They had reached the raised coronation area, and he was to stand to one side as his mother and father took their vows of fealty to the forest. He obeyed the instruction, climbing the wooden steps and choosing a place behind a wall of yellow flowers, which he hoped would serve the purpose of concealing him from the crowd's sight without making his intentions blindingly clear. From the corner of his eye and through a break in the entwined flora, he caught two young Elves his own age pushing through the waves of onlookers to be closer to the front. He hid a smile as Linwë dug a taller boy in the ribs and scowled his way past the arm which had held both he and Veassen back. Thranduil's nerves dissipated slightly at the sight of his friends, though it really was no more than slightly.
The Circle of Elders stood together in a line to the rear of the platform, regarding Oropher and Felith with unreadable faces and eyes which shone with natural Elven light. The wisdom in those pools gave away their ages where smooth skin and infallible grace and agility did not; and from their midst stepped a woman, the most revered individual in their group, for it was she who above all others shared a holy connection with the Valar. Akin to a priestess, Aermanis presided over all manner of ceremonies such as the bonding of lovers, burials and childbirth celebrations, thus it was only fitting that she blessed this one with her presence. Hair the shade of ebony she wore loose and capped with a net of crystals to keep the thick locks from touching her evening blue eyes, and her dove white gown was sleek and noiseless as it trailed far behind her upon the dais. Though tall and shaped with perfect femininity, the Elven lady was striking to look upon.
She came to a smooth halt before the soon to be monarchs, and cast her gaze over the waiting congregation before lowering it to look upon them. "You know why you are here, chosen ones," she intoned quietly. "To take the crown of Greenwood the Great and wear it as her rulers, as decreed by those who have stood in the forest for millennia longer than any immortal. The trees have brought you to this moment in time, but I must ask your permission to go further. Will you grant me that or turn away from this path?"
Without turning his head, Oropher glanced at his wife standing silently at his side, then to their son some short distance away. He nodded briefly. "I hold to my decision."
"Very well." Aermanis locked her eyes upon his, trapping and holding the green orbs as though with a snare. "Will you dedicate your heart and soul to the forest and the people, putting them before yourself, forsaking your own needs and desires? Can we trust and have faith that you will defend us against any enemy, fight for us and lay your life on the line to protect those who look to you as King? In times of difficulty, strife and hardship, it must be you who breaks down all obstacles and rescues the kingdom from destruction. You must support us, provide for us and love us as we love you. You must leave your old life behind you and become a new entity altogether. You must walk through any fire with your head held high, strong and resilient. Can you give your word that you will repay those who chose you for this position with all I have said?"
During the speech, the dark haired Sinda had paled somewhat, but he ground his teeth together and regained his composure with commendable haste. "You have my word, Elder Aermanis," he murmured. "I will do and be all that I must."
As though he had not spoken, Aermanis' evenstar eyes turned towards Felith. The younger woman met her gaze evenly. "As the Queen of Greenwood, the task of standing at your husband's side through flame and darkness falls upon you. It will become your lot in life to help him shine as a beacon of hope and love to the people of this forest, and aid him in his rule. For your child, you must raise him to be the very best he can, and turn him into an heir worthy of taking the throne and ruling where his father did before. In the absence of both your husband and son, you must take on the duties of a ruler and sit upon the throne until a King returns. At that moment of solitary rule, every bind I have laid upon Oropher ties you too. You must fight for us. You must provide for us, defend, support and love us with every fibre of your being. Can you give your word that you will repay those who chose you for this position with all I have said?"
"I..." The identical question coupled with so many requirements caught Felith off guard, and she bowed her golden head with an exhalation to calm herself. When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper. "Yes. You have my word."
Aermanis nodded in satisfaction, and one of her colleagues came forwards from the line of Elders to stand at her side, as though her brief inclination had been a signal. He was Feredir, a chief hunter with hair of such a russet shade it was just an inch away from red, and eyes a fervent jade. Garbed in tunic and leggings of green and brown, he was the only immortal present upon the dais, save two guards, to wear a knife at his waist, but the scabbard was devoid of any weapon. Cupped in one strong hand was a carved bowl containing a deep and viscous liquid; the other held his dagger, his fingers light and expert as he raised the blade and awaited further progression of his role.
"Held within this vessel is the blood of a stag, slain early this morn as sacrifice to the forest. Your blood," Aermanis explained, taking Oropher's hand and nodding again, "will mingle with his and be buried beneath the trees to seal your vows of fealty. You will be one with the forest as none other is. So will it be for your wife if she must rule in your stead, so will it be for your son if ever he takes the throne, and so will it be for his children after him."
In his peripheral vision, Oropher could see Thranduil's eyes close as Feredir stepped closer and made a quick incision across the palm of his hand. Though not deep it stung like fire, and he could not help casting the Elder a baleful look. "So will it be," he muttered in concurrence.
As droplets of Elven blood were shook into the bowl from the tip of the blade, the two Sindar knelt on the dais for the final act of the crowning, the one part which would directly involve their son. He came away from his place at the side of the platform and dropped to his knees between his mother and father, gaze fastened steadily upon the wooden floor. He had known all along that blood would be spilt, but that did not make the childish urge to comfort Oropher any easier to bear. Biting hard on his lower lip, Thranduil tried to focus his attentions. There was not much left to the ceremony, then it would all be over and he could... What could he do with the weight of a new title before his name? When the crowns finally touched their heads, would things change even more or- Just concentrate! He berated himself sharply. Just for a few minutes longer
Three Elves bearing the items which would mark the family as royalty came forth at a signal from Aermanis, and stood silently by as she took first of all two near identical headbands of entwined silver vines and leaves and placed them with reverence upon the respectively dark and golden heads of the sovereigns. The only difference between the similarly wrought crowns was a stone of lapis set in the centre of scrollwork which rested lightly upon Felith's forehead, a subtle feminine touch to compliment the shade of her eyes. A smaller circlet had been commissioned for Thranduil of the same silver but made with a less intricate design, for which he was secretly thankful. A few simple knots and looped silverwork was quite enough for his liking. Even so, as the strange device touched him, he almost raised a hand to feel it before catching himself just in time.
"It is done," Aermanis said quietly.
The Sindarin Elves rose from their places upon the dais, and turned away from the Elder to face outwards. Hundreds of eyes were upon them, watching, waiting, wondering what would happen now. It was a deep breath indeed that Oropher drew to calm himself before addressing the people of Greenwood for the first time as their chosen King. He had spent hours the previous night lying awake, wandering through the palace or standing alone on his balcony trying to write in his mind a suitable oration. Of all the words he would ever speak during his rule, he knew that these first ones were the most important. They had to be the best, there was no half way mark he could stop at in the hope it would be enough to satisfy the Silvan folk. They had put their faith in him, and he owed them a speech worthy of that allegiance.
"For time uncountable before this moment, I prayed to the Valar that they give me the strength and wisdom to swear my oaths with only honesty in my heart. I wished for no fear, no doubt that I was stepping onto a wrong path, but I tell you now that such feelings have existed within me these past days," he began, his clear voice ringing in the courtyard. Those who listened did so in deathly silence, their bright gazes fixed intently upon him. "My mind swayed countless times; less than an hour back, still it changed as regularly as waves upon the shore. This was until the doors of the palace opened and I looked out upon you, my people. I found myself consumed by love and a desire to prove that your infallible trust in me was not poorly placed. I realised then that I needed no help from the Valar, I never have done. All I needed was to see your faces. That was enough, and I knew in a second that your support and unification were uplifting me when prayers had not come close.
"The ceremony you have witnessed today will stand in the memories of each and every one of you for many years to come as the first such commemoration in the history of your home. I hope that at its side will be my rule, for I promise to be deserving of your trust, your faith and your love throughout my life and with all of my heart. My experience in wearing a crown is little. Indeed, it is none, but my vows of fealty to the forest of Greenwood the Great will hold for all the years to come. They will stand strong in me, my wife, my son and his children and his children's children. I say this to you as your friend, your brother, a fellow Elf. I say it more than anything, as your King."
Cheers and applause erupted throughout the vast courtyard at his final words, the sudden impact of noise sending nearby birds wheeling into the air. As cries of "Hail, King Oropher!" resounded loud and clear, Thranduil's wide eyes turned towards his father. He had raised one disdainful eyebrow at the mention of his future children, but all thoughts were pushed well away by the crowd's tremendous reaction. He had been told to expect some clapping and perhaps a few catcalls from the younger Elves; he had been told how to take such a reception, but this went far and beyond what he had been waiting for. Chancing a glance at Felith, he was pleased to see she seemed just as breath taken as he by the force of her husband's words and the euphoria they had evoked in the people of Greenwood. One thing was for certain: Oropher's worry that he would fail to meet expectations had been for nothing.
As the crowned immortals left the platform and began their walk back to the palace, the crowd's loud cheering slowly died down into reverent silence and they watched their new sovereigns with smiles worn openly on their faces. Some handed single flowers to Felith until it was a bouquet in her hands, which she accepted and paused briefly to give gracious thanks for; most reached out to touch the royal shoulders or hands, but all knelt upon the paved ground with bowed heads sooner or later, united in their love and trust for three Elves who just a matter of weeks back had been no different than any other Elven family. It was the start of something new, something beautiful, and the people's adoration would stand the test of time and remain unwaveringly strong through all manner of trials for thousands of years to come, though that was something Oropher, Felith and Thranduil could not know as they stepped into their home for the first time as the Royal Family of Greenwood the Great.
To be continued...