Apologies for the delay! Vacation has been great so far!
Hopefully the fluffy-wuffy dramatic angsty romance of the last chapter was enough to swell your heart (or cause you to puke up your guts, that lovey-dovey business being so very sacrine). I quite liked it. But things are not 100 percent resolved, as we shall soon see. Some persons are too pig-headed….
I've been utterly thrilled with the feedback for the last two chapters. I'll be replying to everyone as soon as things settle down (ha, like that will be anytime too soon), but in the mean time thank you thank you thank you!
Enjoy!
-XXX-
I wake slowly on a bed much softer than I am used to, face buried in a pillow that does not smell of lavender and lye soap, but of cedar and cinnamon. The light isn't that of a newly breaking dawn, but dim and warm, cast off from a fire across the room. There are no windows. Overall, I feel fine, save for a stiffness in my arm. For a moment I attempt to discern where, exactly, I am. The canopy above me – a heavy brocade – is familiar. But only one place in the Greenwood would have such fine fabrics….With a sharp breathe, I sit up, breath gasping. A hand reaches for me, pushing my back down and pulling up the covers.
"Quiet, girl," Fortesbrawn warns me. I must have been so still in initially waking that he'd not realized I'd reached consciousness. "You'll upset your cast."
Sinking back onto the pillow, I lift my broken arm. "Did I do this?"
"Yes, you did, you mighty fool. What were you doing, running out there on your own in the midst of a storm?" he demands. Peering at my forehead, he tsks. "You'll have quite a bruise there."
"It was not raining when I left," I argue feebly.
The healer sighs. "Twit."
He fusses over me for several more minutes, examining me, asking me how I feel. In the end we both conclude that my arm is properly broken, I had a slight concussion, along with a multitude of scrapes and bruises, though overall I am quite well. After a pain-relieving draught, Fortesbrawn lectures me on the foolishness of my venture. Following this he is content enough to leave me.
"Why am I here?" I ask softly as Fortesbrawn packs up his bag.
"Why don't you ask him," he grunts, nodding to the fire.
To my surprise, a tall figures stands beside the fire, just left to mouth of flame, arm resting on the mantle. He has been so silent and so still my eyes could not make him out in the dimness. I start when Thranduil shifts, looking back at me. Grey eyes are as hard as crystals. When I say nothing, he turns back to the flame, not moving again until Fortesbrawn leaves with a bow and a murmur. When the door is closed, he speaks.
"I shall not hold you to what you said in your delirious state," he says quietly, face-half shadowed. "I do not expect you to know what you were saying. Then again, everything you did yesterday speaks of madness, so maybe I ought to take that into consideration."
I blink. "My lord?"
He drifts forward, stopping at the end of the bed. Once level with the bedpost, he halts, as if not daring to come any nearer. "When I found you, you said you would marry me. I won't hold you to it, you are -"
I reach for him. Thranduil eyes my extended fingers warily. With caution, he moves to meet me, taking up my hand. His eyes are heavy, impassive.
"I so stupidly went into the woods so find you. To tell you yes, Thranduil."
"Yes?" Eyes wide, he freezes. "Yes?"
"Yes," I repeat slowly. "Yes, Thranduil, I say yes."
His hands tighten dangerously against mine, crushing my fingers, knuckles whitening. "Do not play with me, Cala, I cannot take it."
"Then listen, you goose."
Slowly, he sinks onto the mattress, still holding my hand in his. Bowing his head, he seems to fall into a sort of delirious daze. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his, closing my eyes. We sit like that, silent, breathing together for an age. We hold one another's hands, extending up the arms, to the shoulders, until we're simply intertwined, resting together. When we are roused, the fire is low.
"I did not dare hope," he breathes. "You did not leave me the heart for much when we last spoke."
"You did not give me enough to suspect your regard," I counter. "I was surprise. Your feelings – your feeling were not unwelcome. Merely unexpected."
"When did you decide?"
"It took me some time," I admit. "But once I knew of my feelings, they were unshakeable. I knew. And after that, I could not wait for you to come back. I almost wrote, but then I thought of what we'd agreed upon."
"So you waited until you hear of my return, then rush into the forest to throw to your death?" His brows rise. We shift so that I sit against him, propped up on his chest and shoulders as he stretches out against the mattress. Our arms lay parallel, Thranduil's topping mine, our fingers laced – awkwardly, with my right hand in its cast. It's a very un-kingly position. Neither of us seems to mind.
"I did not throw myself off of anything!" I say, indigently. "I fell. Tripped, actually. It was very misty."
"Of course." A solemner note enters his tone. "You may have very well died."
"And I did not!"
"No, thank Lúthien," Thranduil murmurs into my hair. He pushes back a few stray locks to kiss my temple. "I don't know what I might do with myself had you gone." Something stills him suddenly. As soon as the words leave his mouth, the king freezes abruptly. I shift to peer up at him. He simultaneously tightens his arms around me.
"What is it?" I demand.
His eyes are glazed, reflective in some realization that has utterly caught him. Starting, he snaps his gaze back down at me. "Nothing," he assures me, voice distant. "I merely…nothing. You ought to sleep. I am sure you are tired."
"I slept for an age, I'm sure. Tell me of Rivendell."
I do not believe for an instant that it is "nothing." Something akin to horror had flickered in his gaze when he had looked down at me. I cannot guess what bothers him so, but I know better than to push it – he will shut down. So I change the subject. Still, Thranduil hesitates before be begins to tell me of his journey.
-XXX-
Word gets around to the wood-elves too quickly for my liking. Within less than a week I find that stare and whispers follow me anytime I venture out. In my time spent in the royal apartments (three days, as Fortesbrawn was insistent that he be allowed to monitor my concussion, then following that Thranduil make me stay, being under the impression that I cannot handle myself with only one hand. On the morning of the forth day I had met him at breakfast, dressed with a horse waiting saddled for me in the stables. He was not pleased) the news had gotten out, first to the staff, then to the general public.
Some are curious, others confused, a certain number disturbed and angered. The nobles are in quite an uproar. Many lords with daughters they'd been aiming to marry off are especially enraged. There are meetings of his council, private sessions between the king, his advisors, and a mixture of unhappy nobles. Thranduil tries to keep it from me, but it's not to be avoided – if the people know, I know.
I try my best to go about my business as usual. As it's only a betrothal, and it is still early on, I've not made any plans to change my life whatsoever. I still live in my cottage at the edge of the Greenwood. I still raise bees and visit the village only a few times a week. Perhaps that's what is more infuriating to some people – I am not acting as though anything has changed. Because, well, nothing has really altered. I've simply agreed to join my life with another at some unspecified future date. I don't wish to make must of it.
Unfortunately, what I wish isn't much regarded. Beriana and Arhiel burst in upon me the day after I return to my cottage, both high-spirited and wary of what they had heard.
"Is it true?" Beriana cries when she pushes past me to come inside. "They're all saying in the village – but is it at all true?"
Confused, I hug Arhiel before shutting the door. "Hello to you as well. What is or isn't true?"
"You and the king," Beriana asks in a hushed tone, as though fearing someone might hear her.
I blink. "Oh. Well. Yes."
She squeals. Arhiel looks equally aghast.
"I knew it! Oh, I knew, that first night at the spring festival!"
"That was nearly twelve years ago, Beriana," I say with a laugh. "Of course he hasn't – I mean, this is very new. I think."
Arhiel sits, looking pale. "I cannot believe it. Not to say that you are not undeserving of his affections," she adds quickly. "But this is very unexpected. Caladhiel, did you know?"
"Of his regard? Not entirely, no –"
"When is the wedding?" Beriana demands suddenly, leaning over the table on her fists.
Taken aback, I say, "I don't know. We haven't really talked about it. In a few years, perhaps?"
"Years?" Beriana appears horrified.
"Your engagement was years long," I say defensively.
"Yes, but he's the king."
"I do not see how that should make a difference," Arhiel says. She moves to sit in the nearest armchair. "If anything, I think a long engagement would be preferable. Let people have time to get used to the idea. It is quite the surprise."
"No, don't you see? The longer the wait, the more they'll push other options onto him. The sooner the better. They're already holding private audiences with him left and right in an attempt to talk him out of it."
"I have no doubt he shall turn them all down," I assure her calmly.
Frustrated, Beriana rolls her eyes. "You are acting as though there is nothing to be worried about! You do not even seem concerned, Cala!"
"Because I am not," I say simply. "Thranduil will not be persuaded. And if he is…then I would not wish to marry someone with so weak a will."
Arhiel smiles. "A good resolution, my love." Turning to her daughter, she swats her arm. "Do not worry so. Our Cala knows what she is doing."
I can tell my Beriana's expression that she does not quite agree. But she lets it pass, and we settle in for a few hours of gossip.
-XXX-
A month after Thranduil's return, we meet in the forest in the middle of the night. This is nothing new to us – with the court in an uproar and both of our every moves monitored, we've taken to meeting in private as often as we can. Not only to simply see each other, but there is quite a lot of planning to be done too, namely, for our wedding. We've determined that a three-year engagement seems to be in order. It's a good amount of time for people to get used to the idea, to integrate me more fully into court – something I am far from excited about. But it's a necessary sacrifice for binding my life to his.
Tonight, however, we're meeting simply to visit for a time. There is a clearing between my cottage and the doors of his palace, where the moon and stars look down upon a stretch of river, including a waterfall. It's a secluded, quiet place, hidden by thick trees and ivy-draped stones that act almost as walls. The perfect place to be alone for a time.
I arrive first, though Thranduil follows shortly after. He immediately sweeps me up in his arms for a hard kiss, lips hungrily working against mine, hands curling around my waist and the small of my back to draw me nearer and nearer. It's been a long week, with our only relief being a few stolen moments here and there. When heat begins to curl deliciously against the pit of my stomach, I pull back, exposing my neck for more kisses. He hisses in pleasure, and moves his hands upwards to caress my sides with long, silken strokes. I tremble against him as the heat migrates.
After several more moments, we part, knowing that, should we continue, we'd be going further than either of us desired at the moment. We sit along the waters edge, admiring the sparkling stars and moon above. Thranduil's fingers paint lazy circles against the flesh of my arm while I lay between his legs, head resting against his chest. We are perfectly content. Or, so I think.
"Cala," he begins, waking me from the reverie.
"Mmm?"
"I have been thinking lately…."
I nuzzle his neck, smiling. "That's quite unusual for you, eh?"
His arms tighten. "I have been thinking of your decision," he says quietly. His tone leaves me no doubt as to what decision he is referring to. I turn in his arms so that I might look at his face.
"What of it?" I ask cautiously.
He sighs. "I want you to make a choice. But not just any choice, Cala. I want you to choose for me."
"You…want me to choose an immortal life?"
Pulling away, I sit up, drawing away. Thranduil's hands find mine, squeezing. "I want you to choose me. An immortal life with me, nín gûr."
All falls to silence. One can hear the flick of a tiny bug, every motion of every branch within a mile radius. Thranduil's heart beating. And mine, for that matter. I hesitate long and hard before answering.
"You know what you are asking me to do?"
He nods, hands tightening. "Please. Cala. I cannot bear to think of living without you. How could I or the Greenwood go on without her queen? Please, Cala. For me."
He is asking so much of me. Is it not enough that I give up my solitude to rule a nation of peoples by his side. Elves who are wary of me, no less? Must I too make that choice so rashly?
But Thranduil has a point. Should I chose a mortal existence, I may leave him alone on the throne. While the kings and queens of Men and other mortal races go through monarchs quickly, elves simply do not. In marrying the King of the Greenwood, I am signing a contract to rule by his side, to help raise heirs, to guide the forest…dying would very well break that contract.
Besides that, I wish to make him happy. More than anything, I think.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and nod. "Yes…then. Yes. I shall consent to an…immortal life."
The king leans forward to kiss me instantly, relief and pleasure vibrating throughout his person. It is a though a weight has been lifted from him. Holding my face in his hands, Thranduil looks down upon me. "Thank you," he breathes. "Oh, my Cala. All I could ask from you…."
Though I do not feel entirely settled in my decision, I am pleased that he is happy. He shows me his pleasure with long kisses that bring the heat back into my bones, a heat that brings me to pulling him on top of me, coaxing his touches upon me until I reach a state of relief myself. Once parted, I lay on the grass with Thranduil's head upon my breastbone, together breathing evenly. We drift into a doze, only to wake when the sun begins to peak nervously over the horizon with a pink-gold light. We linger for a few moments, foreheads pressed together, hands intertwined, then we leave the clearing – me, towards my cottage, the king, for the palace of Greenwood.
-XXX-
Was that a dick move, or what? Give me your thoughts!
As always, thank you for reading, and please take some time to review!