Longer chapter, get excited!
-XXX-
I am once again contentedly settled in my cottage. My bees greet me the moment I step past the gate. Before I reach the door I am completely covered with tiny, fuzzy bee bodies. It's their version of a hug, I think. A ticklish sort of sensation, I giggle slightly, holding my hands to allow them to scurry across my fingers. It is nearly ten minutes before I can reach for my key.
Inside, it feels so empty. The furniture is covered in sheets, curtains drawn, everything is musty, with a light layer of dust covering every surface. Already weary, I pull a sheet off one chair to sit down. There are many things to do before this is a home again. The gardens are surely in great disarray – over a year without weeding or watering. I cannot even imagine the fruit trees.
My goats were sold to farmers around Esgaroth, so I must seek to buy new ones as soon as my home is straightened up a bit. The bees were, thankfully, self-sustaining. I visit their hives to find them overflowing with honey – the people I left with permission to gather has told me they've been collecting, yet they have clearly not been taking enough. Again the bees swamp me, happily it seems, greeting me with cheerful humming.
Between the sunshine, the bees, and the gentle swaying of my overgrown garden in the breeze…I feel thoroughly welcomed.
I dedicate two hour to cleaning, then make a pallet for myself – my mattress is currently airing out – and curl up beside the fire. I do not sleep, however, despite my weariness; I am too pleased, too energized simply by being home.
Thranduil's coronation is in a fortnight. As everyone else in the Greenwood, I am invited. It is a respectful five days after Oropher's funeral, which I fully anticipate attending as well. One dress of black mourning, then another of brightness and joy, an accessory to the dawn of a new age in Greenwood. I assume that black armbands will be appropriate, and I mentally remind myself to make one before the week is out.
I liked Oropher. He was a good man, a good king. I am saddened by his loss, more so now that I have a sympathy for our prince. A small part of me wonders what changes shall be upon us – Thranduil is very different from his father. He is not so interested in foreign affairs. Distance is what our new monarch will seek from his reign – he does not want to interact with those outside of our forest outside of trade. This will surely make for a change – though, not an unwelcome one, with the war still surging on beyond the Greenwood.
Beriana and Arhiel come to visit after three days. I am thankful for the time they give me to settle. They come bearing cheese, candles (I'm especially thankful for these, as I'm at my last half candle, though they are not as nice as my own bee's wax), bread, a few jams, and jarred vegetables. I am quickly swept into tight, unyielding hugs as the two women sweep inside.
"Cala," Beriana all but sobs in my arms. "Oh, it has been so long! Are you alright? My letters –"
"All made it," I assure her. "I just lost time to write. I'm sorry."
"No, no…." Fat tears reflect in her eyes. "Don't apologize."
Arhiel pulls her daughter back. "Beriana, give her air," she clucks. "But answer the question, Caladhiel, how are you?"
"Fine, I promise! A little weary, but not hurt. That's the thing about healers – we tend to spend more time taking care of the injured than getting injured ourselves."
Once both are certain of my health, they set about fussing about the cottage. Arhiel puts the candles and other foods away then makes tea, while Beriana helps me scrub the table and put on a fresh tablecloth. While we work, I am told all the goings-on of the Greenwood, all that I had missed in my year's absence. There is not much of interest – babies were born (though not as many a before), scandals made, businesses lost and sold, and betrothals made (again, far fewer than before).
Beriana chatters throughout tea, going twenty leagues a minute as she describes the of returned war heroes, the babies born recently, and all the gossip of the village, along with the wedding of two mutual friends.. Beside me, Arhiel sighs. She takes up my hand, giving it a squeeze.
"I do believe my Beriana is rather envious," she tells me conspiratorially when Beriana rises to fill the kettle a second time. From the pantry, my friend spins to face us with a squeak, hands on hips, incredulous. She's holding a plate of honey cakes – made fresh yesterday.
"And what would I be envious of, Mother?" she asks icily.
Arhiel smiles. "That you're not set in betrothal, my dear."
I look to my friend. "Oh?"
She pouts, setting the platter on the table with a thud. "Ulain." It's a hearty sigh, one filled with much emotion.
"Oh…" I shake my head. "He's been at war, Beriana! Do you think he has time to court you?"
"Of course not!" she protests. "Nevertheless, he has asked for my hand!"
"What?"
Arhiel beams, though Beriana appears rather miserable. She pushes away her mug, tearing off bits of honey cake.
"This is wonderful, Beriana, it's what you've been waiting for over a year now! Whatever is wrong?"
"Everything!" she bursts out. "It's to…the timing is terrible. The war, and it's summer and…." She breaks off in a sob. Arhiel rises to stand behind her, patting her shoulder.
"What if he dies?" Beriana whispers. "While he's out there? I couldn't – I couldn't –"
"He will be fine," I sooth, reaching across the table to take up her hands. It's a lie. An utter lie. "You mustn't fret, Beriana. Ulain loves you too much to let himself get killed. You must keep heart, you goose."
"He shall be back within the month, my dear," Arhiel assures her quietly. "The siege began only a month ago. They shall surely fall Mordor before the year is out. Thranduil has already recalled most of our forces home – the only reason he keeps back those battalions is because those troops are experienced, fierce. He will return soon enough, my love, whole and hale. Just as our Caladhiel."
Beriana looks to me. "Tell me. Is it so terrible?"
I hesitate before saying. "Tis war, Beriana. It is great and terrible. But I have no doubt that Ulain should return."
My honesty is appreciated, though Arhiel gives me a rather foreboding expression. I ignore her, squeezing my friends again.
-XXX-
Oropher's memorial is a solemn affair. The entire forest turns out, and even some Men of Esgaroth. All are in dark colors. We are a sea of black, grey, and blue in the dusky twilight. It seems as though the Greenwood mourns with us. Mist pours out from between the trees, seeping into all available spaces. Every few feet along with aisle, someone holds a lantern on a tall pole, casting a brief circle of white light.
The procession moves sluggishly. First banners, then flutes, then a small choir singing mourning ballads, with our king in the middle. He rests atop a finely carved pallet – a darkly stained oak, with depictions of great achievements of his life. Six guardsmen in full service attire carry the pallet upon their shoulders. Shrouded in clean white linen, his arms crossed upon his chest, he appears at peace. Yet, I cannot help but remember him drenched with blood, chest slashed, Fortesbrawn ordering supplies across the surgical table. I tug on the hood of my grey cloak. The others around me are already weeping to, but this feels like a private kind of sorrow.
Thranduil follows his father in the procession. He wears a black robe, streaked with silver threads, a subdued silver circlet inset with diamonds on his brow – in a mere five days he shall bear the crown of his father, a might twist of white gold, made to resemble the branches of an icy tree. I forget that Thranduil is king now. He suits the role well. His face is entirely impassive. Staring straight ahead, our prince's eyes are blank. No emotion flickers across them. He turns, every so often, to look at those that line his walk, bowing his head in return to those that lower theirs.
Behind him walk a few cousins, an aunt and uncle. Their eyes are downcast. The women wear veils, the men walk with a stiffness that can only be associated with a familial loss.
The procession will go on for a few more miles, sinking into the depths of the palace, into the earth's belly where those unfortunate enough to end their days in Arda rather that the Undying Lands go to rest for eternity – though, not the eternity they'd been born for. Oropher will rest on a hard bed of marble, with only the dead for company.
This reminds me of my choice. My ultimate decision. Being half-elven, I have the option of choosing a mortal life, or that of a normal elf – eternity. I have not made any choice as of now. I am waiting, I suppose. Should I choose mortal existence I, too, may some day rest in the bellows of our palace, beside Oropher and the others who were gone too soon.
The king is soon gone from view. I bow my head. Beside me, elves sniff, sob, and openly weep. Together, we share in the pain of loss. Our monarch is gone.
-XXX-
Ulain does return. By winter he is home again, he and our last battalion. Beriana and I are among the crowd that gathers at the palace gates to meet them. Our second procession in just five months, this one is far happier. Everyone has high energy – our troops are coming home! There is much joy and laughter as we push through the buzzing bodies of elves. We're on the green – a place where, years ago now, Ulain and Beriana first met. The green has seen happier occasions, but today shall not be so bad.
A dais is set up at the head of green, on which sits Thranduil, his commanders, and a few select advisors. Cool as ever, our new king wears a scarlet cloak and his finest golden crown, a tall affair made of up twisting vines, set with emeralds and twinkling diamonds. It resembles the barren vines that cover the pillars outlining the palace doors. He is a fine sight indeed, giving awe to all who look upon him. With a clear brow and bright eyes, he is attentive, excited, even, though still maintains an air of utter coolness. When Beriana and I cross his eyeline in making our way to the inner layer of welcomers that circles the green, we both take pause when he hails us.
"My lord," we murmur together, curtsying. In the babble around us, his next words come as faint.
"It has been a long time since I have had the delight of seeing you, Caladhiel," he says.
I half-rise. "Nor I you, sire. How do you fare?" I try not to focus on the scarred side of his face, the mask which only I and a few others can see behind – even then, it is by memory only. His glamor is well-imagined. There is truly no difference.
Still, he senses my question, seeing where my eyes focus, lips upturning slightly as both my use of a title and my unspoken question. "I am well, thank you." He pauses. "I have not seen you since the summer. We are in winter now."
"Indeed my lord," I answer. "I fear I have not been about the Greenwood much, as there is a good deal to tend about my parcel, so I have kept to myself."
His eyes, very clear, have a flicker of kindness about them. "See that you do come, occasionally. We would not want you to disregard society, Cala, for the company of bees. Though I have no doubt that they serve as well as most people."
Beside me, Beriana titters – she is in high spirits. I nudge her. A smile tugs at Thranduils lips.
"I shall keep your council, my lord. I endeavor to be about the wood more."
"Good."
With that, we are dismissed. Moving into the crowd, we are left to wait. Beside me, Beriana bounces on the ball of her feet, barely able to contain her excitement. She is so distracted she does not even tease me about Thranduil's attentions I can practically hear her internal chanting – "Ulain, Ulain, Ulain, Ulain…."
They've been corresponding for months. Letters arrive every few weeks. Beriana keeps every one, tucked beneath her pillow. At night, I think she pulls out everyone, inhaling the scent, tracing the familiar script, reading his words over and over and over.
I have never loved like that. It's all-consuming. Terrifying. And yet, admirable. Beriana has found her other half.
There is a commotion – drums and flutes, cheering closer to the gates. They're coming. As the group nears, the cheering grows louder. Beriana is practically fluttering now, standing on tip-toes, neck straining as she try desperately to see her love.
And finally, they come. In full armor, the battalion marches forward. They stop in the center green. A few words are said by commanders, then Thranduil on the nobility of service, honor, etc. Then, finally, finally, they are released.
Having already picked him out from the near-identical rows upon rows of men, Beriana launches herself on Ulain. The elf stumbles, my friend's small form making for quite the surprise. He catches her, and, removing his helmet, lifts her to his level for a long, deep kiss. It's so long, I feel embarrassed and force myself to look away.
He's not changed much. His hair is longer, face thinner, and there is a star-shaped scar on his chin, but overall Ulain is quite well. Beriana's family welcomes him into their home, inviting his parents and sisters along. I hover about the edges, feeling out-of-place and nervous, though infinitely pleased to see my friends so very happy. At the head of the table, Beriana and Ulain share a bench, leaning into one another, every so often sighing happily as they gaze into one another's eyes.
-XXX-
Another four years of betrothal, and, and in the first year of the third age, just a few months after the end of the war, Beriana and Ulain marry. It is a beautiful ceremony, taken at starlight on a clear summer's evening. There are a great many people, as Ulain and Beriana are quite popular among the village and palace service.
An hour before the ceremony we sit in Beriana's bedroom in her parent's house. At her vanity, my friend nervously combs her hair, running trembling fingers through the curtain of chestnut, cheeks flushed. I kneel on the floor beside her, holding her free hand in her lap, assuring her of the rightness of the hour. Together, we take many deep breaths. Finally, she is ready.
My friend looks resplendent in a cream-colored gown that drapes gracefully against her curves, carrying a bouquet of buttercups, with more twisted in the ivy crown set in her flowing chestnut locks. I carry her train, moving at a shuffling pace as she walks towards her beloved, shaking all the while. I nearly lose my right slipper twice, though I eventually leave it on the third time. One of the lantern bearers picks it up when they pass.
The feast afterwards is spectacular. There is much dancing and laughter. Wine flows freely. By dawn, I am exhausted, ready to pass out beneath the nearest tree. We all gather to see them passing into their new home, Ulain carrying a near-sleeping Beriana over their threshold. Arhiel and Dorith tearfully wave them on.
Before I set off for home, Arhiel sweeps me up into her arm, still crying.
"Now that our Beriana is wed, should we be holding out for a betrothed for you, Caladhiel?" Dorith asks as he pats his wife's trembling shoulders.
"I think not, uncle," I reply with a smile. "I am not yet too keen to leave my bees."
"You've always kept such a steady head and steady heart," he says. "Keep that about you, but know it is okay to be a little less steady with your heart – wariness keeps the hearts of others away. And you cannot stay in your parcel with your bees for all of your days."
Over Arhiel's back, I reach for his hand. "Thank you, uncle. But I do not think there are many who would care to give themselves to a half-elven."
His lips purse. "You would be surprised, my girl. Some times I think my daughter is right – much of your doubt comes from your own head. You can only stay down if you let them keep you down. But, I suppose we have been telling you that neigh five centuries." He gently pulls his wife back to him. "Come, Arhiel. We are both weary. We shall sleep all day, eh? Come along, my love."
She cups my face. "Oh Cala," she sighs. "Thank you for all that you have done to help our girl. I cannot say –"
"It is no trouble, Arhiel. I am glad to see her happy."
"I hope that we might soon see you equally happy," she whispers. "Oh, sweet Cala…."
"Go to be, Arhiel." I kiss her brow. "I will see you soon."
-XXX-
A mere year later, my Beriana gives birth to a handsome baby boy. Kalock has dark hair and green eyes, and promises to be as tall as his father. I am the birth, holding Beriana's hand with her mother doing the same across me. The midwife sooths from where she stands at the foot of the bed. Twelve hours and he is fully a part of our world.
"What do you think of your nephew, Cala?" Beriana murmurs from the bed as Arhiel pats her brow with a damp cloth. I stand at the window, hold the small mewling babe.
I peer at him, with his red little face, scrunched up in distaste even in his sleep. He, like his mother, is positively exhausted – Kalock was not too eager to join us. It was a difficult labor.
"He is beautiful, Beriana," I assure her. "A tough little mite. I have no doubt he'll be a fine, strong lad."
"But first a fussy babe," her mother reminds us. "How does he look in the light?"
"Positively beautiful. He's got a fine head of hair already. He looks like you, Beriana."
"Good," she sighs. "Then the next one shall resemble Ulain. A pretty girl with auburn hair."
We laugh at her prediction, then set child down beside his mother to sleep.
-XXX-
As an unofficial auntie, I am given rights to spontaneous kidnap my nephew from his parents, on occasion, and take him out for the day. This is not unwelcome by Beriana and Ulain – often, they use these days to catch up on sleep, or simply spend time together. It is on these outing between myself and Kalock that I find that I might perhaps like a child or two myself.
We're in one of the small, bright little clearings that surround the village. It's a warm summer day, and there are many flowers. I sit weaving crowns while Kal toddles about, babbling in his baby way, pulling up flowers and picking up insects. A few bees drift in – some are mine, others natives of the wood. They do not disturb us, even when they near the child. Kal watches them with great wonder, lifting chubby fingers to follow them.
"Do not touch," I warn him. "They shall sting you, my love."
He fusses when I pull him away, reaching still. I lower my nose to his head, breathing in his warm and clean baby scent. To distract him, I offer one of my clover crowns. He takes it, waving it wildly with a delighted screech. I laugh with him.
It is then that a small party rides through our clearing. At the sound of stags, moving through the trees, I pull Kalock to me again.
The king rides into the clearing with two guardsmen, sitting atop a regal stag. They pause when they see us, their mounts stopping a mere ten feet before us. I rise, holding the squirming Kalock to my chest. He makes a fussing noise, want to be placed back on the ground, but alas, I will not let him. Stout legs kick midair as he strains.
"Beekeeper," the king says. "It has been some time."
"It has, my lord. Pardon me if we intrude upon your path." I drop into the best curtsy I can manage with Kal in my arms. The last time I saw him was at a solstice about three years ago, but we have not spoken since the return of the last battalion – nearly ten years ago.
"Not at all," he assures me easily. The pair of guards eye me with some vague interest – I do not imagine that all dess Thranduil comes across warrant such familiar attentions. "I should apologize to you, for I fear we have interrupted you and you son. What is your boy's name, Caladhiel?"
"Oh, he is not mine, sire. This is Ulain's son."
"Ah. Little Elmbranch." Something flickers over Thranduil's gaze as he looks over the child. "You care for him often?"
"When his parents require a break. Which is often." I grin.
"You are generous."
"He is quite the handful," I agree. "But a good boy. Someone needs to spoil him – two sets of grandparents are simply not enough. What brings you this way, my lord?"
In their saddles, the two guards shift uncomfortably. I do not think they are used to anyone speaking to their king in such a flippant manner. Both Thranduil and I ignore them.
"Surveying the land to our east. I try to, on occasion, ride through the forest. I seek to better know my lands."
"A noble cause, my lord, though one would better know the forest on foot."
"You think so?" He smiles faintly. "I may perhaps take you up on that. You were offering to guide me, were you not?"
Surprised, I shift Kal to my hip. "I should be honored to, sire. Name the day, and I shall take you."
"I will send word when I require your services. In the mean time, I shall leave you to your charge." He nods to the boy. "What is your name, little one?"
"Cal! Cal-cal-cal!" the child chants, pulling at a few lock of my hair. I wince.
Thranduil looks at me, amused. "Named after his auntie?"
"It's actually Kalock," I say, embarrassed. "An old family name, I think, on the Elmbranch side. He cannot quite say it or my name yet, so it is difficult to discern if he speaks of himself or calls for me. Either way, I always come running."
The king laughs. For a moment, he resembles the prince that snuck out of festivals to see me – someone more carefree."Charming," he tells Kalock. "Though it shan't work forever. These women soon grow tired of coming when they are summoned. You would do better to learn poetry or tempt them with flowers." Looking back up at me, he says, "It is good to see you."
"And you, my lord." Then, quieter, "Thranduil."
The expression I am rewarded with is small, surprised, though not displeased. With that the king and his party rides on, leaving me and Kal alone in the clearing once more. I set the babe down, offering to make him another flower crown if he will but sit with me for a few minutes more.
"We shall go to the river, if you are good," I promise. "Then lunch at your gran's."
-XXX-
Once they pass through the clearing, Thranduil steers his stag back towards the palace. Erphalagos snorts, but follows his master's bidding. His guardsmen exchange a glance behind their king's back. One, Sarlith, asks "Are we not surveying the land, my lord? You told the dess that we would be going to the Eastern wood."
"I have achieved what I aimed for today, Sarlith," Thranduil replies without looking back. "Let us return home."
He pats Erphalagos's neck, urging him on. "We've done just what we'd planned."
-XXX-
I pinky promise we shall get more Thranduil POV soon.
There were quite a few big time-jumps here. Don't hesitate to message me if you got a little lost. This may seem like a filler of random business, but there's some legit foreshadowing here, for realsies.
Thank you so much for your kind words and lovely feedback!