This is with many thanks to Sue for her my incredible beta, to Paula for her encouragement and support, and to Claudia for literally forcing me into the fandom. You are all wonderful!
Ich dien – To Serve the Kingdom
by faust
Epilogue
The Friend
Thranduil has retired to his private chambers already when his indulgence in a glass of Dorwinion is interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. It is late at night; and although a king's work is never done and Thranduil is everything but lax in his performance of duty, he has only just returned from another week-long foray into the darkest parts of the Woodland, leading his elves in their fight against the spawns of the Darkness. After days and days of battle, even he has eventually tired, and now his body and mind demand rest.
Rest, so he can go forth again the next day and continue the battle. Even though the Shadow, Sauron, has been defeated, his dark creatures still infest the forests of the realm. Thranduil makes war against them relentlessly, this time not to drive them out of the woods but to eliminate them forever. The king knows how much of a difference it makes to have a royal leading the warriors, so in the absence of his son, Thranduil takes on the role of commander of the guard, and his formal robes lie abandoned in his study.
It is his sole aim to rid the realm of the evil and then to restore the suffering forest, to turn Mirkwood back into Greenwood; and he knows he will succeed, he must succeed. And then he will rename the forest—as Eryn Lasgalen it shall be known, Wood of the Greenleaves.
He feels that with every orch he slays, with every spider's nest he destroys, he is honouring his stalwart, loyal, and stupidly brave son's contribution to the destruction of the One Ring, that with every foul breath he chokes forever, he avenges his beloved queen.
His elves are aware that fighting these enemies is the only thing exhausting enough to allow him to find any kind of reverie at night, when he longs to be with those who are dearest to his heart—of that Thranduil is certain. Thus, when he is disturbed in his rest, he knows it must be a matter of great import, and he pulls a regal robe over his nightdress and bids whoever has knocked to enter.
The door opens to reveal Galion, with a peculiar expression on his face: a strange mixture of rapture and bewilderment. "Sire," he says, "my King, I bring good tidings! Your—"
And then the butler is shoved aside, and there is Legolas.
His son.
Legolas.
Smiling. Grinning. Beaming.
Straight and upright, strong and hard muscled, and yet his little leaf.
Warm and familiar, clinging to his father as Thranduil clings to his son.
And he is back.
His son.
Eryniel's child.
Their penneth.
How he wishes the door to his wife's chambers would open right now, how he wishes the room would fill with the golden green scent of her delight. He imagines her soft voice, imagines her warm light, imagines her mirthful smile as she becomes aware of the dwarf at Legolas's side.
The dwarf?
There is a dwarf standing next to his son. A slightly uncomfortable-looking, slightly irritated dwarf.
Who defiantly raises his chin as the king frowns at him.
"Legolas." Thranduil gestures towards the naug. "Legolas. Iôn-nín…"
He abandons the attempt of putting his…consternation? astonishment?... into speech. A king does not struggle for words.
And a naug does not approach the elven king's private chambers.
This must be an illusion, a dream. He must already be asleep. The picture before him is only a figment of his fatigued imagination, whatever folly has brought it forth.
"Adar," one figment says. "May I present you my friend, Gimli Gloinsson."
And the other figment bows awkwardly and says, "Your highness."
And now Thranduil is certain he does hear Eryniel laugh, a rippling, silvery sound of merriment. And mischievousness. He bites back a groan. Although Eryniel's laughter is the one thing in this room which he can be sure is an illusion, it makes him realise that he is indeed awake and that those figments before him are very real.
The King of the Woodland wouldn't be a greatly dreaded negotiator if he weren't able to adjust to the most bizarre situations in no more than a blink of the eye. But he is. And he does. In a blink.
"Welcome to my realm, Gimli Gloinsson," he declares.
Then the endeavours of the day finally take their toll, and Thranduil sinks down on to a nearby chair, gesturing to Legolas and his dwarf-friend to do the same.
"Well," he says when they are all seated, and he has ordered Galion, who still lingered in the doorway, to bring more Dorwinion, and lots of it. "I do expect a full report of all your exploits. This," he shifts his gaze from Legolas to look pointedly at the dwarf, "is bound to be a most absorbing tale."
*** fin ***
Sindarin, just in case...
orch/pl. yrch = orc = goblin
penneth = young one
ada/ adar = papa/ father
iôn-nín = my son
penneth-nín = my little one
naug, pl. naugrim = dwarf
It is our choices... that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. ~ J. K. Rowling