Chapter 9: The Suspicions of the King

Astrid returned to her rooms after her exhausting and disappointing meeting with the Mirkwood King. She sank into a chair, leaning her head on her hand with her elbow propped on the table, as Nat came to her side, eager for news.

'What did Lord Elrond say to you?'

Astrid sighed. 'He asked if I was well. I said that I was. I discovered that it was he who rescued me from the river. There was not much else to say, and before anything else could be said, a Mirkwood elf interrupted us to summon me to the King.'

'The King!' Nat was wary and eager at once. 'Is he as cold as they say?'

'Colder.' She smiled slightly as Nat frowned. 'He asked me why we were here and I told him I could not remember. Then he said I would not be allowed to leave his palace until I told him the truth. That was after a guard came to speak to him – the king was very troubled then.' She pretended to be struck by a thought. 'It has just occurred to me; the king only said that I must stay. That means you are free to go!'

Nat shook his head, unimpressed. 'As if I'd have a chance of finding my way home.' Then he leaned closer. 'But surely that cannot have been all you said to Lord Elrond? You must have had questions.'

'Why are you so interested in Lord Elrond?' The question was harsher than she intended. She did not like keeping secrets from her brother, but to tell him all now would raise questions she did not feel ready to answer.

He frowned. 'He was the one who healed you, and came to my aid when I was trying to get help. I'd only ever heard of him in tales before. And he let me stay while he was healing you – I didn't understand what he said, but it sounded like the most beautiful language in the world.'

She was moved by his earnestness. 'What was he like, when he was healing me?' she asked quietly, looking away.

Nat was thoughtful. 'He was stern – but kind.' He smiled. 'I think he was impressed by my questions.'

'Yes, I'm sure he was. Goodness knows you have plenty more of those.'

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Nat darted to open it.

'A fair morning to you, young Nat,' said the elf who entered. He bowed to Astrid, who rose and bent her head in return. 'And to you, my lady. It gladdens me to see you are awake and well. We were worried about you, were we not?' He smiled at Nat – who stood a little straighter – before turning back to Astrid, and holding up the tray he carried. 'I have brought you both a midday meal, if you will take it, and I would like to offer you my services as a guide. There is much of beauty in these halls.'

'I do not doubt it.' Astrid hesitated. 'Forgive me, but are you one of Lord Elrond's sons?' As she had made her way back to these rooms she had been met by Elrond's adviser, Lindir, who courteously gave her a note from his master before excusing himself on other errands.

Astrid of Dale, the note said, I have asked my sons to act as guides for you and your brother during your stay here. I will be away from Thranduil's Halls for a while, and so am unable to offer my own services, but I am certain Elladan and Elrohir will prove capable and informative guides. Here there seemed to be a slight hesitation, visible in the then hastily scrolled, Elrond.

She had not known till then that he had children. How foolish she had been not to have guessed. Having lived six thousand years, was it not natural that he should have had children during that time?

She had held the note tightly all the way back to her lodgings.

The elf now smiled; amused. His face was undeniably like Elrond's. 'Yes, I am Elladan. My brother Elrohir will be joining us shortly.'

'Will you take us to the stables? And the armoury, and the library?' asked Nat.

'Ah, so you are a scholar as well as a warrior. I will take you to all those places, and more.' Even as he smiled, there was a slight reserve to the elf. Astrid sensed it was caused by past suffering, and not by any displeasure with his current company. He turned to her, diffident, but gentle. 'Is there any place that you would like to see, my lady?'

She smiled, embarrassed. 'Perhaps it would be better if you addressed me by my name; I am no lady, despite these fine clothes that have been lent me.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Very well. Then what shall I call you?'

'Astrid, if you will.'

His eyebrow rose still further at her deliberate omission of any father or mother's name, or place of origin, but he made no comment, bowing to her, as she bowed back.

'You seem to have met my brother before,' Astrid remarked.

'Yes, my twin Elrohir and I have been keeping Nat company while he waited for you to wake. Your brother makes a splendid companion. He is a fine listener, and has plenty of arresting tales of his own.'

Astrid laughed, pleased; Nat was blushing slightly, but smiling. It was impossible not to like Elrond's son. Despite his slight reserve, he had an easy generosity and kind humour that made Astrid very grateful to him for his friendship with her brother.

After they had eaten, Elladan took Astrid and Nat on a tour of the Mirkwood King's Halls. Along the way they were joined by Elrohir, who greeted them with great kindness and hospitality, though he too had his brother's reserve and hidden sadness.

'You might notice,' remarked Elrohir, 'that very few of Thranduil's guards are present. That is because most of the king's able-bodied warriors, along with those of Rivendell, have ridden to hunt the orc pack which has drawn dangerously near. My brother and I would have gone too, but our father has heavily dissuaded us from hunting orcs for the duration of our stay here.'

'Yes; he claims we do it often enough in the Ettenmoors with the Rangers, and pointed out that here there is a whole guard devoted to protecting Thranduil's realm.' Elladan's tone was light, but Astrid sensed some deeper bitterness below his words. Glancing at Nat, she saw that he sensed it too.

Elrohir gave a sudden smile, his cares evaporating for an instant, and Astrid caught herself wondering if Elrond would look the same if he smiled. 'Perhaps our father fears that should the captain of the Mirkwood Guard see our prowess in orc-hunting, he would conscript us into Thranduil's service.'

Astrid could not help laughing; and Nat laughed with her. The bitterness was gone, and they resumed their tour.

'Your brother has told me you shape glass into windows and goblets and other such ornaments,' Elrohir commented to Astrid, as they passed through the kitchens where preparations were underway for the feast which would take place the following evening, continuing until dawn. Some of the elves glanced up at Astrid and Nat, curious.

'Yes, I have completed an apprenticeship in the art. Perhaps someday I shall open a workshop of my own.'

He smiled. 'I shall have to call you Astrid the Glassworker now, so that I shall have been the first to call you so when your fame spreads throughout the land.'

She laughed, amused and flattered, but he insisted that he was serious.

'Is it not unusual – at least among the race of Men – for a woman to pursue her own craft?'

She hesitated. 'Not always, though glass-working is not considered a womanly pursuit. I was offered the apprenticeship because I was able to offer my master some knowledge of glass-working techniques that he had not previously encountered.' He sensed from her tone that she did not wish to talk of it any further, and did not press her.

'It gladdens me that your stay here coincides with Mereth Nuin Giliath,' he said, 'or the Feast of Starlight as it would be called in the Common Tongue. In Imladris it is one of our less celebrated occasions, but here it is the most beloved of all elven festivals. There is not a Silvan elf who does not worship the light of the stars in their heart, as you will discover tomorrow.'

A few minutes later she asked a question which had been slowly shaping in her mind. 'If I may; what has brought the elves of Rivendell here?'

'My father and Thranduil are in the midst of discussing matters of diplomacy.' He lowered his voice. 'I am under the impression that the talks are not going as well as my father had hoped. Because it is so rare for him to receive – or admit – visitors to his halls, Thranduil extended his invitation to Elrond's counsellors and closest companions.'

'We are glad to be here,' said Elladan, joining in. 'It is not often that we venture east of the Misty Mountains, and we have never been to Mirkwood before.' He grew solemn. 'If only we had come here while it was still named the Greenwood; before the spiders swarmed and darkness spread.'

They were walking through a long gallery when Astrid faltered. Thranduil stood deep in consultation with an elf-lord. Both looked grim, and Thranduil's face only grew darker when he glanced up and saw Astrid. When his eyes fell on her she felt that he saw each and every one of the gathering lines around her eyes and mouth, all the marks of her mortality – and disdained them. Narrowing his eyes at her, he gestured for his companion to follow him into another room. He bowed his head to Elrond's sons, before walking away, out of sight.

Astrid felt her face heat up in anger – and shame too, though she knew she had no reason to feel it. Nat was looking at her in concern.

'Thranduil has much to occupy him at present,' Elladan said quietly. 'Do not be offended if he seems to slight you.'

Though Astrid appreciated his attempt at neutrality and kindness, she could not help privately disagreeing with him. She thought of how so far it had been elves of Imladris who had shown her the most kindness, when by rights it should fall to her true host, Thranduil, to welcome her, no matter how little pleasure he took in her presence here. She despised his discourtesy, and valued the sons of Elrond all the more for their kindness to her and Nat.

While exploring the palace with Elrohir and Elladan she had been able to forget her fears and nagging sense of urgency for a while, but seeing Thranduil again had made the anxiety about her unknown purpose uppermost in her mind, and she found she was no longer able to enjoy the tour.

Apologising, she made her excuses to the twins, asking them to keep Nat in their charge while she went off to be alone for a while. They agreed, hoping that she would find peace of mind and recommending a rarely visited courtyard at the back of the palace as a place suited to contemplation. Nat watched her in concern, but when she told him to remain with the brothers, he was pleased.

As she followed the brothers' directions, Astrid briefly wondered whether she should petition Thranduil a second time to let her go. But her pride had been wounded by his earlier rudeness to her. Even if she had been able to overcome her pride, she knew he would never let her leave – and besides, where was she to go when she knew nothing of her destination? Walking through the halls, she was ever-pursued by curious glances; reminding her how out of place she was here.

She could only hope that memory would return to her soon.

Dismissing his herald, Thranduil's thoughts returned to the report he had received that morning. It still haunted him, giving him no peace. Directly after dismissing the Woman of Dale, he had gone to meet the captain of the Mirkwood scouts, a disciplined group of elves who specialised in stealth, ever alert for threats at the edges of Thranduil's realm. The captain and a group of four scouts had tracked the Harad – last seen north of the broken bridge – following him deep into the dangerous parts of the forest, but now only the captain had returned, wounded and ashen-faced. In faltering words, he told the king his account.

The Mirkwood elves had tracked the Harad for a league or more, following him into spider territory, when suddenly his tracks had disappeared. In a clearing they found two butchered spiders, their limbs arranged in two words of the Common Speech: 'Go back'. One or two of the elves had counselled heeding the advice, and leaving it to more able warriors to continue into the place of the spiders' webs. But the captain would not suffer what he saw as an insult. He ordered pursuit, and they pressed onward, looking about them for tracks. They had scarcely walked twenty feet when a huge cluster of spiders came out of nowhere, so silent that even the sharpest of hearing in the scouts' number did not hear them.

All but the captain were slain in the attack, and as he fled the scene he saw a flash of dark garb through the trees, but did not dare pursue the Harad alone, injured as he was. He begged his king's forgiveness, and was plagued with guilt at the loss of his friends.

Incensed by his sorrow for his fallen subjects, Thranduil had immediately sent for Legolas, ordering him to take his most skilful warriors and pursue the Harad personally, slaughtering any spiders that crossed their path – and to retrieve the bodies of the fallen elves, if they were still to be found. Now he anxiously awaited news, though he knew that there was little chance of them returning before nightfall. Some part of him feared he had sent yet more of his people – and his own son – to their deaths, but he was too proud and too certain of the ability of his warriors to dwell on it long. Yet the shadow of his dread lingered in his heart, stirring long-repressed, painful memories of war, and the loss of his wife.

He had ordered the scout-captain to keep news of the Harad secret, and was now debating whether to share the full news with Elrond. Thranduil did not confide easily in anyone – and he did not know the Master of Imladris well. The business of Mirkwood was his business alone. And yet Elrond Peredhil was famed for his wisdom, and Thranduil was not too proud to turn from the possibility of good counsel where it might be offered. He did not want to repeat his father's mistakes.

And then there was the matter of his mortal guests. Though he had no tangible proof, he was certain that the Woman of Dale – or Harad, rightly – had some connection to the Southron now wandering the forest. He thought of his unwelcome guest with displeasure. Her word games annoyed him, and he did not trust her in the least. One of his guards had given him news which increased his suspicions tenfold, and he had ordered for her possessions to be searched in secret. Among her things were several items of Harad origin, further incriminating her in his mind. But he could not act until he had tangible proof of her purpose in coming here. He did not like to endanger his people by keeping her here – but he would not let her go until he found out her secrets.

Hearing that Elrond was at this moment riding towards the hidden palace entrance, Thranduil set out to meet him personally, moving swiftly through his domain. But as he reached the concealed courtyard that separated the palace from the forest, he halted.

A figure was walking back and forth across one end of the courtyard, lost in thought. She glanced up, only now hearing the hoof-beats that Thranduil had picked up long before. The sun was setting, catching the goldish glints in her auburn hair, and softening her face until for a moment she was almost a girl again. As she saw the rider, she fell very still, watching the horse canter closer, coming to a halt a few feet from her.

The Woman of Dale looked up at the rider; Elrond did not move.

Suddenly Thranduil felt a burst of anger and scorn. It was then that he decided he would not disclose all to Elrond. But it never showed in his face as he moved out of the shadows and into the courtyard. For a moment neither noticed him. Then he called out to Elrond, and both turned to look at him quickly. He thought he saw alarm in their faces, swiftly hidden, but not swiftly enough that he did not see it.

'I heard the campaign was successful,' he said smoothly, in Sindarin.

Elrond frowned for a moment. When he answered it was in the Common Tongue. 'It was.' He dismounted in a swift movement, then stood with his hand resting on his steed's neck. 'We sustained no casualties on our side.'

'Good.' Thranduil answered in the same language, the single word making it clear that he detested the language of Men. Elrond was watching him steadily. Thranduil's face gave nothing away as he turned his gaze on the woman, who was looking at him with an expression of careful neutrality which did little to hide her dislike of him. His lip curled, and her eyebrows sloped sharply downwards in response. She looked away, then, and softly touched the horse's muzzle, smiling as it snorted.

'Why did you wish to speak to me?'

Thranduil turned back to Elrond, who had spoken. 'There is something I must discuss with you' – he spared a slow, cold glance at the woman – 'in private.'

For the first time red appeared in her cheeks. She nodded curtly. 'Sire.' She glanced at Elrond, parting her lips. Then she turned and walked quickly away, vanishing from sight.

Elrond watched her go, feeling the sinking sensation of regret and guilt on her behalf. It angered him to see Thranduil treat her this way – and yet there was little he could do. He could not risk offending Thranduil, or revealing any more of his past connection with Astrid.

He had given away too much already, in his reaction to seeing her standing there in the courtyard, her face so open and clear, the compassionate light of sunset smoothing her features of their cares until for a moment it was as though no time had passed at all since he had seen her in the tombs, as if they were there once again, facing each other across the cell, two strangers caught in a place of darkness. He had forgotten that he had just returned from sights of blood and gore and pain; that his sword was only just clean of the blood of those he had killed – orcs or not, they were living things, and did not die peaceably.

He had fallen under the spell of his memory, and had been unable to conceal it. He feared Thranduil had already guessed much.

The king was looking at him with a watchful guardedness.

'How can I be of aid to you?' Elrond asked, his voice carefully neutral.

The king's dark eyebrows rose a fraction. Then he folded his hands behind his back and looked across the courtyard; the distance in his gaze slightly chilling to behold.

'This is not her first visit to Mirkwood.' He let his voice fade into silence.

Elrond felt a start of impatience. 'What do you mean?'

'One of my guards came to me today, and swore that he recognised our mortal … guest. He said that five or six years ago he was out hunting when he saw a mortal woman passing through the woods some distance north of here, heading east. He is certain it was her. He reported it to me then, but it did not seem important at the time. But now I cannot dismiss it so easily.'

Elrond was silent. Thranduil watched him with his unreadable gaze. 'I have forbidden her to leave my halls until she tells me truthfully why she is here.'

He spoke without thinking. 'You mean you are keeping her prisoner.'

'Prisoner is a strong word. As long as she does not attempt to leave, she will be treated as a guest.' His eyes narrowed. 'I trust you will respect my wishes and see that she does not leave until I allow it.'

Elrond did not speak for a long while. But he saw that there was nothing he could do to sway the king's decision, and so he agreed reluctantly.

'Until later.' The king inclined his head slightly and stalked away, leaving Elrond alone with his thoughts.

It angered him that Thranduil was in essence keeping Astrid here as a prisoner – and yet he was glad that she would be safe, and would be staying at least a while longer. Thranduil's orders made him more aware than ever of how far he was from Rivendell. In that peaceful valley, he himself was host and lord, able to offer wisdom and kindness freely. He had grown well used to that power and responsibility over the centuries he had resided there, very rarely leaving the valley. But here he was forced to remain silent while Thranduil failed as host, unable to say anything lest he risk offending the king.

He understood that Thranduil sought to protect his people – and yet the king's manner, his arrogance, suspicion and pride, made his good intentions all too easy to forget.

With a sigh, he took his horse's reins and led her towards the stables. He thought of how gently Astrid had touched the horse's muzzle, while his own hand had rested on the steed's neck. He had never seen her so gentle before. What had she been doing in Mirkwood five years ago? Why was she here now? Why had she left Harad in the first place? Had the priestesses discovered her deception – had they punished her? He longed to know the answers to these questions – but he wanted to hear them of her own choosing. He wanted her to tell him freely, not because he had asked.

Suddenly he thought again of the Harad man his son had told him about that morning – how long ago that now seemed, after all that had happened in the hours since. Was there some connection between the Southron and Astrid? He did not like to ask Astrid personally, and risk her thinking he suspected her of hiding secrets. He would ask Thranduil about the Southron during their meeting tomorrow, and hope that the king did not dwell much more on his past connection with Astrid.

Later that day, the Harad was captured at last. Fortunately for the Elves, he had left spider territory again. They trapped him in a thick knot of trees, so closely grown that he was unable to escape. They brought him into the Halls in the dead of night, and he had been locked in a prison cell. In all the time since they captured him, he had spoken not a word.

Soon after dawn, the Harad was brought into Thranduil's throne room, and forced to kneel before the king. Thranduil regarded the stranger coldly. The room was vast and empty. Only Thranduil, Legolas and the Harad were present. Legolas stood slightly behind the Harad, a knife in his hand, his face set with hatred.

The Southron wore dark clothing which blurred the lines of his body so that it was difficult to see whether he was lean or broad. A black turban and veil concealed all but his eyes, which were hidden by his bowed head. Legolas had reported that the Harad carried only a pair of long knives with him, and a blowpipe with a set of poisoned darts – the same Harad instruments that Thranduil's servant had discovered in the Woman of Dale's belongings.

Thranduil could feel Legolas's impatience, his need to avenge his fallen friends. At last Thranduil spoke.

'Why are you in my forest?'

The Harad was stoically passive, head bowed.

Legolas ground his jaw. 'Look at the King when he speaks to you!'

The Harad made no response.

Legolas looked up at Thranduil, silently asking whether he should punish the Southron for his insolence, but Thranduil raised his hand in a gesture of patience.

He regarded the figure for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, intent. 'Remove her veil.'

Legolas frowned, then obeyed. The Harad flinched slightly as the veil was removed but did not attempt to resist. The face that was revealed was undeniably a woman's, her skin dark and smooth. Her black, thick-lashed eyes were hard and expressionless.

Thranduil smiled. 'I thought so.'

For the first time the Harad looked at him, her face full of scorn.

Thranduil spoke low and clear. 'What do you know of the Harad-born woman who calls herself Astrid of Dale?'

The Harad only narrowed her eyes. Thranduil felt a growing unease – and it angered him.

'Have you nothing to say, Southron?'

When she spoke at last her voice was harsh, thickly-accented. 'Only this. Your guards were fools to ignore my warning.'

Rage flashed in Thranduil's face before he could conceal it. A moment later he was in control once more, his expression impenetrable. 'Take her to her cell. She will be lucky if I decide not to throw away the key.'

A/N: My longest chapter yet!

The rather grisly idea of the Harad arranging spider limbs into words was inspired by Season 3 Episode 6 of The Walking Dead, in which the character Michonne leaves a similar spectacle for her pursuers.

Some Tolkien fans argue that Thranduil's Halls should in no way be called a 'palace', because they are caves, resorted to as a living place in order to escape the spiders and the growing threat of the Necromancer. However, in The Unfinished Tales, Tolkien says that Thranduil designed his underground palace in memory of Menegroth, the great cave-palace of Thingol and Melian from the First Age. So hopefully my occasional use of 'palace' is defensible. Furthermore, in The Hobbit Thranduil's elves feast outside (changing location three times), so I hope my later location for the Feast of Starlight is credible. (Sorry for the information overload, but these little details matter to me ;) ).