A/N – I know its been ages since the last update, but I've had serious internet issues!!! All sorted now though, and there are more chapters in the pipeline!

Chapter 23 – a Bitter Union

A cool, brisk morning surged across the realm of Doriath. Vestiges of rain from the previous night clung in drifting silver webs to the trees and the forest floor, winking faintly in the watery sunlight. The Hall of Thingol and Melian swarmed with a heavy, mellow glow; as though a veil of lucid golden radiance adorned the very air, wafting in the infinitesimal breeze of the Nightingales' flight. Tinuial gazed at her surroundings in awe, taking great pains not to crush the star-like flowers strewn in splashes and gusts of vivid colour upon the gleaming floor. No doubt the Elves of Doriath had granted her a high honour indeed, in inviting her to the marriage of two such very important people; but she could not dismiss the cold anxiety squirming horribly in her stomach. This was a place of such dignity and splendour, and she was in the company of so many fair and regal Elves of Doriath. Her own origins were so humble by comparison, and her manners so crude. She pictured herself as an unsightly blot upon the fabulous landscape; a plain and ill-formed creature in amid her dazzling and sophisticated company.

Carnil stood beside her in silence, clasping her hand. From the harried expression contorting his features, Tinuial perceived that he felt equally out of place. Thaliondil was cryptic as ever, standing blank and stolid, akin in mood and appearance to the cold stone floor beneath him. Tinuial drew her eyes away from her sullen brother and glanced up towards Thingol and Melian. The King and Queen sat enthroned before the glistening multitude like towering icons of splendour – clear and vivid mirrors into the arcane mind of Eru. Their faces were radiant as the noon sun, and impenetrable as the night.

Tearing her overwhelmed eyes from the majesty of the King and Queen, Tinuial surveyed the luminous crowd gathered within the hall. One small group in particular caught her eye. They stood by the base of Thingol's throne, a little apart from the general congregation, and Tinuial realised that they were most likely to be Elmarië's kin. At the forefront stood a tall, skeletal woman with her bone-pale golden hair scraped back harshly from her gaunt and stately face. She was beautiful to look upon, though pale to the point of ghostliness, and her high and barren cheekbones gave her an austere appearance. Her large, sad eyes were a wondrous blue; and some quality within her wide and unfocused gaze put Tinuial immediately in mind of Elmarië. Though she knew not, Tinuial guessed that this was the Lady Amarwen, Elmarië's mother. If so, then the imposing man at her side was Elmarië's father, Lord Ellos. His taut, distinguished countenance was impassive and grave. His mighty fists were clenched as if with rage or tension, though his calm mask-like face betrayed no external sign of agitation. Three young Elven maids stood a little behind them - Elmarië's younger sisters. Two of them were little more than children, and appeared to be twins, their hair in tight brown braids. The other maiden was slightly older, with hair of pale gold much like her mother's, and blue glittering eyes. She gazed about the hall with an impish grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Thaliondil had, of course, noticed Lheina staring at him, yet he would not yield to her sprightly eyes. What could she possibly want of him? Foolish child. She had wreaked havoc enough already, with her prying and her deliberate provocation. A fine thread of outrage pulsed interminably through his veins, magnified by his heart's every beat. Yet he had learned not to resist that flood of fury, that tide of bitterness – it was all that held him together. He closed his eyes, and a vision of Elmarië blossomed within his mind, slicing through his darkness until he could neither see nor imagine anything else. His hands shook with a nameless wrath.

Though it factored seldom in his thoughts, he was vaguely aware that Tinuial and Carnil were becoming increasingly annoyed at him. Since his return to Menegroth the previous evening he had been distant and rude, particularly towards Carnil. Thaliondil now gave very little thought to his own words or deeds, barely noticing that neither of his companions had spoken to him all morning. He was utterly consumed by his longing for Elmarië, and by the fact that he was to stand there, watching powerlessly whilst she wedded another man. He almost laughed out loud at the hideous irony of his situation. He opened his eyes, longing unbearably to be close to her.

As though his wish had been granted, Elmarië appeared suddenly and poignantly before him. Yet this was no fantasy of his tortured mind; for she who haunted his every waking thought was now being slowly led through the vivid crowd, towards the throne of the King. At her side was a silent and stoic Lord Culdir. She was frost-pale and delicate as the midwinter moon, wreathed in starlit white. All eyes were turned towards her, as the Nightingales unleashed their clear, bewitching voices in a sudden sharp breeze of melody. When Culdir and Elmarië stood finally before the throne of Thingol, Lord Ellos strode forward, and placed the hand of his daughter firmly into the cold grasp of Culdir.

In the face of such unendurable beauty, and such staggering agony, Thaliondil could do nothing but turn and run. It was distinctly out of character for him to flee from either pain or misfortune, out of sheer obstinacy if nothing else; yet he could no longer physically bear to stand by and watch this nightmare scenario unfold. He was helpless, unable to prevent his only chance of happiness from slipping cruelly away from his outstretched hand. But he could run. None noticed his departure, save those whom he pushed roughly aside as he made his frantic escape. The door stood before him like a gaping portal of desperation, and he propelled himself through it as though his personal salvation lay on the other side. He stalked his way through the deserted halls of Menegroth like an enraged phantom, battling the mounting urge to weep. Suddenly, he stopped. Light footfalls echoed softly behind him. He was being followed.

'Were you truly in love with her?' The voice drifting after him was soft and lilting; bubbling with an almost childish zeal.

Thaliondil turned, and fixed his stony gaze upon Lheina. He sighed deeply and turned away, wishing he had never laid eyes upon the girl. A familiar rage unfurled itself and expanded horribly in his chest.

'I think she loves you also…such as she is able,' Lheina persisted lightly, seemingly oblivious to his discontent. 'Yet Lord Culdir would surely have you killed were he to discover it.' Thaliondil shot her a menacing glance.

'Oh! He shall not learn of it from me!' She insisted, 'Yet I would advise you to keep away from her.'

'I intend to. Not that this matter has aught to do with you.' He turned to leave, seething, but she continued to shadow his steps.

'What concerns my sister concerns me!' She wailed in a highly annoying tone, 'and I do wish you would show me more courtesy, Sir. I have no doubt incurred the wrath of my father by leaving the hall, and I came only to speak with you!'

'Why?'

'You interest me! I would learn more of you, for Elmarië would reveal nothing.'

'I would sooner be alone.' He replied bluntly.

'At least tell me your name, sir. I am curious to-'

'Leave me!' He barked suddenly, stopping short in his tracks; his virulence surprised even him. Lheina recoiled from him, a little shocked. She nodded hurriedly, turned and fled. Thaliondil felt a slight pang of remorse as he watched her disappear; he had perhaps spoken a little harshly, for she was little more than a child. He wondered for a moment whether he should go after her, then swiftly decided against it, for he was certainly glad to be rid of her. How appallingly irritating she was! Shaking his head, he strode off down the corridor.