Keeper 17

I promise I will try to answer reviews sometime later this week. With school approaching things have been getting a little busy!

In other news, I sat down last night with the outline in front of me, looking at all of the chapters I'm currently working on, and decided that twenty-four chapters is simply not going to work with all that I need to jam into this plot so good news-bad news, it's been bumped up to 28 chapters!

Enjoy!

-XXX-

In the two thousandth, seven hundred and seventieth year of the third age, Erebor falls to the great dragon Smaug, who comes down from the north to claim Thror's mines. First he destroys the town of Dale. Then he turns his eye upon the Lonely Mountain.

We receive word from a messenger falcon that Dale has fallen. With great haste, we call all of our people into the fortress beneath the earth, then saddle the guard. We lead a small army to Erebor without a second thought. Thranduil heads the group, with myself and Legolas just behind. Legolas is a ball of energy. He rides beside me, hands gripping the reigns tightly, eyes wide. My mare strides calmly beside his gelding, not feeling the same sense of urgency as us. Ahead, Thranduil stares ahead, looking regal in his tall, twisted autumn branches crown. My smaller version rests uncomfortably on my brow. I briefly join him and Erphalagos at the front.

"What do you think we shall find, my lord?" I inquire softly.

"I do not know," he replies. "There were no words as to whether the dwarves escaped. Either way, we shall look to their fate. It is the least we can do."

I nod. "I should hate to think any harm might befall them. Especially at the hands of a beast so terrible as this Smaug is rumored to be."

My husband's face tightens. I can see the memory of dragons etched across his expression. I take up his hand.

"Will we face it, should they ask us?" I ask quietly.

Evenly, the king says, "We shall have to see. I will not risk the lives of so many for the sake of Thror's greed."

I hold my tongue. Nodding, I let my mare falter in pace, and fall back to ride next to my son. Legolas peers at me curiously.

"What were you talking to Father about?"

"Just some strategy," I tell him. "Nothing too serious, my love. Come, let's keep up."

He has a pensive face on, reminding me so much of his father. It is quite serious. Focused enough to give me concern.

"What is it, my love? You look troubled. Nervous?" I forget that this shall be his first sight of war. Legolas has seen skirmishes and the like, but nothing over the size of a few dozen people.

"No," he assures me quickly. "I'm not. Just a little tired."

I do not believe him for a minute. But I smile regardless. "Then sleep. I shall wake you before we arrive."

He refuses, stoically staying awake. Legolas takes duty very seriously.

We reach Dale in a few hours. It has been reduced to ash. We ride along the perimeter observing the dying flames and falling ash, the smoke drifting lazily as a gray mist over what had been a thriving town. I can see Thranduil's hands tighten on the reigns in memory. Dragonfire. The scent of death and fire causes me to recoil, while Legolas curiously examines the sight as we ride past. He doesn't know of his father's injury. Thranduil never thought the boy would be able to see what remains of his face without fear. Even now, over a thousand years old, and he does not think Legolas could bear to look upon him.

We ride on, preparing to enter Erebor. Upon the crest overlooking the valley, my husband stops. Legolas, several head guards, and myself stop level with him. What we find is enough to make all of us freeze. I can scarcely believe the sight before me. I have seen the ravages of war. This isn't quite on par with the destruction, yet I'm horrified nonetheless. Legolas's expression mirrors mine, wide-eye and opened mouthed.

Hundreds of dwarves pour out of the mouth of Erebor. Screaming and crying, they flee the flames shooting forth from the great stone work of the entrance. All is chaos. Despair saturates the air.

I dismount automatically, my healer's sense bidding me to come, help, give aid. But from where he sits on Erphalagos, Thranduil holds me back, directing the great stag to stand before me. I thoughtlessly attempt to push past, but the beast is solid.

"My lady," a guardsman says gently, taking my by the wrist. I'd not noticed anyone else dismounting. "You must come away. It is dangerous."

"Which is why we must help them! Thranduil!"

But the king does not look at me. His gaze is cast elsewhere. I frantically search to find what preoccupies him, and find that is eye are lock onto those of Thorin – Thror's grandson. He is unmistakable.

The black-hair dwarf is still, watching my husband. Despite the distance, I can see fear in his eyes, with just a flicker of hope.

Thranduil's lip gives just the slightest curl. Then he lifts the reigns, steering Erphalagos and the army away from the edge of the cliff, moving back towards the forest.

My heart sinks when I realize what is happening. I shove past the guard, racing to catch up with my husband. Behind me, I can hear the man shouting, "Queen Caladheil!" and my son, echoing, "Mother!" But I do not stop until I slam into the stag. Thranduil looks down, surprised.

"We must go back," I say, breathless. "We must help them. Thranduil, they are dying."

"Which is what our people would be doing should we go back and attempt to save the already doomed hides of the dwarves trapped in there," my husband states calmly. "Get on your horse. We're going, Cala."

I hold firm, not budging an inch. "I cannot. We cannot. Thranduil, please, innocent dwarves –"

"Thror is paying for his greed and insolence!" Thranduil roars. "And if his people pay his debt with their own blood, so be it! I shall not allow a single drop of elven blood fall upon Erebor for his wrong doings. Let them burn."

I am frozen. This malicious elf sitting atop the noble stag before me is not my husband. Thranduil could not be so cruel. My husband is not this dark creature of loathing.

But the glint in his crystal eyes says otherwise. He is overflowing with animosity.

By now the guardsman has caught up to me, and is attempting to pull me back to my mare. I jerk my wrist from his hands, knowing that he will be handling me delicately, and run to stand before Erphalagos, making the creature halt. Liquid brown eyes regard me. The stag's nostrils flare unhappily. His rider's expression is far deadlier however, as the Thranduil's eyes are flashing diamonds of rage. I meet them fully.

"We must go down there. You cannot simply stand by and watch as thousands die."

"I am not standing by," he snarls. "I'm leaving." With a gesture he calls our son to him. "Legolas. Take charge of your mother."

Strong arms come down from behind me, swinging me onto my son's gelding. I struggle minimally, letting Legolas's arms pin me calmly to him.

"Why are you doing this?" I cry as we begin to trot away. "What claims you more, your hatred of dwarves or your fear of dragons?"

Ahead, Thranduil's shoulders tense. He seemingly freezes. But he does not reply. Instead, he cracks his reigns, driving Erphalagos so that he might lead the group. Legolas and I are left behind, where we stay for the remainder of the journey to the Mirkwood. I do not move from where I sit, high on the saddle. We are silent.

I am bittersweetly reminded of my first several riding trips with Legolas, when he sat between my legs, holding the reigns with me. We had fun, but he always wanted to sit with his father instead. He was his father's child then and now.

-XXX-

We arrive at the Greenwood palace the next morning, having had ridden all through the night. On the journey, I'd eventually fallen asleep, my head lolling on Legolas's shoulder. He'd wrapped his cloak tightly over both of us. When I woke, we were entering the stables, the hooves of the gelding heavy against the stone of the threshold.

Legolas dismounted first, then waited to help me slide down. I thank him quietly, kissing him on the cheek. He keeps his hands settled on my waist, holding me back.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he says softly, eyes sad. "I did not mean to humiliate you."

I stroke his cheek. "My love, my pride means little to me in comparison to those lives lost. But thank you."

"You said he was afraid of dragons." Legolas's eyes flicker behind me, just past my shoulder, where I have no doubt Thranduil stands. "Was that why –"

"I don't know. But you should know your father has good reason to fear them. They are not to be taken lightly, Legolas."

He nods solemnly. With a sigh, I step away.

"Get some rest. You've been riding for over a day, go visit Marnilieh, tell her to feed you. Then go to bed. I will see you tomorrow." I kiss his forehead, stroking his cheek again, then remove myself from his arms. I brush past my husband without a word, leaving my mare to be untacked and brushed by the stable boys.

Instead of going to our apartments or Beriana's house (I know she is likely anxiously awaiting Ulain), I instead flee to my gardens within the heights of the caverns. Once among the delicate blossoms, I sink to the mossy floor. A few bees join me. They stream in from the hole in the top of the rocky ceiling. Since moving into the palace, I'd set up the hives nearby, at the top of the caves'. They did not come in anywhere except the gardens, and then only occasionally. Today, more than a dozen drift in to comfort me, landing on my feet, in my hair, and across my skirt.

I bunch up the skirt, kick off my riding boots, and remove my crown, hiding it beneath the light overdress I remove next. Once free from the restraints of clothes, I lay back on the moss, breathing slowly. Inhaling, I realize that I reek of smoke.

At the moment, I cannot even begin to process what happened at Erebor. I close my eyes, envisioning the running dwarves and their cries. I was no friend to Thror, but I would never wish this upon his people. I wonder how many were left in the Lonely Mountain, remaining to suffer Smaug's wrath.

In time, I drift into a doze. I don't know for how long I sleep. At some point, I am woken by a few gently taps upon my shoulder. I roll over to find a concerned Fortesbrawn.

"This is hardly the place to sleep, my lady," he scolds, helping me stand.

"I highly doubt I am welcome in my bedroom," I murmur. "I needed some peace and I didn't wish to go very far."

His expression is pitying. I suspect he knows what occurred at Erebor. "Did Thranduil speak to him first?"

"Well, you won't get a comfortable sleep out here. Come, I'm sure we can find a bed for you somewhere." He takes me by the arm to guide me out of the gardens. "How are you?"

I take a few moments before answering. "I've never seen him like that, Fortesbrawn. So ruthless. Even in war…."

He pats my hand. "I know you shan't agree, but he did what needed to be done. The dwarves's fate was decided long before you arrived."

"That is no excuse for us not stepping in."

The healer sighs. "Perhaps not."

He takes me to the infirmary, setting me up in one of beds with screens surrounding me. I am given a cup of tea and several hard biscuits. Sinking into the bed with aching bones, I sigh. Fortesbrawn sits in the chair beside me, nursing his own mug. We sit in silence for several minutes.

"I fear for my marriage," I say quietly, staring into the amber mirror that sits in my mug.

Fortesbrawn appears startled. "Surely it is not so bad, Caladhiel? He is only angry now, in time he shall lose his steam."

"It is not his anger I fear. It is my own," I whisper. I dare not speak louder. "I cannot comprehend leaving all of those people to die. I am a healer. It goes against every fiber of my being to needless let others die."

"I won't argue your husband's reasoning with you. But you cannot allow this to break your marriage. You have had disagreements in the past. You will have disagreements."

"We've been together over two thousand years, Fortesbrawn, I know that. But this is not merely some disagreement over interior décor or the name of our children."

He is calm. "In time, you shall be alright. Your marriage is strong, Caladhiel. Something as this cannot tear you apart so easily."

"I do not know." I set my mug down. "I can scarcely look at him or even think of him without feeling so angry. I think I'll sleep now."

He leaves me to rest. I settle down, wondering if I might have to take up a more permanent residence here in the infirmary. Fortesbrawn would probably not mind so terribly.

-XXX-

He is not angered when she blows past him. He needs distances from Cala at the moment – after her fierce words at Erebor, he wasn't sure if he could look at her for some time.

"What claims you more, your hatred of dwarves or your fear of dragons?"

Others may not know, but Cala is aware of how dragons have hurt him. She knows what he lost to dragonfire. The words she threw so callously as he retreated pieced him through the heart.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to turn his back on Thror's people, he thinks as he finishes sizing up his guard as they're unsaddling and grooming their mounts. Only a few rode horseback, his lead men and women, and they bow their heads as he passes. A few of them heard his dispute with his wife. He wonders what they're thinking. He dare not ask.

She didn't know that he'd made the decision long before they reached the Lonely Mountain. He had a sense of his wife's reaction to the refusal of aid. But Thranduil had not anticipated her fury. He would not have brought her had he known.

With a heaviness, he leaves the stables, walking up the spiral staircase for his rooms, intent on a bath. A servant awaits him, quickly drawing a hot bath. It's nothing like the hot springs in the bottoms of the caverns, but he does not have the energy to climb down to them. Instead, he sits in his wide marble tub, soaking in the sandalwood-scented steam. Thranduil nearly dozes off, but is startled by a gentle tapping at the door.

"Cala?"

But no, it was the servant again, scuttling in to lay out a towel and robe. With a sigh, Thranduil settled back into the bubbles once more.

When he sank into bed after having drawn the curtains, he lay still for several moments before turning to Cala's empty half.

"She'll come in the midst of the afternoon," he assures himself. "She will come. She cannot be angry forever."

His anger with her has already mostly abated. Now that he is calm, the king could have a little more perspective on the matter. Though, not enough to regret his actions. Not by a long shot.

"She will come." He would wake this evening to find her curled at his side. They would talk. All would be well.

But she won't sleep in the same bed as her husband for months. Thranduil will not have the pleasure of touching his wife for weeks, and even then, it shall just be the brush of fingers at some necessary court function. Nothing with a loving intent. Just fingers. Nothing more.

-XXX-

In time, I move back into the royal apartments, though not into mine and Thranduil's bedroom. I instead take up a room a few doors down, normally reserved for fiancés, consorts, or daughter-in-laws. Even so, I do not speak and only very rarely see my husband. He carries this on, pointedly not speaking to me or seeking me out. Occasionally, I think I feel him watching as I trail about the forest, or walk along the deeper caverns, near the river. But it is only ever a feeling.

Four months distressing months pass. Distressing not only for us, but for Legolas, who has never seen his parents so very distant. It troubles him, though he does not say this aloud.

Finally, we share something of a reconciliation. At the very least, we begin speaking again. Greenwood cannot stand with separated monarchs.

He approaches me one day as I'm in the kitchens. Marnilieh offers not only council but an opportunity for distraction, so I've been kneading bread for her in the afternoons. I am surprised by his presence, but say nothing when he enters. He speaks with the cook for several minutes before nearing. I do not pause in my kneading. Pounding at the dough, I wait for him to speak.

"I do not know how to mend this," he says. "The more days the pass the greater distance I feel from you. And I do not like it."

Turning from the bread, I look at him. "Nor do I."

He cups my face. Eyes unwarving, he makes his case. "Cala, I will not apologize for what I have said or done, but I wish to make amends."

I make to turn from him. "I shall apologize. What I said was unkind and I am sorry for it."

"You are forgiven." He will not release me. "Tell me what I must do, Cala, to make us whole again."

"You cannot change your actions. You do not even regret them."

"I do not regret preventing the loss of elven lives." Something flashes in his eyes, evaporating quickly to be replaced by pleading. "I love you. Regardless of everything, no matter what sides we stand on, I love you. Can that be enough for now?"

Pulling away, I press my back against the wooden counter. "It is. But I can't stop what I'm feeling."

He takes up my hands, ignoring the bits of dough and the powdery flour. "I am willing to set aside my feelings. Can you not yours?"

"Just give me time, Thranduil."

The king's eyes squeeze shut. "The longer this takes the further I am from you. This cannot go on."

I shake my head, tears taking me by surprise, my voice cracking. "Please, Thranduil, I simply need a chance to let this fade."

"I did what I needed to," he insists. "Cala, agree or disagree, I did it for our people. You cannot fault me for that."

My face in his hands once more as he pleads softly, pressing his forehead against mine. I try to pull away, but he won't let me, holding me firmly in place. With no warning, he brushes his lips against mine, desperate and hungry. When he pulls away, I am a little light headed. The kitchen staff is pointedly ignoring us. In fact, they seem to be disappearing. I don't stop struggling even when we're alone.

"Cala. We can do this no longer," he breathes. No longer is this the voice of a domineering king. It's the voice of a scared elf. "We're at an impasse, but that does not mean we can't go on."

"I do not want the distance," I gasp. "But you must let me have this space. If you love me, if you want for us to go back to the way things were, let me get there Thranduil."

Now alone, Thranduil doesn't hesitate in raising his voice. "I cannot wait forever."

Something compels me to reach out. I stroke the worried lines from his brow thoughtlessly, letting my fingers linger. "I am simply asking for a few weeks."

"If you came back, it would take only days," he assures me.

"It's not that easy."

"It can be," he challenges. "Cala. Please. For me. At least come back to our apartments. Move back into our room."

I hesitate. It's already been four months – a flash in the life of an elf, but still a considerable amount of time for us, for we have never in our marriage spent more than a week apart. Despite my anger, I have longed for him too. Thranduil can see this, and he descends upon his opportunity, voice gentle, hands running smoothly down my arms. Warmth curls in my stomach. "I have missed this."

"Come back to me?"

Letting my lips speak for me, I lean up to kiss him. Thranduil respond automatically, pressing against my urgently. I do not yield so easily, however. Things are not completely right between us. They won't be for sometime.

-XXX-

Well, that took a sad and dark turn.

Marriage certainly isn't easy, and theirs is far from perfect. Especially considering the unequal distribution of duties between them, Thranduil's domineering nature, Cala's readiness to hold grudges, not to mention her weakness for being convinced into making decision she's not ready to make. It was a ready-made formula for a rough patch.

Reviews would be lovely! Thank you so much for all of the support so far. I was really worried that this would be a very picky fandom, but you guys have been so wonderful!