The light of love
The year of Thranduil King and Torwen's betrothal started predictably enough with a fight and a separation.
"You are being unreasonable!" Torwen argued. "I cannot and will not abandon my duties in the Clearing just because you cannot spare me!"
But Thranduil would not hear of it. "The Marchwarden is more than apt to handle whatever might endanger the Clearing."
"The Marchwarden..." Torwen scoffed. "What of my house? I will not sit here idly, while my people stand almost defenceless against this creeping shadow. Mirael's wedding day is fast approaching as well. There are preparations to be made that suffer no delay! I made them a promise that I would oversee the process and…"
Thranduil turned then with an almost imperceptible swish of his clothes and gave her a sideways glance. Torwen resented him mightily whenever he did that, looking at her from the top of his prodigious height, every word, inflection and movement as calculated and cold as the dimming and rising of the stars. "How unfortunate for them that you are also bound to deal with wedding preparations here. In the capital. Still, I admire your loyalty. Now, would you care for some wine?"
It was when he turned his back at her that something in Torwen's heart went very quiet and cold.
"I do not want your damn wine! I want leave to go!" she hissed.
"And I want you here!"
The glass shattered in a million tiny pieces of silence and Thranduil could see his anger reflected in each of them as they clattered to the floor. It had been a long, long time since Thranduil had let his temper get the best of him. The jagged sound of his own raised voice seemed somehow foreign to his ears, but the old demon of rage began to tug at the chains of its imprisonment.
As the great Elvenking's Halls, so spacious and airy, suddenly seemed to close down on them, Thranduil put down the carafe, brushed his hand of what was left of the ill-fated glass and, with whatever tattered self-control he still possessed, looked at Torwen.
She could have well been a statue, with eyes painted gold and her hair a heavy red veil of silk, but for her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. There was no love in her that he could see, no warm light that brightened his home, no fire that set his blood to boil. She wore no embellishments, save for the silver and gold trimming of her coat and Thranduil realized she had dressed for the journey to the Clearing. Rage, pure and unadulterated, gripped his heart and left him blind to everything but her crass disobedience, but Torwen moved, her echoing steps drawing her closer to him.
She looked at him as if he were the enemy.
"What of what I want? Tell me, oh, great one who would deny me nothing…" Torwen spat back his words at him. "It's easy to make promises, Thranduil, is it not, when they are as hollow as your halls! I do not know what selfish little whim is spurring on this tantrum of yours, but I will not suffer it. I am leaving for the Clearing. When you decide to put your foolishness aside, you may find me there."
"Do you imagine I will come begging like a dog at your door?" Thranduil's words were deceptively calm, but the chill they instilled phased Torwen none: "Do you imagine I will tuck my tail between my legs and obey a childish order?"
"Yes!" Never in his long life had Thranduil had to argue his will against one of his kind, of his house, in his house. The anger again came swiftly – too swiftly - and broke the mask of calm Thranduil had schooled his features in. "I am your King! You owe me loyalty! You owe me obedience!"
But anger also rode hot on Torwen's heels. And it was instinct, a deep dark instinct that lingered even in the shadows of a glowing Elvish heart, not truth, that prompted Torwen to strike back. "I owe you nothing!"
The halls were quiet, even though their spirits were crackling with power and frustration and deep hurt. And as the silence lengthened and their hearts stilled, a wall of coldness and feigned indifference fell in place and Thranduil tightly commanded: "Be gone then."
And Torwen was gone.
"That was badly done. Very badly done."
That was all master Glaewon had been saying ever since Torwen marched into the Clearing, grim faced and ready to do battle with anyone foolish enough to look at her the wrong way.
"I do not believe I asked for your opinion."
Torwen busied herself with choosing the right fabric for Mirael's wedding dress, something light and spring-like, perhaps a gentle, airy green…
"The realm is ablaze with news of Thranduil's betrothed storming out of the halls, without so much as a by your leave…"
…perhaps something to soften Mirael's dark colouring, made now even harsher by the scowl on her pretty face…
"…without a royal escort, like a common…"
…a scowl she had worn ever since they'd left the halls in a hurry.
"It was a mere matter of haste, Glaewon. No need to tax your nerves over silly nothings."
The silk she'd chosen was a bit on the heavy side, but it had a pleasant sheen to it…
"Nothings? Torwen, you were nearly banished from the court!"
Torwen rounded on him, a wildness in her eyes: "I was not…"
Be gone then.
"…banished! I left of my own volition!"
"Ah, yes, that you did. Torwen the Unbroken does not live by anyone's leave, does she? No one may instruct Torwen the All Knowing on what to do with her life and the lives of all around her, as if we were mere subjects, children who need to be told when to speak, when to marry and what we should bloody well wear!" Glaewon roared.
"Leave!"
"No, I will most definitely not. I am not you!"
"Leave now!" Torwen did not know how it happened, but the shortest of her leaf blades was pressing into Glaewon's skin. He did not budge.
"Because it's easier that way, isn't it? If you cut us off, you will be spared the pain of us making that decision on our own. Everyone leaves Torwen. Wouldn't it be better if Torwen made them go away first? Isn't that what you thought? Why wait for Thranduil to come to his senses and see your many faults when you could simply parade them for the entire realm to see and corner him into an order that would only bring the both of you pain?"
The hand on the blade shook violently and it scared Torwen – she'd always had such steady hands in battle. Nothing in her quacked, nothing in her quailed. Nothing in her ever trembled as she did now, holding a live blade to the throat of someone she loved.
"Heavens forbid you should relinquish control, Torwen. That unsheathed blade is sharp. Just like you. Always out for blood."
Torwen threw the blade away and closed her eyes to the world, to her broken heart and the guilt that festered in its pieces.
"I told him… I just wanted… I would've come back…"
Glaewon gently placed his hands on her shoulders. He had known her since she had first opened her huge golden eyes to the light of the Eldar and, in all his life, he had loved no one more. He could barely now remember his lost lady love, the one he had hoped to marry and father children with. She was a distant memory, like Doriath of old, cast to the shadows at the edges of the bright light of Torwen's soul.
"You told him, yes, but what did he hear? He heard the one he loves begging to leave. He heard the woman he means to take as wife and queen place more importance on the happiness of ones who are strangers to him and his great love for you. He feels alone in his love and that is not a feeling anyone, especially Thranduil King, can shoulder easily."
"Because he is proud…" Torwen whispered, laying her forehead against master Glaewon's chest, suddenly weary and lost.
"Because he is in love, you precious little fool. In love with someone even prouder than himself. You meant to hurt him."
Torwen shivered. "I meant for him to listen to me. To see me. Not some…spawn of his affection. A creature to comfort his…magnificence."
Glaewon wanted to, but could not help but laugh at that. "You do not trust his affection then?"
Something in Torwen wanted to say No, to shout it across the Clearing, and up into the sky, but she knew it was a lie. Thranduil loved her, she knew. Or had loved her, before this ordeal had taken place. Now she was not so sure. And the doubt hurt and cut more deeply than she had ever imagined. On her way to the Clearing, she could not have cared less if he'd followed her on bended knee. But many – far too many – days later, with no word from the capital besides the whispers and wondering stares and too long silences, the pain of longing and a staggering amount of guilt were driving Torwen out of her mind.
She had not meant to say what she did. She owed Thranduil everything, loyalty and obedience above all. There was no malice in him when he had denied her her wanting to leave. He was looking out for her, for Thranduil was well aware of Torwen's reckless nature. Had she insisted on an escort, he would have gladly obliged her, but instead she'd scorned his worry and wounded his authority, his pride and his love. He would not forgive easily. Or ever.
Be gone then.
She could not forget the look in his eyes when he'd said that. As if she were something…disgusting, not worthy to appear before him – a lowly thing.
"He will not come. He will not see me. I am as good as banished, only a thousand times worse."
Glaewon tipped her resigned face towards his. "Perhaps he is thinking the same thing. She will not come. She will not see me. Or worse – she does not love me. So, tell me, Torwen, whose pain is greater? At least you have some knowledge of his enduring affection."
Torwen swallowed hard past the lump in her throat and her eyes misted over. She looked so small, his fierce Torwen, so fragile and frightened, Glaewon could only draw her to his chest, his lovely, lovely child, and offer what reassurance he could.
"Do not fret so, my dear. Lovers love to be crossed – it makes for a sweeter reunion. Now, let us wipe those big, fat tears before they ruin my tunic and find Mirael something fabulous to wear. I believe she had her heart set on this here fabric…"
Torwen smiled a little teary smile, but followed Glaewon's lead nonetheless. The fabric was really pretty and for a moment her heart felt a little lighter. On her left hand there was a promise - the silver ring Thranduil had put on her finger the day of their betrothal. Even if he meant only to break that promise, Torwen reasoned, Thranduil would come and see her one last time.
Thranduil King prided himself on his patience. For ages, he had fought against his more basic urges – like the rage that had consumed him as a young warrior elf, the lust he had for life and beauty, the desire to be pleased in all he might endeavour – until he had achieved such a stillness of mind and spirit that it took momentous events to rattle him. He had weathered the storms of this Middle-earth with resilience and not a small amount of sheer stubbornness. That alone had gained him a mythical aura among the Fair Folk and the many other people of the world.
Because of his height and build, he'd accomplished through bare physical intimidation what a wealth of curses could never have gained him. Thranduil's passions ran deep, true, but the evil times he had lived had also instilled in him a sort of coldness that insulated him from the feelings of others and always helped him turn the tide of many an unavoidable argument in his favour.
But when he now thought back to Torwen's eyes, so wide, and gold and cold and, for the merest of moments, pained, when he'd ordered her gone, he was suddenly aware of how easily the fire of his temper could spring to devastating life and ruin what he had worked so hard at building.
He'd hurt her. He'd forgotten, in the heat of his own wounded pride, how fragile Torwen actually was. Even a cornered animal would strike back and he'd done his damndest to box her in, so sure he had felt of his sway on her. But Torwen was his equal, in station, strength and pride. But not in love, Thranduil feared. Torwen freely shared her affections with the people she drew to her like flowers craving sunlight. But the fountain of her true love was shut still.
Thranduil was not so blinded as not to see that there was a shadow in Torwen's heart, a fear of rejection, of loneliness. And he'd not only rejected her wishes, he'd cast her away. He'd regretted it, but not, to his eternal shame, immediately. Out of spite, he had watched her from the shadows, before her hasty departure, astride her horse, fidgeting on the spot, looking unsure, perhaps waiting for him to call her back, before that hard, uncompromising look settled on her features and she stormed out of the halls, on the Green Road. He would not have called out to her for all the treasures, power or wisdom in the world, even though his heart was bleeding with love for her.
Just the memory of her long red hair disappearing into the gloaming made Thranduil restless and he twiddled with the plain gold ring on his left hand. For days, he'd debated whether he'd wear it again, but he couldn't bear to take it off. He'd tried to mask it with one of his more ornate pieces, but the little gold band winked at him like an errant sun ray through the foliage.
Be gone then.
And she was gone. Not a word had come from the Clearing, besides a short missive in Glaewon's straight bold script, informing the King of Torwen's safe arrival. The young archer who'd delivered it had asked if the King would like to send a message back, but Thranduil had taken a good look at his accusing eyes and he'd dismissed the insolent little wretch on the spot. This was Torwen's creature, as were all the Elves in the Clearing. Their Red Lady...
...his Red Queen. But oh, how fiercely he missed her. He missed her commanding presence, the way she charmed her way into the hearts of his people, her constant mockery of everything that displeased her, the brazenness with which she appropriated his sashes, his robes and on one memorable occasion, one of his more tight fitting tunics. They had been doing so well together. Torwen came to him willingly, basking in his adoration like a wild cat in the warmth in the sun. There had been nights when she'd cozied up to him, in his study, mercilessly distracting him with her small, needy body nestled in his arms.
But everything was a struggle with Torwen. He'd feel her tense up at times, trying to tell him something, wanting, but not knowing how to ask. Feeling, but not knowing how to show it. And Torwen did not take well to inability of any kind on her part. She was severe on herself, Thranduil knew, despite her claims to superiority. The King had an inkling that the lack of response from the Clearing was some sort of self-imposed punishment Torwen was inflicting upon herself. She had done it before, when she'd abandoned the capital, despite his express wishes that the Last Princess of Doriath have a permanent place in court, and moved on to build the little community in the Clearing, away from him and the safety of the Elvenking's power. No, she had chosen the perilous life of the border lords, toiling alongside the ones who were not her equals by any stretch of imagination. Thranduil both loved and hated that about her - that she could leave him so easily, yet suffer so greatly because of it.
"My Lord, we are nearly done with securing the west fold and now…"
Lord Calaron had been droning on about something or another for hours, but Thranduil had given up listening to his incessant haranguing. It seemed the less stellar traits of the steward's character had surfaced with Torwen's departure alongside a long forgotten sister he wanted to introduce at court. The maiden was dull as she was tall and Torwen would have had the time of her life with her, but since she was not here, Thranduil had to contend with entertaining a creature so lacking in taste it was positively criminal.
"Lord Calaron," Thranduil rose from his seat, "in truth the west folds have always been rather secure, so let's not waste our breaths about that. If I'm not mistaken," and the King gave a pointed look that told Lord Calaron that, indeed, he was never mistaken, "the time has been in keeping with us. I would entertain a hunt. Give some of our new batch of archers something more interesting to aim at. That would please Master Bowman as well, I should think." His Captain of the First Watch had been insufferable of late and not even the archers he so assiduously and passionately trained could deliver him of his vile mood. Thranduil knew the reason for that and sympathised. He himself was plagued by the same illness. And it was an illness only Torwen could cure.
Thranduil looked at his betrothal ring again and felt his heart shatter. The simple truth he had struggled with in Torwen's absence was that Thranduil wanted her no matter what. If she only gave him her loyalty for the rest of time, with no hope or hint of love, Thranduil would take it with two greedy hands. The many days of their separation had sealed that fate for him. He would want her for eternity and beyond. Should Torwen choose the Clearing, choose freedom, choose to be relieved of her promise, he would obey her. Should she choose to one day marry another, he would please her. He would give her the world and ask for nothing in return but to be allowed to be in her presence and live off morsels of her magic and light.
But he had to know. He had to know her heart and what feelings were hidden in there. He needed to know the truth, not words spoke in anger. He needed to hear it from her – what she wanted, what she would have of him, from Thranduil, not from the King. He needed to see her.
"Where would it please My Lord to hunt?" Calaron asked cautiously, as he felt the shift in the King's mood.
"The Clearing," came Thranduil's too swift reply. Then, checking himself in the presence of his underling, his voice dropped and, bowing his head in a slight gesture of dismissal, he said: "Just North of the Clearing."
Torwen's time was up.
The wedding in the Clearing was one of the happiest memories in Torwen's life and in the lives of many Elves that would come to remember the sunnier days in the Greenwood Great. Eldir had been dashing in his robe of green and gold and Mirael resplendent in her shimmering white gown with wild flowers Torwen herself had woven in her hair. The Marchwarden had offered a feast to put all royal banquets to shame and Lirael had starlight shinning in her eyes to rival the gems in Elwen's hair.
But Torwen, dressed in red and gold, wearing the ancient crown of her house, had looked beautiful and fierce. Some may have commented on the tarnished silver of the heavy circlet holding back Torwen's blood red hair, but none could unsee the sparkling ring on her left hand. She may or may not have had the blood of kings, but she held the heart of one.
Torwen herself felt in better spirits. Mirael's happiness and the good strong magic of the Elves of the Clearing had brought back the light in Torwen's eyes. She'd even sung for the newlyweds and what heart she had that was not with Thranduil she poured in her songs.
But as night crept in, and the revels began to dwindle, even though the Marchwarden and master Glaewon were still toasting to the glory of the Greenwood Great, and Mirael and Eldir had made themselves scarce, Torwen suddenly felt very lonely. Elwen and Lirael had been great company throughout the evening, but even they eventually ran out of ways to entertain Torwen's delicate temper.
In the Halls, Torwen had never lacked entertainment. She'd been a frequent visitor to the kitchens, the stables, Thranduil's empty rooms. She'd made a shadow out of the Captain of the First Watch, who dogged her steps and waited on her every command. She'd even, very carefully and away from the King's eyes, trained with the archers. She was sufficiently proficient with a bow and arrow, partial as she was to her leaf blades, but she felt the extra training wouldn't hurt and the Captain was an excellent Master Bowman.
In truth, Torwen may have felt lonely at times when Thranduil was immersed in his kingly duties, but she'd never been truly alone. Surprisingly, life in the Clearing had moved on without her, so much so that Torwen felt out of place, even in the house under the tree. It was a disquieting thought.
"My Father will keep at it till morning, but he is safe with master Glaewon, I should think", Lirael smiled at Torwen.
"I think the bottom of that Dorwinion wine bottle will beat the dawn in its haste to make an appearance."
Lirael's laughter was as joyous as a sparkling spring. Such beauty, Torwen thought. Such grace.
Lirael looked at Torwen with happy eyes and smiled again. She did that often these days, as she frequently sought out Torwen's company.
"You bring happiness with you wherever you go, Torwen the Unbroken, and leave only desolation in your wake."
"You seem to have done well without me", Torwen said and then, reconsidering, apologised, "Forgive me. That was terribly rude. I did not mean to say..."
"No, no, I understand your meaning. But what I meant is that your happiness is our happiness, wherever you are. Because you are dear to us. I wish you wouldn't forget that quite so often."
Despite herself, Torwen grinned. "Bravo, Lira-child! That was the most starkly unforgiving thing you have ever produced!"
Lirael blushed a little, but quickly gained her composure: "Someone has got to stand up to you. And since master Glaewon is momentarily incapacitated..." With a pointed glance towards Glaewon's sleeping head nestled among empty cups of wine, Lirael continued, "... I took it upon myself to lecture you."
Torwen laughed in earnest then: "So you're taking turns, I see. I shall consider myself properly chastised" and she bowed her head.
Lirael touched her hand to Torwen's. "You are so full of love. Never forget that."
"How is it", Torwen asked, a bit miffed, "that everybody knows so much about love and only I am left ignorant?"
Lirael shrugged. "We stopped and listened, I suppose. To our hearts, to the hearts of the people around us. My Father would have greatly wanted to make a queen out of me. And I confess I have also had this desire. But when I first gazed upon Thranduil King and touched his hand, his soul spoke to mine. It spoke of fullness and the chambers in his heart filled with a longing that I could not fulfill. Whenever I looked at him, I felt the same thing I do when I am in your presence. I cannot explain it. You have the same magic. Perhaps", Lirael faltered, "perhaps because he is so full of you. His thoughts, his heart, his entire being. You are one, forever, in the light of Eru."
Torwen could hardly breathe past the ache in her chest, so deeply affected was she by Lirael's honest words. In a burst of light, the path cleared before her. Like in all the battles of her life, Torwen knew exactly what had to be done. If Thranduil wished it still for it to happen, Torwen would brave the fire and make it so.
Thranduil never did anything if it did not require an insane amount of style. The camp he set for his hunting party could, at its barest, be described as lavish. It was annoyingly charming, Torwen had to admit. She'd been lurking at its edges for a couple of days, ever since she'd almost decapitated Master Bowman, who'd ventured a little too close to Torwen's usual haunts. He was the one to inform her that the King had ordered a hunt and was camping near the Clearing.
But not near enough, Torwen thought. She had caught glimpses of Thranduil here and there, as he entertained Calaron and a tall, wilting flower she had no recollection of, but who bore a striking resemblance to the Lord Steward. The King had looked his usual radiant self, but did he have to wear that robe that complimented his stature so wonderfully? And the cut of his tunic at the base of his throat was strikingly indecent and served only to fluster the poor maiden whose inept giggles sometimes marred the peacefulness of the Elven camp. Torwen might have forgiven her poorly veiled attempts at impressing the King had she been a tad smaller. But seeing the two of them together, the tall, fair King and the equally fair and tall maiden, made Torwen want to ravage an entire battalion of orcs.
She had given much thought to how she would introduce herself to the King. Torwen was not vainglorious, but she was stubborn. Thranduil would not be fooled by her attempted humility, even if Torwen was truly sorry. Knowing him, he would probably refuse to see her alone and would grant her an audience only in the presence of Calaron and his detested kin. And that Torwen would not suffer. Never, she vowed.
But there had to be a way to ascertain Thranduil's mood towards receiving her. She had come up with a plan and had spent the best part of the day preparing for it. Her hands were dirty and her tunic and breeches a mess, but the treasure she had dug out from the earth was well worth it. Clutching the small parcel to her chest, she was waiting for Thranduil to leave his tent and ride out, but as was his custom, he tarried quite a while. Torwen smiled. He always took so long to get himself ready, as if he wasn't aware that whatever he put on would look magnificent.
At last, the Elvenking exited his tent, looking impeccable in a dramatic black and red hunting garb, and Torwen forgot how to breathe. Longing, fierce and unyielding, coursed through her body and the need to touch him was a visceral nightmare. Beyond her control, her body leaned forward, her steps drawing her to him as if pulled by an invisible string, before she caught herself and remembered her plan. She also sobered when the Calaron look-alike sauntered next to the King and he smiled charmingly at her. Torwen almost lost it when the impertinent wretch had the gall of looking spooked by Middle-earth's most docile horse and Thranduil had to graciously assist her when she mounted. Torwen would have probably cut off his hands if he had ever even hinted at the possibility that the Unbroken One would have problems mounting and riding any steed, let alone having him hold her hand as she settled in her saddle.
Once they were finally off and Torwen managed to dislodge her dagger from where she had pummeled it in the bark of the tree she was hiding behind, she straightened up and marched into camp, till she reached Thranduil's tent. The guards posted at the entrance took one look at her blazing eyes and scurried to the sides in a less than fluid motion. Later, they would swear they'd heard the Red Lady growl menacingly under her breath.
Inside the tent, Torwen's foul disposition dissipated under the spell of Thranduil's lingering magic. She'd missed his scent. She'd missed dozing off in his arms when he was working and she was lonely. She'd missed waking up to the rhythm of his strong heart beat. They'd been so long apart his scent had worn off from her clothes and she could only bring forth the ghost of his hungry kisses. They'd decided early on that their courtship would always border on inappropriacy and they had both done their best to push the boundaries of a respectful royal betrothal. Up until the moment they quarreled and she left.
With that sobering thought in mind, Torwen went to a nearby table and laid her precious gift upon it. He would know whence it came. She had unearthed the roots he loved eating, cleaned them, peeled them and was now offering them to him. He would know. And once he did, he would come.
It was dark by the time Thranduil returned with his party, but not nearly dark enough to match his mood. He played at being gracious, he played at being an honourable host, but one more moment in the company of his devout courtiers and he would soon become a king without a court. He almost jumped from his elk and purposefully strode to his tent with a careless "Pray excuse me" tossed to Calaron and his lady sister, who had moved to follow him before thinking better of it. Thranduil stormed past the guards, who, by now, no longer needed to be told that no one, save a certain woodland sprite, might be allowed to bother the King.
In the privacy of his own surroundings, Thranduil shut his eyes and groaned. He had to see Torwen or he'd turn into a kinslayer. So tantalisingly close to the Clearing, Torwen's magic was preying at the edges of his mind. He could pick up her scent on the wind and feel her presence all around him. Even his tent seemed to be infused with the…
Thranduil froze. On the table nearest to his seat, peeled roots were silently vying for his attention. They were his favourite. Only Torwen, who had followed him in Dagorlad, knew that. She'd mocked him on his culinary tastes enough times for him to know only she could have brought them. Which meant she was here. She had been here. In his tent, probably standing where he stood now. That thought alone was enough to make Thranduil light-headed. He ached to see her. And dreaded it still. Was this a peace offering? Or a token of a deeper affection? Would she ruin him? Or make him whole again?
Grabbing his black and silver cloak, he vanished into the shadowed realm of the forest. Torwen would not be far. He knew her ways. She'd be waiting somewhere close, keeping her hands busy with one thing or another, like building a fire that would never be lit, or sharpening an arrow that would never take flight, wondering and worrying.
And true enough, he found her huddled next to a tree, peeling roots with her dagger. Her brows were furrowed and her wild hair was a mess and Thranduil loved her so much he thought he might die if he never got to have her.
"You are ruining a perfectly good root."
Torwen started and the sharp dagger bit into her finger. Thranduil could see the blood beading, but Torwen hid the injury behind her back and bowed low. "My King."
My Torwen, Thranduil wanted to say. My love, my beautiful one, my dear, precious darling. Light of my life, soul of my soul.
But he said none of those things, for what was a King without his pride?
"Why do you linger in the shadows, Torwen the Unbroken, stealing away like a thief in the night? You are a Princess of Doriath, not a common woodland elf."
Torwen looked up and her eyes were tiny, shimmering suns. She looked gaunt and pale and sad. Thranduil drew on the strength of all his long, lonely years to resist and keep himself firm and resolute, for he was that close to throwing everything away and beg, beg for her forgiveness.
"I…" Torwen started, still on bended knee, "I… did not know if I was still welcome in the court of King Thranduil."
She tried to hide it, but Thranduil caught her eyes searching his fingers, locking on the pale gold band.
She swallowed hard.
He extended his hand: "Is this what you came looking for? You may take it…" Thranduil forced the word out "…back if you wish it. You need only say it."
Torwen looked stricken and the words came tumbling out "No, no, no…" before she got on her feet, took a deep breath and very slowly said: "No. It is not in my intention to…take back…anything I offered in good faith."
Ever the soldier, Torwen braced herself and standing straight and looking him in the eyes, her hands still clasped at her back, her head held high, declared: "I would, however, take back words I have spoken in anger. I was wrong to disobey you. I was wrong to deny you your right to… to command me to stay in the Halls. You are my King. You have my allegiance. Always." Torwen paused. "You have the right to demand… you have the right to… ask…" She paused again. And then, her hand shot out, shaking like a leaf in the wind, his silver ring a lost little piece of starlight caught on her palm. "I have dishonoured you. You have the right to ask for this back."
"And what would you say, Torwen, if I asked for my ring back?" Since she started talking, Thranduil had died a thousand deaths. But nothing compared to the agony of waiting for this one answer.
Torwen looked at the silver ring in her hand and then at the silver Elf in front of her.
"I am not worthy of you."
Thranduil blanched. Death could not have been crueler.
"But… there is a part of me…the best part of me, for whatever that is worth…that wishes you never ask me that question… that wishes this had never happened… that, very selfishly, wants you to… to love me again."
Thranduil closed the distance between them and wrapped her extended hand in his fist. It was the only point of contact between them, but he did not trust himself to give more. Not yet.
"I have never stopped. My love is yours. Always. But I cannot live like this, Torwen. My heart knows it. I swear it does. But I need to hear it from you. Say you love me. Or say you don't. But do not feed me morsels of gratitude. Know that I would welcome even those greedily – there, you have the weapon of my undoing. But say you love me. That's all I need. Say you love me and no quarrel, no separation, no power in Eru's great world will ever come between us."
Torwen clasped their hands with her bloody one.
"How will you believe me? How will you ever trust me again?"
"I will know. You have deceived me before and still I saw the truth. I will know now."
Torwen kissed his clenched fist and whispered: "I… I lov.."
He kissed her. Drawing her startled body into his arms, he kissed her. Ravenously, punishingly, achingly sweet and terribly hard. He kissed her again and again until he was drunk on the feel of her. And then he started all over. He kissed her slow, he kissed her hard. He kissed his name off her lips a thousand times before he finally stopped.
"Forgive me."
"Thranduil…"
"Shhh…Forgive me, my love. I know you do. I know."
"But…"
Thranduil cupped her dear face in his hands. "I was wrong. I cannot order you to do this. You will say it when you are ready. And I will treasure it more for it."
"But why? Why are you so kind?" Torwen wailed.
"I am not kind, beloved. Far from it. I have been cruel to you. You are my Torwen and I have not given you much choice. I will not reduce our love to conditions."
Gently, he placed the ring on her finger once more and whispered a soft kiss over her injured hand. "This ring lives here. As I live in your heart. And you in mine. I do not need words. I need you."
"But you do have me. You do. All of me."
Thranduil bent to kiss her again, atoning for his earlier roughness, peppering a wealth of kisses on her face, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her pretty little nose in the side of his neck. He wasn't surprised, nor disappointed when Torwen's own wildness surfaced and she nipped at his skin, laving the marks she left in the wake of her greedy mouth with her nimble tongue. He wasn't idle either, lifting her up against him, until she was level with his face and he could see the devilish glint in her no longer pale eyes. He took her mouth again, slowly, leisurely, reveling in the way she opened up to him. The moment Torwen hoisted herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands running wildly through his hair until she had his head trapped in her grasp, Thranduil knew he would have to put an end to this soon, or he'd make her his on the woodland floor. Or quite possibly against the nearest tree. All of which were highly unelvish and, more importantly, terribly bad for his sanity. He grazed her lower lip and sharply bit until she gasped. Using only one hand to hold her up, he cupped her face with the other, gently tracing her puffy, pink lips with his thumb. Unrepentantly, Torwen drew his finger in her mouth, wetting it with the tip of her tongue.
Thranduil laughed and regretfully stilled her long enough to whisper roughly in her ear: "Beloved mine, how will I survive you?"
Locked in his tight embrace, Torwen closed her eyes and burrowed her face into his hair. She was dimly aware that this was not behaviour becoming of a Princess of Doriath or a future Queen, for that matter, but she couldn't help herself. She had been so long without him…
Torwen could feel his hands moving soothingly up and down her back, probably trying to disengage himself from her vise like grip and regain some semblance of propriety. All of a sudden, she was too aware of the fact that this was Thranduil King she was taking liberties with and she moved to disentangle herself from him. Thranduil allowed her to slither down his tall frame, but would not release her yet. She was too adorable, her cheeks on fire and her lips swollen from his kisses. She wouldn't even look at him. Torwen was rarely stricken with bouts of shyness, but when she did, she looked like a child about to be scolded. Endearing as it was, Thranduil did not care much for it – he suspected Torwen had been scolded for a large part of her childhood. Bowing his head to her lowered one, Thranduil softly whispered: "Don't. Never be ashamed of your passion for me. The fire you feel now burns in my blood too. I love you. I want you. As a man wants a woman. There is no shame in that, beloved."
Torwen looked crossed with herself.
"This is not passion. This is…"
"Lust", Thranduil answered for her. He kissed the top of her head, buried his hands in her glorious hair and turned her scowling face towards his: "Sweetling, look at me. I started this and it pains me that I cannot finish it. Though, precious heart of mine, there is nothing I want more."
With a growl of frustration, Torwen lounged for his mouth, but Thranduil smilingly kept back. He kissed her temple in return, once, twice and, just because she was that intoxicating, stole a fleeting kiss off her lips. "Soon, beloved. Soon, I will give us both sweet relief. Not on a cold, woodland floor, but in our marriage bed. And then, I'll make our bodies sing, I promise."
Torwen hummed in response, her forehead pressed into his chest, her hands clutching at his sides. "I will hold you to that promise, Thranduil King."
Satisfied with the strength slowly returning to her voice, Thranduil finally released her.
"Torwen of the Clearing, scurry off home now. It would please your King to visit you on the morrow. Do make sure everything is in readiness for his arrival."
As he turned to take his leave, he found himself boldly questioned by Torwen: "Will my King be travelling alone…or accompanied?"
Intrigued, Thranduil stalled: "I have my retinue with me."
"Lord Calaron and his…wife?"
The corner of his mouth twitched with the effort to suppress a supremely ingratiated smirk, but the sudden murderous look in Torwen's eyes was too beautiful a thing to pass up. "His lady sister. Lord Calaron is unmarried, as you well know, Torwen."
"And does this lady sister not have a family she may wish to visit? A husband who misses her , perhaps?"
"Not that I know of. And I'm quite certain she's…unattached." It was fortunate Thranduil had put some distance between them, for Torwen looked quite ready to fell him.
"Well, in that case," Torwen bristled, "she can be unattached somewhere else!"
"Is that your wish?"
"That is my wish."
"Then your wish is my command." Thranduil inclined his head regally, but he couldn't hide his smile and neither could Torwen squelch her laughter.
"Be well, beloved."
"Stay safe, my King."
Thranduil smiled often and then someone would find themselves spectacularly outwitted, outclassed and outmatched. Torwen could swear Thranduil had facial expressions down to a political art, every smirk a threat, every tilt of his regal head a declaration of war. But there were times, private times, when no one was looking but her, when his smiles took ages off his eternally beautiful face and made him look almost carefree. Made him look every bit the spoiled Elfling he must have been back in Doriath when the world was young and he was safe. When he smiled like that, it made Torwen want to promise him the moon and stars and all that he may ever desire. She had a feeling that, as with everything else, he was now doing it on purpose.
The King had arrived in the Clearing the following day after they saw each other at the camp, with a surprisingly small escort. The Captain of the First Watch had almost beaten the King in his haste to pay his respects to the Lady Torwen, which set the tone for a relaxed, intimate dinner in the House under the Oak, between the royal couple and their attendants, the Marchwarden's household and Torwen's own. Glaewon was an entertaining host and the wine flowed freely, so once tongues were loosened, hunting stories were aplenty. Mirael was laughing easily again and Lirael was refilling the Captain's cup more times than it was strictly necessary, which made Torwen's keen eyes sparkle with mischief. It was all going according to plan.
"Come with me, my King. There is something I've been meaning to show you."
It startled Thranduil, but then again, Torwen's forwardness always did. Her eyes were clear, though, and she looked eager and happy. He rose to follow her, resigned in the knowledge that he would most likely follow her to the depths of the underworld should she but hint at it. As she led the way, Thranduil saw that Torwen's little house was by no means little, but it was airy, less oppressive than his Halls. It pained the King to realise how much she was actually giving up to be with him. Her home. Her freedom.
"My Lady Mother didn't take much with her when she left. But she didn't actually leave me with anything of great value."
There was a catch in Torwen's otherwise clear, strong voice that made Thranduil, who'd sworn to himself he'd keep to all rules of propriety under her roof, no matter how great the temptation, reach out and touch her, comfort her, love her until she forgot her name. But Torwen took his hand and joyfully carried on. "Save for this one special thing. Oh, you're going to love this!"
"My love, she left me you. That is enough."
Torwen blushed to the roots of her already red hair.
"My, but you look lovely in pink…" Thranduil bent down to kiss her, but Torwen avoided him with a laugh. "I am serious. Let me show you."
And never letting go of his hand, she dragged him through her chambers, to the little solar she liked using best. On the carved wooden table there was a small box, reverently placed away from the chaos that was Torwen's books, daggers and arrow heads littering every available surface around.
"She left gowns behind, a whole stack of them, but I never wear them. My mother was quite tall you see, so I'd have to fix them. I tried wearing one once, but the fabric kept snagging and I ended up ruining it. I mostly let Mirael play with them now. She likes that breezy, princessy feel. You should see how careful she is when she's wearing one. She hardly even sits!"
Thranduil could see. He could see a young Torwen, struggling to escape the shadow her mother's famed beauty cast. The shadow of her warrior brother. The shadow of her father's nobility.
"Torwen…"
"But," Torwen's smiling eyes turned to him, "there is a treasure she did leave me with. I used to spend hours gazing at it. I'd sneak up in my mother's chambers and take a peek at it. I never even dared touch it, but still I'd get grounded for it."
Torwen laughed, gently tracing the carvings on the box. "Till one day, my mother told me that, if I behaved and acted like a proper Lady, she'd let me have it. So, here it is." Torwen placed the box in Thranduil's hands carefully and as reverently as he'd ever seen Torwen handle anything. Before he opened it, though, he took hold of Torwen's hand and kissed it. "Know this. Nothing in here could ever be more precious than you. I will love it because you love it." In fact, after having heard of Torwen's strenuous relationship with her mother, Thranduil was quite certain he was going to hate it.
"Don't be silly. It's beautiful. Open it."
So Thranduil did. Nestled on a bed of black velvet, white gems of pure starlight winked at him. The hair clip was beautifully crafted, with dozens of leaf shaped diamonds attached to a silver stem. "I have decided I shall wear it at our wedding. I've always wanted to find the right moment to take it out of the box and I think this is it. It is a jewel worthy of a Queen, is it not?"
Thranduil was contemplating various jewels that were worthy of his Queen and all of them a gift of love, not of obligation, but Torwen's eyes were riveted to the sparkling clip. He softly caressed the side of her face to make her look at him.
"You could come to me in nothing at all, and truthfully, I'd prefer it, and you would be worthy of this King. More than you could ever possibly imagine."
For a moment, Torwen panicked. "You do not like it?"
Thranduil kissed her brow and closed the lid of the box. "It is exquisite, my love. But I am jealous of it. Nothing I ever gave you has made you this happy."
"No, but I wanted to make you happy. I know how much you like these gems. I only meant to…"
"Easy, Torwen!" and Thranduil gathered her in his arms. "I am not displeased. The jewel is beautiful and so are you. And the two of you together will shine brighter than any star."
"Not if you insist on wearing your gold flowing robe. With your colouring, you'll look prettier than me."
"Naturally. I am prettier than you."
Torwen's hearty laugh eased a tightening in Thranduil's chest. He had felt it when entering the Clearing but he could not name it. This feeling that came from Torwen smiling at him. The heat of her luminous eyes and the sound of her voice, it was all love. Torwen's true love.
"On the morrow," Torwen suddenly said, looking not at him, but at his chest, which was as high up as she could reach, "I will return with you to the capital."
"My love…"
"No, listen. This house…it belongs to Mirael and Eldir now. I imagine it always did. The Marchwarden cannot leave and Eldir needs to move out of a house full of women and his uncle's endearing ego. I have already spoken with her, so Lira will come with me, as my Lady in waiting. The borderlands are not a safe place for her. She belongs in the capital. Elwen would not be swayed though. She wants to stay and I must respect her decision. She is wiser than I and one day I will see the wisdom of her decision, I am sure. So, you see, there's nothing to keep me here anymore. All paths lead to you. And I must follow. As does my heart."
Inside his mind, Thranduil had heard those words a thousand times. In his dreams, he'd seen the love shinning in Torwen's eyes every night. But nothing, no dream or vision, could ever come close to the light of Torwen's spirit burning bright in his arms. It was enough to undo him.
Slowly, carefully, he opened the chambers of Torwen's heart and walked in. At last, he was home.
A/N: Thank you for the wonderful response to this story. It really makes me happy reading your reviews and it did spur me into getting this chapter done. When I first envisioned the story, it was only a couple of chapters long, going up to the events of the Hobbit, but it ran away with me. So I will ask you to be patient as I juggle time and inspiration to finish this. That being said, hope you enjoyed reading and don't forget to review. Thanks!