Keeper 16
Got an interesting response to both Tauriel and the whole illness rant. Once again, I respect what the author established in his canon, I just find it implausible.
I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's got a rather wide scope.
-XXX-
In the autumn of the two thousandth year of the blessed third age, we journey to the Lonely Mountain that overlooks our wood. Only the year before had the dwarves established their new kingdom – Erebor. Thranduil decided that the twelfth month was an appropriate time to send welcome, and so with a small party or guardsmen and nobles, we rode to the mountain to greet our new neighbors.
Legolas is left behind, much to his chagrin. He sulks, sullen when I kiss him before we depart.
"I do not see why I cannot come."
I smile at him, unwilling to divulge that both I and his father are wary to bring the entire family unit on such a journey, that should something happen, we wanted someone left behind. Just in case.
There was no need to worry him, however, so I say nothing, merely squeeze his hand, then mount my horse. Thranduil rides Erphalagos, wanting to make a clear impression of power. We ride, side-by-side, planning our entry. We have a gift of wine and fine blades, along with honey (my gift), and some lavender. In return, I known my husband hope to receive some of the fine gems of Thror's mines.
The journey takes only a day. We are received not by Thror, as we'd anticipated, but by his son - _Thrain. At this, Thranduil purses his lips. It is a slight upon us that our host does not see fit to see us on our entry. At our modest dinner, only Thrain and his black-haired wife waits upon us, though we have a party of six including ourselves. Thrain pointedly asks after Legolas, and I reply coolly that he remained in the Greenwood. The dwarves nod, brows raised. Things are not starting out on a good foot.
Later that evening, in our room, we talk quietly of the offense.
"He already does not like us," Thranduil seethes. "To think, leaving us to the company of his son! The villain does not even show his face!"
"He is testing you, Thranduil," I tell him calmly.
My husband's fists curl. "He is the young king – it should be I that test him!"
I do not disagree. "We must not give him what he wants – our fury. My love, we did not come here to make enemies."
"Nor did we come to be slighted." He sighs. "You are right. We must keep our wits about us."
The next morning, we have an audience with Thror. He sits at a massive throne, eyeing us as we walk down the hall with our party. We are solemn, hands folded. I am behind Thranduil, dressed in a pale lilac robe. Thranduil wears a dark blue velvet overcoat with a high collar – very imposing. I feel like some kind of a waif, drifting behind him. Thror pays me no mind, keeping his gaze primarily on my husband. Something flickers in the dwarf's bright blue eyes. Possibly fear?
After the usual exchanges, we offer our gifts. Thror barely glances at our parcels before thanking us, snapping his fingers to call forth servants with a wide box.
"I have something unusual to show you, King Thranduil," he says merrily. "Stones, we have found in our mines. I thought they might be of interest to you…."
The chest is opened, and inside we behold stones, pure white and sparkling. They look like stars, molded into the form of rocks. Breathless, we all gaze upon them reverently. I can hardly believe that this is what Thror is gifting upon us. It makes our offering seem very cheap in comparison.
"I know your kind's affinity for starlight," the dwarf king says softly. "I thought you might like them."
"They are magnificent," Thranduil says quietly.
Thror smiles; then, with a snap of his fingers, the chest is snapped shut. We all jerk back, stunned. The box is returned to its holding place near the throne. Thranduil's eyes flash when he comprehends.
"Thank you," he breathes, voice tight. "For sharing such a marvelous sight." Hidden in the folds of his coat, I can see his hands shake with barely-contained anger.
We end up cutting our visit short, leaving that evening. We are quiet the whole journey back. Thranduil is furious, so angry I know not what to say to him. He's been frustrated with other monarchs in the past, but never to this degree. There was something about those stones – "diamonds," Thror called them – that capture him fully. To have them denied to him was the final straw. From hence forth, our relations with the dwarves of Erebor, already tentative, are more delicate than a single thread of silk holding aloft a horse.
-XXX-
The darkness in our woods grows, peaking in the one thousand and fiftieth year of the third age. By our two thousand and three hundredth year, it's a true problem – wood-elves talk of massive spiders. The ruins of the south, they say, Dol Guldur, have a black spirit around them. "Necromancer," they whisper. We know not what to think. But hence forth, our forest is called "Mirkwood" by outsiders. "Mirkwood" – place of murky darkness. It burns me. Thranduil chooses to ignore it.
"I care not for others outside of our realm, least of all what they say of us," he states dryly one day as we pour over boundary maps with our guardsmen, planning increased patrols.
I bite my tongue, as does Ulain, who stands back, eyes heavily shadowed. We both agree that alliances are important, but so it making an effort to clean our woods for the sake of the entirety of Arda. Thranduil clearly does not concur with us. I save my words for a more private time.
"Should we not clear the southern forest, investigate what has such a hold down there?" I ask over dinner one evening. "It could not hurt, surely."
"It is merely rumor. True, there have been some strange occurrences –"
"Which have increased over the three hundred years!" I exclaim. "My love, every decade brings more concerning tales of death and decay. What will it take to bring your eye to this realm?"
Unpleased with my words, Thranduil raises a brow. "What leads you to believe I have not already?"
Frustrated, I ignore him for the remainder of the evening, much to his and Legolas's amusement.
As I stab my venison I think of my correspondence with Laketown and Dale's governors, their own descriptions of too-bold beasts and failing crops. The dwarves had brought new commerce to the area, but the misfortunes overshadow the improved economies of both towns. The region's problems hide beneath the surface now. I fear that soon all will be exposed. The Men cannot do this alone – Thranduil must allow us of the Greenwood to investigate, step in.
He must heed some of my words, however, because from that point on I am forbidden from riding to the southern region alone. In fact, if he can prevent me altogether, Thranduil does.
-XXX-
We receive word from Rivendell that Celebrian, Elrond's beautiful wife, is leaving Arda. Only a few months before had we sent out guards to aid in the search for her. She surfaced battered, bruised, and so very psychologically tortured. It broke my heart to know that her children - the twins and lovely Arwen – should see her in such a state. I knew that she was unwell, but I had no notion it was so awful she thought to leave Arda for the Undying Lands.
"Is Elrond going with her?" I ask, setting down the scroll.
Thranduil shakes his head. A hand goes to my mouth.
"She goes alone? She's leaving him?"
"They will be reunited, in time," my husband says heavily. "She loves him dearly. But the orcs were too much for her. She's so scarred, Cala. Could you imagine staying?"
I shake my head reluctantly. "But nor could I dream of leaving you," I murmur. "We must send our condolences to Elrond. Tell him that he may send the children here anytime, should he choose. Legolas would appreciate the company, and they the distraction."
He agrees. "It is doubtful he will take us up on it, but the offer is still kind. I shall send a messenger at once."
Just as Thranduil predicted, Elrond prefers to keep his children close. I do not blame him in the least. But he thanks us heartily for our kind words and thoughts, then invites us to visit Rivendell when the mood strikes us.
-XXX-
Tauriel has grown into a beautiful young woman. Beriana and I often meet to talk about our families over tea, and her daughter occasionally joins us. Even in adulthood, Tauriel is a restless creature indoors, fizzing with energy and want of nature. Beriana despairs in her sometimes, knowing that the girl has an affinity for trouble and a want to join the patrol. Ulain does nothing to help sway the girl away – after Kal discovered he did enjoy glassblowing, the guardsmen sought to have at least one of his children follow in his shoes.
"It is not that I do not want them to work with their father," she says one day as she's tooling a small heart-shaped red pendant. "I just worry. The patrol is not particularly safe, you know. I would simply like for her to explore a little more, expand her perspective before settling."
"She will do what she wants," I warn. "Your Tauriel has a strong will."
"I know." Beriana sighs. "And I admire that strength. Yet, it still troubles me. "
As if our words have summoned her, Tauriel appears at the door of the workshop, with Legolas in tow. Thick as thieves, they enter laughing. They carry with them several freshly killed hares. Surprised, my son stoops to kiss my cheek.
"I did not expect you, Mother," he says.
"Nor did I you, Legolas. What have you been doing with your cousin?"
"Just exploring," Tauriel answers for him quickly – quick enough to cause me to suspect mischief. "We came across a few rabbits and decided it might be nice to bring home dinner. Could you make a stew tonight, Mama?"
From her workbench, Beriana half-looks up over the rim of her spectacles. "I daresay you can cook, Tauriel Birchbark," she replies with a smile, turning back to her work. "Or, at least, you once could. I hardly know now, you so rarely enter our kitchen."
The young elf pouts playfully. "My culinary skills are atrocious, and if we're having the prince over for dinner I would loathe to expose him to them. Please, Mama?"
I look at Legolas, brows raised. "Dinner?"
"I was going to ask," he assures me. "You wouldn't mind?"
"I suppose not. You father and I will just have to dine alone."
"As if you'll mind," he teases. "I won't get in the way of the two of you making eyes at one another."
"We hardly do that," I protest. "You know I can barely stand your father."
Legolas simply gives me a look. I smile, rising to leave. "Thank you for the tea, Beriana. I will see you soon. Legolas, I expect you home at a decent hour, do not overstay your Aunt's welcome. And come see me before you go to bed."
"Yes, Mother," he says dutifully with only the barest hint of an eye roll. I press a kiss into his forehead, then take my leave.
-XXX-
Things have been tense between the Greenwood and Erebor since our initial visit. Thranduil has not let go of the stones of starlight Thror refused him. While I, too, feel slighted by the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, I know it is not good for either realm to be anything less than allies. We send envoys of diplomats frequently, bearing gifts and game. I try to talk Thranduil out of his ill feelings, but the stones have him too enraptured.
Foolish Thror. As the age wears on, we hear tales of his immense greed, the caverns filled from floor to ceiling with gold, gems, and other precious things. They say he wanders through these rooms for hours, simply marveling at his own wealth. I have also heard tell of his massive golden statues of himself and others of Durin's line. If it is true, it's appalling. Such greed never bodes well for a nation.
Thranduil does not appear to be too concerned with our neighbor's situation. Again, his greatest focus is on our own realm. It frustrates me to no end that he does not share my fears.
And so time passes, and the distance grows between our kingdoms. The exchange of diplomats and gifts slowly falter.
While I have no love for Thror and his kin, I am not pleased by the estrangement between our kingdoms. I fear it shall doom us some day, become our weakness. Alliances can hurt nothing – but enemies can. Yet, there is little I can do. Thranduil and his council do not wish to repair the relationship, and it isn't a popular move among our wood-elves, who also hold distain towards Thror's kingdom. Though I am queen, I feel powerless to bridge the gap.
In time, I will wish I had done more to unite the kingdoms. In the end, it shall cost me everything.
-XXX-
Thoughts? Comments, questions, concerns? I take and eventually answer 'em all!