Keeper 25

I decided to post a little early, in honor of the long weekend here in America! I hope my American readers are enjoying the holiday!

Get excited, this is a looooooong chapter!

-XXX-

They enter the valley at midmorning. Thranduil halts the party at the edge of the bluff, cool eyes skimming the landscape. Rivendell. As beautiful as he remembers. He feels a clench in his throat, reminding him that his forest, his home, has recently diminished in beauty. "And that's why I am here."

As they descend, he casts his mind from business to further enjoy the wildlife. Tall birch and oak line the mossy path to the city. Bird calls echo through the trees. Erphalagos lifts his head, listening too. The party is silent, curiously peering around, taking in this strange and unfamiliar forest.

Many of them have never traveled much further than the boarder of the Greenwood before. The more seasoned diplomats are certainly less wary than those of a younger stock, but have a reserved air of worry around them nonetheless. It is good, Thranduil reflects, better that they be on their toes, rather than relaxed. He need all wits about their party on this visit.

"Elves do not hold councils often," he'd said before they set out on the trek to Rivendell. "When they do, the circumstances are dire. We must be in a rather grave position if even those of the North are coming."

And their position was far from good. Even Thranduil, who was known to typically abstain from such gathering, had been rather insistent on all elfin kingdoms attending, or at least having a representative at the table.

The darkness that had claimed his southern wood had only gotten worse. More spiders came up every year, creeping closer and closer to the boarders of the elfin communities. An illness seemed to have affected many plants, fungi, and creatures, something black, nasty, poisonous. It had only gotten worse since the Battle of Five Armies. Having a diminished guard – the thought of Tauriel striking him, sending pain to his heart – it is no wonder that the problem has increased.

The city comes into view, and Thranduil is struck by the graceful white structure of domes and arches that is Lord Elrond's home. "So this is where you've been, Cala." The caverns could never offer her this kind of beauty. Only damp and darkness. Bitterness wells in the elf king's throat as they approach. He holds his head high, winter crown standing straight on his brow, fur-lined velvet cloak shimmering faintly in the noontime sun. "Do not allow your emotions to betray you."

They shall overwhelm him if he does not school his features now. Thranduil breathes slowly through his nose. No one – not Elrond, not the other kings present, not even his own delegation – ought to know how much anxiety this visit has caused him. He suspects that Lord Elrond takes some private delight in making the elder elf so very uncomfortable, though their correspondence never indicated as much, Thranduil holds no illusions. Unless, of course, Cala had any fear of seeing him. "Does she know I approach?" He'd not thought of that. Perhaps she is unaware, blissfully so, that her estranged husband is within the boarders of her haven.

No, Elrond, in all of his damned nobility, would have told her. Thranduil cannot discern the elfin lord's relationship to the distant queen of the Greenwood, but he suspects it is one of deep and loyal friendship. Part of his petty, jealous side, a mean little voice in the back of his head, suggests something less pure. Thranduil shakes the thought from his mind. Caladhiel may be many things and she is certainly angry with him, but she is not so faithless. It is not within the nature of an elf to betray one's mate. And it certainly is not within her to do so.

They are met at the gates and lead to the stables, which Thranduil is also sour to see are nice, cleaner and newer than his own. He dismounts quickly. A footman offers to show him to his room, but Thranduil cannot find the patience to wait.

"No, thank you. I have business with his lordship. Just leave the bags in my room, please."

"As you wish, your highness."

One of his diplomats, Versquire, sends him a curious glance, mouth opening. Thranduil doesn't respond, but exits the stables. He grabs the first servant he sees, a young man, requesting that the Queen Caladhiel be brought to him. He waits at the bottom of the staircase the messenger flies up. Unable to breathe, he concentrates on the view from the arches that line the corridor.

"She will come," he assures himself. But he knows he cannot be sure. Oh, he has not had so much trepidation since he was in his first century. What if she refuses? The king will not allow himself to even consider such a possibility.

A soft noise breaks his focus. He turns, freezing to see an equally still figure on the stairs. Dark gold hair in loose waves frames blue-grey-eyes and falls over a soft figure, hands pressed together tightly. Slowly, she descends in slow, agonizingly measured steps, eyes never leaving his. When she reaches the bottom, the world seems to start moving again.

"Cala," he breathes. With long strides, Thranduil crossed the corridor in a flash of brocade and heavy red velvet. He stopped short before her, though he didn't move further, merely peered down at her with unnervingly blue eyes. Somehow, her hands find his. For over two hundred and forty years he had been kept apart from this elf, and now that she stood before him –

One hundred years was far from an instant when one had a consistent ache in their chest. Oh, he had missed her.

Without seeking permission and without saying another word his hands moved to cup her face, tilting her jaw upwards so that her lips might meet his. Her surprise was evident in the stiffness of her kiss. Then, slowly, she melted into him, arms sliding up to link around his neck, shifting to stand on tip-toe so that he need not stoop so.

"Let this not be a dream…."

-XXX-

"Milady!"

I turn from bench, where I've sat reading for the last few hours, lowering my book. A young messenger stands in the arched threshold of my parlor. Surprised, I pause from rising. Breathless, the boy takes a minute to gather himself.

"Yes?" I ask after several long seconds of waiting expectantly.

"You have a visitor, your highness. Downstairs, waiting in the corridor." The boy bows swiftly, as though suddenly remembering himself. "Apologies, my lady," he gasp. "It has been a day –"

"No matter," I say politely, waving my hand. "Can you tell me who seeks this audience?"

"Um, no, my lady." Nervous, he bounces on the balls of his feet. "Shall I tell them –"

"No need." I smile, rising. "Thank you –"

"Bodark!" He bows again. "At your service, Queen Caladhiel."

He excuses himself. I rise, grabbing a light silken robe from my room before putting it on, sweeping over my shoulders as I stride out. I wonder who is seeking me so adamantly as to send a messenger – had any of the delegations arrived? Could it be Legolas? Perhaps Gandalf, who is rumored to come to this council? When I reach the stairs, I find my question quickly answered.

The broad shoulders, tall figure, and long hair the color of moonlight from a waxing moon, is an unmistakable combination. I halt at the top of the stairs, breath catching in my throat. Hesitant, I am left to stare for several moments of pure suffocation.

He was not supposed to arrive this morning. I'd ask. Elrond assured me. He'd promised that Thranduil was not supposed to enter the valley until tonight or tomorrow morning. Not today.

He turns when I reach the landing, as if sensing me. Thranduil's bright, unyielding eyes are instantly trained on mine, and I am given pause, heart rising to my throat. He seems to jolt forward slightly, as though wanting to run to me. Instead, he settles on a steady approach to the stair, where he waits for me to descend. I do so slowly.

Taking him in, I note the slightly mussed riding clothes, his heavy velvet cloak, and the winter crown he wears – holly, with dark, sharp leaves and clusters of red berries. He must have just arrived.

"Cala, " he breathes when I am near enough. Without quiet knowing how, my hands are in his in an instant. His hands go to my face, tilting my chin upwards, pressing his lips to mine.

Surprise gives me pause. Being so stunned, I allow him to embrace me without protest. After several moments, I return the embrace, sliding my lips across his, hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, straining upwards to better meet him. A hand lands possessively on my waist, pulling me in as if he longs for me to be closer, as close as possible, ingrained in his very flesh.

"I have missed this."

They are words and thoughts I've not dared to permit myself to have over the course of these hundred years or so. It feels a little freeing to be able to honestly admit as much to myself. I've missed Thranduil. Pigheadedness and all.

All too soon, I force myself to pull back. His eyes are still closed when I do, so I press my brow to his, breathing deeply. We match inhalations. After several minutes, we find ourselves staring.

"I did not know you had yet arrived," I say lightly, pulling the front of my open shawl around myself tighter, rearranging the fabric. "The were supposed to tell me –"

"So that you might hide?" A darkness flickers over his eyes. Bitterly, he moves to draw away.

" – so that I might greet you."

With a sigh, he squeezes my hands. "Is there somewhere we might go? Someplace private?"

"You wish to speak with me?"

A pained expression. "It has been nearly two-hundred and fifty years, Cala. Surely it cannot be too much to ask that we talk."

"Of course not. Come."

I take him to one of the many pavilions overlooking Elrond's valley haven. This particular one is one of my favorite and overlooks a waterfall, surrounded by cherry blossom trees in full bloom. A few pink petals flutter down as we pass. They fall to my shoulders and hair. Once inside, the king draws me near again, taking a few moments to brush the blossoms from our persons.

I draw away after several moments, folding my arms against my waist.

Thranduil glowers slightly, but he allows the distance with the barest of sighs. "You look well."

"I am in good health. And you?"

"You know how I fare. You're always asking your son of it."

I smile softly. "And he's as revealing as his father."

Thranduil briefly shares my smile. "He wished to have come with me. However, I needed him to remain in the Greenwood. He sends his love."

"My little Greenleaf," I sigh. I've not seen him for years." A pang rises in my heart at the memory.

"He is not so little anymore. Over two-thousand years, Cala."

Somehow, I laugh. The bitterness is not so strong as usual. "I know, and how it ages me."

"You're as lovely as the day I met you," he says softly. "Do you recall?"

I give him a look. "How can I? You were my great rescuer. Then the walk, in the forest, under starlight…you always insist you didn't follow me."

"And I did not. At least, not intentionally."

"Ah. So it just happened to be that romantic. An utter accident."

"I had no intentions at the time," he protests primly. At my expression he laughs, and for a sliver of a moment I can hear a trace of the prince I knew before the war, before the scars.

"I can hardly believe that, Thranduil." I smile again.

The king nears, claiming one of my hands. "It is unfortunately true. But it did not take long after that for me to realize that I wanted to have intentions." A beat. "Cala. I have missed you."

I close my eyes. "Thranduil."

He tugs me closer. "And you? Surely some part of you feels the same? Tell me you've had some kind of longing…I've ached for years with want of you."

I can feel his breath hot on my cheek. My eyes flicker open slowly. "Of course this hasn't been easy on me."

"I find that hard to believe. You choose to leave." His nostrils flare. My temper rises too.

"You all but forced me to."

Mouth opening, he starts to speak, but I stop him.

"We're not going to agree on this matter. The past is the past, Thranduil. I know it's still hurting us both. But you cannot keep holding this against me –"

"As you've not held my issues against me." His brow furrow in rage. "As if that is not the precise reason you left us in the first place. Your life. Your home. Your family."

"It was not an easy choice." I pull away. "I did not want to leave. No part of me felt good about going, no part of me relished the idea. I died the day I left you."

"Then why did you?" he roars suddenly. My wrist is claimed, and I am ruthlessly spun to face the enraged king. "Why did you go? For two-hundred and forty-three I've waited to get the answer to that question. I'm tired of waiting, Cala."

"You!" I spit. "What else? Who else? You stopped listening, you stopped caring about the world beyond! You let an entire mountain of people die out of spite, then allowed yourself and my niece get mortally wounded out of sheer blindness for what was out there in our forest. Maybe it was a little dramatic for me to leave, but spirits, Thranduil, I could barely look at you after Erebor. I love you so much it hurts. But your pride has hurt our people so –"

He drops me wrist. "You never said –"

"I tried." My eyes tighten. "Spirits, Thranduil, I wanted to make you understand. But nothing I did or said seemed to make you see. Maybe I didn't see…."

Thranduil seizes me again. I attempt to pull back, but his grip is like iron, and I find myself again making contact with his chest. Fingers twine in my hair while another hand cups my cheek. An insistent pair of lips battles mine. It takes several seconds for me to respond.

"This doesn't fix everything," I whisper, pulling back. "You cannot just kiss me to shut me up."

He chuckles lowly. "I am aware. It is not the first time that particularly strategy failed me." Lowering his forehead to mine, Thranduil meets my eyes. "Will you not come home? If not for me, than for your son and your people? These are dark times, Cala. It would do the forest good to have you back again."

I bite my lip. Sensing my hesitation, he strokes my cheek, closing his eyes painfully.

"You do not need to answer now. I can wait…at least until these meetings are through. When I ride for Greenwood, I hope to have you beside me."

He draws back, fingers trailing lightly across my skin. Now it's my turn to close my eyes, accidentally releasing a half-sigh. Tightening them closed, I blurt, "Elrond has asked me to join him and his people in the Undying Lands."

The fingers freeze. Slowly, I open my eyes to see Thranduil's shock and horror.

"And what have you told him?"

I look away, uncomfortable. "I've not given my answer yet."

Relief sinks his shoulders. "Why would you go?"

"Arda isn't for us any more, Thranduil," I say. "It belongs to the men, the dwarves, the hobbits. Our people are leaving by the shipload, because they can feel it in the air, can taste the winds of the sea calling them home."

"This is our home. Greenwood is our home."

In a sense, he is right. We were both born here, in Arda. This is the only land we've ever known.

"But don't you wonder?" I ask. "What might be waiting for us?"

He shakes his head. "Everything I need is here. For the most part." The last comment is rather pointedly aimed at me.

My eyes draw away from him again. Those comments pain me.

Thranduil seems to draw calm about him. Quietly, he takes up my hand. "I am not accustom to begging, Caladhiel."

"I am well aware," I say dryly. The corners of his mouth turn up.

"But if it would change your mind…if it might turn you around, I'll do it happily. Come back to me, Cala."

I sigh. Again, he presses his forehead to mine, both of us closing our eyes.

"You don't know how I've missed you," he whispers. "How often I have imagined us doing just this."

My hands tighten against his. Somehow, these words hurt worse than the snide comments. I cannot speak for a long time.

"I have as well."

"Come home with me," he breathes.

"I – I don't know," I stutter. "I didn't think you would want me to come back."

His gaze softens. "Of course I want you back."

"I need time."

"Has not two-hundred and-forty-three been enough?" But he doesn't wait for my answer. Thranduil takes my chin, tilting it up. "I shall wait for your answer. Will you be at the talks tomorrow?"

"No, I think not," I reply. "Elrond has not invited me."

"I am inviting you."

I am surprised. Thranduil wanting to include me in the council? He never left me out back when I was in Greenwood by any means, but he never thought to encourage me to sit in on council meetings, to increase my scope beyond the traditional duties of a queen. This is quite unlike him.

"Oh, goodness. I – I may very well. Thank you."

He kisses me, bending before lifting me up to better reach him. I tenderly wrap my arms around his neck, smiling and shivering into the kiss when his fingers play against my spine. Thranduil's chest rumbles. He pulls me back into a nook beneath the stairs where we take our time, not parting until we are both shaking and breathless. I smooth back the king's hair, careful to avoid his crown, stroking the tips of his ears. Thranduil groans, pulling me close again to nuzzle my jaw and neck.

"Oh, if Legolas were to see us now," I whisper as he tenderly bites my collarbone.

Thranduil chuckles. "No doubt he would be some combination of disgusted and pleased."

My heart sinks a little. My poor boy would be happy to see his parents together again. He has been rather depressed about our situation, if his letters are any indication.

"Yes," I say breezily. "Our Green Leaf would have a few choice words…and sounds, I would think. Likely retching."

The king's brow furrows. "Let us not think of retching."

I laugh, kissing his cheek. "Very well. If you insist."

Eventually, we must part, though it is with great reluctance. My husband leaves me with several more kisses, holding my face in his hand for a long moment before finally releasing me. "I will see you tomorrow."

"Yes." I close my eyes, letting myself enjoy the feel of his skin against mine, his scent, the tempered power that seems to surge through the air anytime he is around. "Tomorrow."

I can practically hear the "or tonight" that hangs in the air. Our hands slip from one another's like reluctant creatures, lazily lingering. The fingers do not wish to be gone from one another. Our rings clink against one another. I meet his eyes one last time.

We leave one another slowly, but with finality. I return to my rooms, seeking privacy before dinner – the banquet to welcome the early arrivers is only a few hours away.

-XXX-

She sits several seats away from him, across the table. Never the less, he keeps his gaze off of her when possible. The politics concern him more than his beloved today. Elrond keeps eyes between the pair. Thranduil pointedly ignores him.

Versquire is nervous. He sits away from Cala, though she makes a point of asking after Fortesbrawn. He replies, adding that Legolas also fares well. She turns her eyes away, nodding with a false smile. "Good to know."

The dinner is tense, though not as tense as the meetings the following days. Thranduil can tell that many on the council are shocked or even dismayed to see the quiet elleth enter the chambers, accepting a seat a little set apart from the rest. She does not speak, merely listens. Her brow furrows when one arrogant lord proposes some ridiculous attempt of violence against Mordor – he can always tell when she disagrees, a crease forms between her eyebrows and her knuckles tighten as she grips her elbow or knees. He wonders if she senses his reactions as well.

He does not speak much in the first few hours of the council – better, the king finds, to let the more talkative elves wear themselves out. In time, he shares his thoughts. The measured words still manage to offend several. Versquire looks a though he is about to faint from frustration. Cala looks concerned, but not nearly as annoyed as she had previously. More curious. He does not know how to take that.

Thranduil speaks only for a few short minutes, but the silence and musing that follows shows that his words made an impact. He hides a smirk as several Greenwood advisors scramble to clarify a few points, attempting to soften the king's typical blunt language.

His advice to maintain keen eye on dwarf clans known to historically ally with Sauron was well-received, and the knowledge that he currently held the creature Gollum took all by surprise. The revolting louse's insight into the cursed ring was enough to give them something of a lead. It was becoming clear to all that the ring was if not underneath, than near their noses and that it needed to be secured.

When council ends for the day, several elves give him considerate nods. He nods back regally, keeping his face impassive.

Outside of the chambers, Cala awaits him. Gaze unwavering, he meets her, gliding toward her lightly, ignoring the noise of fussy advisors – no doubt Versquire and the others wished to speak with him. He offers a hand, which she takes without hesitate. Wordless, they walk along together. It is only early afternoon, dinner is not to be served for several hours. They have the time to simply relax together, just as they had before such personal conflict entered their lives. The silence is refreshing.

-XXX-

A week passes too quickly, and before I know it the last council session is wrapping up. Thranduil's eyes seek mine from across the room, as they have every day since we were reunited. I slip from the room, moving behind the drapes that claim the high back wall where Elrond normally sits as the majority of people pass through to the main threshold corridor. In a few moments, Thranduil follows me, pushing past the heavy velvet drapes to meet me in the narrow servants' stairway. It feels so silly to be sneaking about so, yet thrilling at the same time.

Bright yellow-toned afternoon light streams through the slit-like leaded windows. His hands find mine, eyes softening from the cold shards of crystal he presents to the council.

"Hello."

I smile weakly. "You truly spoke your mind today, Thranduil."

He had lashed out against a few eastern lords of their cowardice. They had been unwilling to send support should any armies be raised – not even by means of food or supplies. The words used had been sharp and accurate. Not even the Mirkwood diplomats could sweep up the mess. I've not seen him in action like that for years.

The grin I am offered is only half-bitter. "A little too late, I think."

"At least you said something. Everyone else was going to settle for downturned lips and murmuring amongst themselves."

"Yes, well," he says. Sobering, he motions for me to sit. I claim the stone ledge of the window while he assumes a position on one of the steps, looking down on me as the stairs made a sweeping curve.

"Have you made a decision?" the king asks. "Will you be returning with me tomorrow?"

I bite my lip. "I have thought long and hard, my love. But I do not know if I can…."

His face falls, solidifying to stone. "I do not understand," he says hollowly. "What could possibly be keeping you back?"

"It isn't so easy to put into words. I just do not know if we can live with one another so soon. We are both still hurt." I hesitate. "I love you. But I don't know if that is enough."

"Enough for what?" he asks quietly.

"Us to justify being together again."

"Distance will solve nothing, Cala," Thranduil snaps. "If we wish to solve this we need to be together, see each other, communicate."

"And what if it didn't work?" I reply heatedly. "What if we walk away with the conclusion that we can never be fixed?"

"We won't know unless we try. Why don't you wish to try, Cala? Is this not a worthy cause?"

"I would rather give us more time, more distance before –"

"Before what, Cala?" His eyes are burning with fury. "Before one of us sails off to the Undying Lands, before one of us succumbs to an arrow or sword?"

"Of course that is not what I want!"

"Then what do you want?' Thranduil whispers. "Do go with Elrond and his kin? To sail to the West?"

I reach for him. "I will not sail for the Undying Lands. Not so soon, anyways. When they leave, I shall join Celeborn in Lorien and take some time to decide my next move."

He cannot look at me. My hands are fall, unclaimed. "If that is what you wish."

Staring, I cannot comprehend him. Words will not come to me. Thranduil has given up.

-XXX-

Well that was pretty dramatic…

I was originally going to split this into chapters, but there really wasn't any place to cut it off.

On that note, I've recently had a computer malfunction that essentially erased my revised plot line - everything will commence, I assure you, it just means that the last 3-4 chapters will be a little fuzzy for me to work out, as all I've got to go of of are my hastily written sentences from my initial planning. This shouldn't delay anything - if I am delayed, it's probably school work.

Has anyone seen The Giver or If I Stay yet? I recently saw both and blown away. They're fantastic, I highly recommend them.

As always, please review!