Thranduil stalked over to the target he'd been using that session and glared at the arrows solidly embedded within it. They'd all hit the bullseye, but only just, a fact that left the blonde King feeling an irritating blend of frustrated and furious.
It was the end of one of his tri-weekly archery sessions, and for all the practice Thranduil felt he'd been putting in on the archery range his old mastery of the skill eluded him.
He reached over and yanked the first arrow free. The very fact he could salvage his arrows irritated him. Before, there would be nothing left to salvage as Thranduil would have hit the bullseye directly over and over again - splitting and destroying the arrows that had previously hit that perfect mark. Now though…
The blonde glared again as he pulled another arrow free - every arrow he'd fired this session was scattered just within the bullseye mark. He'd not managed to hit the same mark twice nor the very centre of the bullseye no matter how carefully he'd sighted his arrows. His ability to accurately judge distances - particularly large ones - remained slightly impaired.
Thranduil plucked another arrow from the canvas and let a small frustrated sigh escape him. He'd been working so hard over the past few months to bring himself back to the level of skill and fitness he'd had prior to the war with the dragons, and it aggravated him to no end that this one thing remained so affected by his half blindness.
"That was a good session!"
Aglardaer clapped Thranduil on the back and only years of training stopped the King from flinching in surprise. He'd been so caught up in critically analysing his archery skills he'd not heard the approach of his best friend and Commander of his army.
"If you say so," Thranduil replied morosely as he hurriedly pulled the remaining arrows free.
"I do say so - you hit the bullseye each time - you are ever improving."
Thranduil glared. "Do not patronise me. I barely hit it at all - my archery remains a weak point."
"Hardly a weak point Thranduil…"
But the Elven King cut his friend off with a wave of his hand and thrust the reclaimed arrows into his arms. He did not want to hear Aglardaer's platitudes nor did he have time for it. Lord Arahaelon, his Regent, had arranged for them to have luncheon and if Thranduil didn't get a move on he'd be late.
Face still pulled into a foreboding frown he stalked away from the archery field and Aglardaer.
~o~
"Suil Thranduil."
Arahaelon greeted the King with a tiny upward twitch of the lips and gestured him to be seated at the table that had already been laid out with their lunch.
"Suilad," Thranduil grumbled and threw himself tiredly into the proffered chair.
Arahaelon arched an eyebrow at him. "What ails you? Were you injured in the session?"
"Nay," Thranduil grumped as he reached for and poured himself a generous glass of cool white wine.
"Then why the face? Why the attitude?"
Thranduil glared at his Regent. "Attitude?"
"Yes attitude." Arahaelon was unimpressed and crossed his arms as he studied the blonde for a moment before he spoke again. "I have no intention of sharing a meal with you if you are going to be in a foul mood the entire time. Had I wanted to deal with that I would have simply stayed and had luncheon with the councillors."
Thranduil scrubbed a tired hand over his face before he sought refuge from answering by taking a deep draught of his wine. He did not feel like discussing it. Unfortunately for him Arahaelon had other ideas.
"You've just come from an archery session have you not?"
Thranduil said nothing, his mouth still full of wine, but he gave a jerky affirmative nod.
"Ah I see. So you are still sulking about the fact that your archery is not what it once was?"
"I am not sulking." Thranduil ground out between his clenched teeth.
Arahaelon rolled his eyes. "You are missing half your sight Thranduil, yet Aglardaer tells me you are doing really well in the sessions including hitting the bullseyes. He is more than confident that you are fully capable of defending yourself with your bow once again. Yet you sit here all upset because… what? Because you do not have the skill and the flare you used to? Surely by now you have come to accept the fact that some things about you and your abilities will remain forever changed?"
When silence greeted his words Arahaelon sighed, shook his head slowly and laid a reassuring hand upon Thranduil's arm.
"You have a disability, Tharan-min - much though you wish it to be otherwise - and you must learn to respect it and the new limitations it brings. Not everything can return to how it once was - no matter the hours of practice you put in. But rather than let that discourage and disappoint you, you should instead focus on what you have regained rather than what remains lost. Think of how far you have come from when you first awoke in Calelon's halls. Think of the skills you have remastered and the fact that no one, to look at you right now, would ever even know you have such an impairment. Do you not think those are things to celebrate? The things you ought to be pondering on rather than what you cannot do any longer?"
Thranduil sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. He knew Arahaelon was right though he was loath to admit it just then. Instead he gave a small acknowledging dip of his head.
"You have given me much to ponder mellon."
"Hmm," Arahaelon gave him an appraising look. "See that you do, for I think you will find that I am right."
It was Thranduil's turn to roll his eyes at his Regent's self-assured words. The King said nothing more on the topic and instead gestured to the spread before them.
"Shall we begin?"
~o~
The remainder of his lunch with Arahaelon had passed pleasantly without further talk of his impaired vision and afterwards, with some time to spare before his next training session, Thranduil took himself off into the thick poplar woods behind the palace for a walk.
He meandered across the paths somewhat aimlessly, face slightly upturned to feel the small patches of sunlight that dappled through the tree's teardrop shaped leaves. The King could sense Arthon and Arodon some distance behind him - his Elite not willing to let him out of sight for overlong - but they did not intrude upon his solitude and with nothing but the gentle susurrations of the wind in the trees for company Thranduil let his mind wander.
His thoughts, as had become usual of late, strayed to his impaired vision. Arahaelon's words bounced around in his mind; his Regent was rather irritatingly correct - he had come quite a long way since Calelon had first released him from the healing halls.
Back then he had not even been able to pour himself a glass of water without it spilling and sloshing everywhere as he battled with his changed depth perception. He remembered how scrawling and untidy his handwriting had been, how hard he'd worked to bring it back up to standard. And as proud as he was of how his hard work had paid off, the Elven King still could not help the seething frustration that twisted inside him as he reflected on the things - such as his archery skills - which were not quite up to his previous standard.
Thranduil thought of all the many small tips and tricks he now had to employ to do things that at one time he'd given absolutely no thought to. He'd had to make so many concessions; even now, as he took a simple stroll, he was on alert: scanning, searching and looking out for any potential trip hazards.
The blonde also thought of the latest aide he'd commissioned - a tall, solid guide cane - exquisitely designed to look like an overly ornate symbol of royal rule and authority. It had been Calelon's suggestion, and after a few practice sessions with the royal healer Thranduil could now use it to easily navigate dimly lit passages and the numerous staircases of his palace home. None had questioned him on its sudden appearance nor its use - all used to his fleeting whimsies and love of beautiful accessories.
But for all its innocuous help - it was still a disability aid - still a concession he'd had to make and the thought filled him again with that aggravating mix of impotent frustration and fury before Arahaelon's gruff words came to mind again.
Think of the skills you have remastered and the fact that no one, to look at you right now, would ever even know you have such an impairment. Do you not think those are things to celebrate?
Thranduil let a small huff escape him - his Regent was of course correct. Focusing on what he'd lost would only drive him back into the clutches of the same despair he'd finally gotten rid of after Elrond had freed him from the pain of dragon fire.
He could not go there again; he could not let such negative thoughts over power him. He had to be more positive. He needed to put the focus on what he had overcome, what he was doing well and what he still had.
His tengwar was once again the beautiful flowing script he was known for, he could manage all the nuances of hosting and serving dinner without any worries of spills or mishaps; it had been weeks since Aglardaer had managed to throw him in their hand to hand combat sessions and similarly he'd become just as proficient in his knife work and sword play as he'd been before. He'd not gained a training injury for a good long while now. Thranduil was also confident in riding Diomedes once more - keeping his moody horse in a perfectly straight line and remaining seated - whether he rode at a slow canter or a brisk gallop.
Best of all Calelon had told him that he would be declared fit for duty by the end of the following week. All his daily sessions of practice and rehabilitation and physical therapy had paid off and would soon be coming to an end.
Thranduil allowed himself a little smile. He had made it through - he had survived the worst that the dragons could throw at him. Yes he was changed, yes he was different - but he had only bent a little - he had not been broken. For all the harm they had caused him, he was the one left standing - whereas all but one of the dragons had been slaughtered.
And even that one remaining wyrm that had managed to escape, Smog or Smug or Smag or whatever it had called itself, was no cause for concern. The newly organised patrol, Dragon Watch, scanned the skies to the north of their woodland home for any sign of the beast's return, whereupon an alarm would be sounded and the Woodland Army would make ready to slaughter a dragon once more.
Yes, Thranduil could indeed be proud of all he had achieved, regained and overcome.
The dragons that had threatened his home and his very life were defeated but he still stood. Elven King of the Woodland Realm.
And it was high time that his people had their King back.
~o~
Thranduil gave his hair once last pat dry and let the towel fall to hang across his shoulders before he tightened the one about his waist more firmly and strode from his bath chamber and into his dressing room.
Galion was there, fussing with the newly made robes Thranduil planned on wearing that day. The inner robes were made of a pale green silk with a metallic shimmer and had swirling, floral details picked out in dark, emerald coloured thread. The outer robes were a rich blood red in colour with a pattern of ferns embroidered in bronze. Together the entire outfit was ostentatious and therefore perfect for Thranduil's needs. For today he was to be reinstated as King, and he both needed and wanted to look the part.
Galion turned from where it seemed he'd been tidying a few loose threads to face Thranduil properly. "Did you enjoy your bath Aran-nin? Are you ready to get dressed?"
"Yes and yes," Thranduil stated simply. "Although before we begin - what have you picked out for me by way of jewellery?"
Galion gave a small smile and gestured Thranduil over to his large dresser near the windows.
"A ring for each finger I think Aran-nin," Galion began as he pulled a velvet lined box forward for Thranduil to inspect. "What do you think of these?"
Thranduil peered down into the proffered box; he already wore four rings religiously and so there were six more twinkling up at him from the box. There was a mixture of emeralds set in white gold rings and rubies set in burnished bronze ones. There were also two earrings in the box - one a simple gold hoop - the other a garnet stone cut into the shape of a star that dangled at the end of a series of small gold hoops.
"Have I chosen well?"
"Aye Galion, I am very happy with your choices as per usual."
Galion beamed then held out something else for Thranduil to inspect. It was a sword belt; a solid, sturdy thing twined together and decorated with bronze, gold and mithril chains with a single gilded scabbard.
The blonde King eyed it before he raised a brow to Galion. "There is but one scabbard."
"Yes," Galion conceded with a sheepish look. "Lord Arahaelon has left instructions to say you shall be wearing both the Coronation Sword and Crown."
Thranduil blew out a slow breath even as he turned to look at where Galion had pointed, to see two items he usually kept locked away in the deepest depths of the vaults, glittering innocently on a plush velvet covered pillow.
The Coronation Sword and Crown were not the Elven King's favourite accessories. Not just because they were exceptionally heavy due to their elaborate bejewelled designs, but mostly because of the memories that assailed Thranduil whenever he so much as looked at them.
The Coronation Sword had been Oropher's; forged in Doriath it had served his Adar right up until his death, whereupon it had been presented to Thranduil who had unleashed bloody revenge upon any orch that had been foolish enough to get near him. The army had rallied behind him as he wielded it and from there it had become the first symbol of Thranduil's rule, and had hung upon his hip when he had at last been formally crowned.
As for the Coronation Crown it had been a gift to Oropher from both the Silvan and Avari elves of the realm - a joint enterprise to welcome and crown their new King.
It was ornate with exquisite emeralds, pearls, garnet stones and rubies fashioned to resemble a crown of oak leaves and wild red berries interspersed with baby's breath flowers. It was jewel laden and uncommonly heavy as a result - in spite of the fur trim it had been given to lessen the burden of it.
Oropher had thought its weight was poetic - heavy was the head that bore the crown after all - but Thranduil was not a fan. Still, despite his dislike he'd worn it at his own coronation as a mark of respect to the indigenous peoples who had welcomed him and his fellow Sindar to the Wood with open arms.
Both items carried memories untold that ranged from happy to bittersweet to moments the Elven King would rather forget. The Crown and Sword had been present at the state funerals of his Adar and his hervess; had been present at his wedding as well as at the naming ceremonies of his children. Yet despite the happy occurrences the Coronation items had been part of, Thranduil's mind always tended to focus on the negative - on the bloodied weight of the Sword when pressed into his hands for the first time or on the way the Crown had nearly crushed him as he'd fought to be stoic at Celeblassel's funeral.
Thranduil took a deep breath and fought back the flood of negative memories that threatened. Today was a good day. A happy day, and he would not let these items hold any negative power over him. Today he took back his throne and that was something to be glad about, something to be cheered - a good memory to add to both Sword and Crown.
"Very well, it shall be as Lord Arahaelon has said - I shall wear them both." Thranduil firmly turned away from the velvet pillow to face his butler once more. "Let us begin."
Galion gave a gentle smile and small nod, well versed in how the two items behind them affected Thranduil.
"Come Aran-nin, let me start with brushing out your hair and then we can get you into your clothes. I for one cannot wait to see how magnificent you look in these new robes."
Thranduil took a seat at his dresser and gave in graciously to Galion's ministrations as he focussed his mind on thoughts of just how amazing it would feel to at long last take seat upon his throne once more.
~o~
Thranduil made his slow, stately way through the all but deserted palace halls. Practically everyone who wasn't an on duty member of the Palace Guard had disappeared off to get ready for his grand reinstatement ceremony.
(And it would be grand; Arahaelon had recommended that he have a big formal ceremony followed by a lavish feast - all to show the people that he was back, as strong as ever and ready to resume his mantle.)
Thranduil's steps were sure and steady, his guide cane held securely at his side and just a little to the front to better help with both his balance and the detection of potential trip hazards. The Coronation Crown sat heavy but perfectly balanced upon his head - the Sword secure at his side and he was resplendent in his robes. The robes were soft against his skin; wonderfully light despite their voluminous and regal appearance and they made a most pleasing 'swish' sound against the plush, carpeted corridors that led up to his throne room.
He looked the part and he felt the part and thus confident the Elven King entered his throne room - his newly refurbished throne room - for Thranduil had had the space and his throne itself completely redesigned.
His previous throne had sat upon a large dais with wide sweeping stairs that led up to it and there had been two sizeable elk busts on either side of his large velvet cushioned throne.
All that had been done away with.
Instead, with the help of Calelon, Angrenor and Arahaelon, Thranduil had devised a new design that was even more arresting, and most importantly of all, designed with his disability in mind.
His new throne was an elaborate work of art. It sat a great deal higher than his previous throne had - high upon a set of steeply winding wooden stairs and set against a rather striking backdrop of multiple, large elk antlers. The seat of the throne itself had been very carefully angled so that coupled with the extra elevation Thranduil would be able to see the entirety of the room at a glance, without the excessive turning of his head that could give away the fact he no longer had his previous full range of sight.
Thranduil walked slowly toward it until he stood at the base of the imposing, twisted staircase. This was the first time since it had been fully completed that he'd laid eyes upon it and it was truly a magnificent thing to behold.
With a quick, deep breath in and then out Thranduil steadied himself then placed his foot and cane upon the first stair. He took another step and then another, guide cane always on the step above - a solid bit of security upon the balustrade-less staircase.
With one final step the blonde King found himself on the small platform before the intricately carved wooden throne. Delicately and somewhat reverently Thranduil turned and let himself gently down into the seat behind him. The throne was more comfortable than it looked at first glance, and Thranduil let himself sink down and fully settle into it before he carefully arranged his outer robes to drape and pool magnificently around both his throne and himself.
Comfortable, he directed his gaze outwards across his throne room and felt a sudden wave of emotion so strong it caused tears to gather in his eyes. Thranduil let it wash over him even as he closed his eyes firmly against any tear fall. It had been a long, hard journey to get here and he'd had many times when he'd wanted to give up, when it had felt as though the injuries he'd suffered were too great to overcome…and yet…here he was.
Thranduil took a deep, steadying breath and satisfied he'd mastered his emotions once more, he opened his eyes and took in the room below him. His new throne had truly been perfectly built and angled - he could see almost the entirety of the room without so much as a twitch of his head. He smiled. Just a little at first, but then as he sat there - cane grasped strongly in one hand, robes arrayed splendidly around him - the smile became broader until it at last reached Thranduil's eyes.
He was ready to rule again, ready to defend his people and despite the permanent injury he'd been dealt, he felt…nay - he knew he was more than capable of doing both.
There was a commotion then that drew the blonde from his thoughts as a loud banging of drums gave way to heralding trumpets before two of the Palace Guard, dressed in their finest ceremonial garb, held open the throne room doors. A page announced in a clear, high voice the arrival of Arahaelon, Aglardaer, members of his council, several high ranking Lords, Ladies and other dignitaries of import. Thranduil looked down upon them all as they filed into the room and took up their respective seats - eyes all hungrily taking in every inch of their much missed King.
The blonde preened and held himself a tad straighter upon his throne. He was once more in his rightful place at the head of an adoring people.
He was Thranduil, indomitable Elven King of the Woodland Realm.
END.
Suilad – Greetings
Suil – Greetings
Tharan-min – Vigourous One – a childhood nickname for Thranduil
Mellon - Friend
Aran-nin - My King
Adar – Father
Orch – Sindarin for Orc
Hervess – Wife
A/N: So this wee tale of mine, which turned out to be anything but the short 3 to 5 chapters I had originally intended, is at long last finished. It's been a blast to write and I hope you have all enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Thanks for sticking with me through it all and for the kind comments and kudos – they mean so much. Next Up: a prequel to this story – it'll be called Pyrrhic – it's not yet fully written and I won't start posting until it's done but do keep your eyes peeled for that one :) - KimicT