Chapter 33
The Third Age Begins
Things happened almost in a flash.
In the next hundred years, Elrond and Celebrían were wedded. Rivendell was once again bustling with all the visiting elves. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel travelled there; Círdan and the rest of his household crossed the fields once more. There was much singing and dancing and laughing. The host of Lórinand arrived, not only to acknowledge the wedding, but also for the King Amroth to visit Erynlith. Nimrodel did not travel with them, being too negative about mingling with the others. When asked about the news in Greenwood, Amroth only shook his head in dismay.
"We haven't had dealings with them for the past hundred years," the King of Lórinand gravely said.
And it was true. Hundred years had come and passed, and Thranduil continued to isolate himself from the world. No more messages were sent from Greenwood to Lórinand; the bridge that once connected the two realms was unused and succumbed into the river. It was said that the northern fortress that was long planned was already built, and one by one, Thranduil and his people moved there, abandoning the southern fortress in which King Oropher once ruled. There was no news of the Elvenking taking any wife, being too busy with rebuilding and making his people prosper for the first hundred years of the Third Age.
Thranduil never sent any message to Rivendell either. It was like nothing happened, or if something did happen, he chose to forget it and moved on. Erynlith was disheartened, as she always hoped of returning to Greenwood sometime soon. Even if Elrond urged her to do so, she could not travel on her own, not when Thranduil had already settled in the northern part of the forest. Erynlith missed him terribly, his remarks and constant self-centered comments. She feared that his blindness had not yet subsided, making him more grim with each passing year. But Amroth had also announced that Thranduil regained his vision, and that the left cheek that was so terribly burned was gone. No signs of dragon fire were evident, and the Elvenking was once again fair of face.
Once, in a bright summer morning, Erynlith entered Erestor's bedchambers.
"Brother, may I visit Greenwood, tra-la?"
A slender eyebrow rose in inquiry, and the dark-haired captain gave her a quick look of disapproval. "The Silvan of Greenwood have retreated further into the North, Eryn. You cannot travel there unless you want another trouble in the High Pass. Also, there is no one to come with you. No, I do not allow it."
The conversation repeated itself every night. Erynlith would ask for permission, Erestor declining it and ignoring her, Celebrían trying to comfort her, and Lindir occupying her with music. She had asked Elrond for help, but the half-elf did not want to be the cause of an argument between Erynlith and Erestor.
When his patience dwindled, Erestor stomped towards Elrond's study and asked for counsel.
"It is love, dear captain, a harmless feeling."
Erestor scoffed. "More like a mental disturbance."
"But still harmless," Elrond gently admonished, but knew that his friend was not convinced.
Whereas Rivendell was filled with merry-making that midsummer night, Greenwood was peaceful and quiet. The Silvan folk were satisfied of the beauty of their northern fortress, its promise of safety was heightened for the palace was made underground. A solid gate would threaten off the enemies, and the tunnels that were beneath winded endlessly. It was easy for them to be lost. But it didn't matter. Sooner or later, they would get used to the new and more pleasant environment. The outpost of the Elven-guard was fortified a few meters away from the palace, above the tree like in the manner in Lórinand. From Amroth's influence, Raithon convinced the Elvenking to do the same.
And the Elvenking sat upon his throne, chin propped lazily under a slender hand. He sighed and crossed his leg over the other.
Being a king is no fun, Thranduil mentally noted. He had dismissed the soldiers from his throne; he wanted no one's company for the moment. It was delightful for him to see his people satisfied on his first century of reign, and all of them looked forward to more years of serving under him. It was heartwarming for the new Elvenking, but was he himself satisfied?
"My lord, is everything alright?" Celairis asked as she crossed the throne room and bowed to the King.
He slipped his chin from his hand and turned to his counselor. "When we are alone, Celairis, please refer to me only as Thranduil."
"I cannot do that," she politely declined. "You are the King, and I must—"
"Comply to the rules, yes." Thranduil sighed in defeat. His brow arched at her. "What brings you here?"
Celairis walked up to the dais. "You are aware that there is a great celebration in Rivendell, are you not? And King Amroth sent an invitation for you to go together. Why did you not answer, my lord? Do you still feel obliged to stay indoors?"
The King chuckled amusedly at his counselor, and then shook his head. "Celebration or not, Elrond knows that I am wishing him well with his new chapter in life. There is no one else that deserved him than Celebrían."
"Are you not looking forward to see Erfaron?" Celairis suggested.
Again, he shook his head. It had been a hundred years. For all he knew, she could have wedded someone already—someone Erestor supported. For all he knew, that grand celebration in Rivendell could be a celebration between two elven marriages, and that was why Amroth was so enthusiastic in going. And Thranduil would not want that. It would be his last wish to see Erynlith be wed to someone other than him. A sharp pang of pain crawled into his chest, and he forced himself to shake away the thoughts. If Erynlith was happy in Rivendell, then he would be happy for her as well, even if they were three thousand miles away.
He looked at the Silvan before him. She stood there in all her sheer beauty.
"Stay with me, will you, Celairis?" Thranduil asked and gesture for her to come closer.
She smiled and nodded; the boundary between Elvenking and counselor was diminished.
In the next decades that followed, Celebrían gave birth to their sons. And of course, another celebration. Elrond was more than happy to have been gifted two sons in one night; he believed the Valar really blessed Imladris and their family. By that time, Erestor had become the Chief Counselor to Elrond, and the position of the Captain was vacant. With no orcs wandering about, there was no need for captain at the moment.
Everyone turned their attention solely on the two newborn. Named Elladan and Elrohir, the two of them grew faster than one could have expected. Their features were akin to their father: dark hair and grey eyes. Although close to Elrond, the boys always turned to their mother for everything. And contrasting Elrond's calm demeanor, Elladan and Elrohir were mischievous and could run away with almost everything.
"Good morning, Erfaron!" the young elves chirped upon entering the banquet halls of breakfast.
Erynlith and Erestor already occupied their seats and were sharing idle talks when the boys arrived. Elladan and Elrohir were the youngest in Imladris, and everyone was obliged to look after them. Celebrían had told them the story of how Erynlith became to be called Erfaron by the Silvan folk, and the boys were captivated by that story. They were convinced that her name was actually Erfaron and no one could tell them otherwise.
"Good morning, young ones," Erestor greeted pleasantly and assisted the two in their seats. It was queer to have two elves looking exactly the same and running around in the valley. People had always mistaken Elladan for Elrohir, and vice-versa. Even Gildor had given up on it.
"Erfaron, could you come with us at the gardens, tra-la?"
She guessed that it was Elrohir who chirped at her. The brothers had adapted her way of talking throughout the years. She reluctantly nodded. "Sure. What will you do there?"
The boys quickly leaned in and whispered to themselves. Erestor chuckled as the two nodded. "We want to see the bridge!" And another guess was made that it was Elladan who answered this time.
"And why do I have to come? The bridge is not that far, tra-la." Erynlith narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
Again, the two elflings whispered.
"Because we like Erfaron really much!" It must have been Elladan who answered again.
That was when she sighed in defeat as Elrond and Celebrían arrived to share breakfast with them. After a while, Erynlith and the two boys marched to the gardens; each child held Erynlith's hand as they walked. Indeed, they wanted to see the garden which also overlooked the bridge below. And they played nonstop—Elladan and Elrohir were too energetic for even Elrond to handle.
Another hundred years passed and Celebrían gave birth to a new child, a daughter whom Elrond exceedingly adored. She was called Arwen, and eventually, became Undómiel, the Evenstar. She was a beautiful and thoughtful girl, too quiet and conservative just as her father liked it. Whereas Elladan and Elrohir were close to their mother, Arwen turned always to her father, following him obediently. And she was more proper and polite than her adventurous brothers, always willing to stay behind and accompany Elrond. She was quick to learn the art of music and dancing, having been taught by Erynlith and Lindir when she was younger.
"I think Elrond wants to have another daughter," Celebrían confided to Erynlith one night after Arwen's recital at the Halls of Fire.
"Then give him one, tra-lo," Erynlith quickly answered, shrugging off the wine cup that was offered to her. She thought of having children was fun and exciting; she could see how Elrond and Celebrían enjoyed their time with their children. But for Erynlith, she had no time for that. She was satisfied to see and help raise the three young eflings into well-rounded and polite elves.
Celebrían laughed good-naturedly. "I would, normally, but I want to see them grow first. I am very satisfied with the three of them, but Elrond is restless. He thinks Arwen grows too quickly for his liking; he wants to spoil another daughter anytime soon."
"I never knew he could be that impatient, tra-lay," Erynlith added, and they both laughed.
"If I were to have another daughter." Celebrían sighed dreamily, her eyes looking up at the ceiling. "I want her to have my features, to look just like me. Arwen may be his daughter, but she looks exactly like Elrond. I want to have a daughter with silver hair, like my father and I. And perhaps I should name her already…"
"I'd be more concerned about more trivial matters," Erynlith interjected.
Celebrían looked at her friend questioningly. "Like what?"
"Like… how to get Elladan and Elrohir stop ransacking the kitchen."
With that, the two grown elves in question were running about the corridors, the cook's face flushed in frustration. Elladan was biting on a bread while holding onto a bag of fruit cakes, and behind him, Elrohir was carrying two bottles of wine. Everyone was dumbfounded as the brothers passed through the room. Suddenly, the two returned to peek at the doorway. Both mischievously winked at their parents and sister, and then said: "Good going, Arwen! Excellent performance! Love you!" and they sprinted off again.
Arwen laughed quietly as her father angrily stood up and shouted:
"ELLADAN! ELROHIR!"
On his way to the palace gardens, the Elvenking was blocked by his many counselors. All seemed enthusiastic about something, and the King had to stop from his tracks and listen to them. His robe was heavy and hot, and he wanted to discard it as soon as the flocking counselors around him left him for good. It was spring in the Greenwood and he regarded it as more beautiful than Amroth's Lórinand. The counselors were chirping something about creating a river gate which would serve as the boundary of the Elvenking's realms. The appearance of Men in the north threatened the Silvan folk, thinking that they would take the forest for themselves, like what they did to the river.
"A river gate, you say?" Thranduil mused, already walking in a fast pace. His counselors followed after him eagerly.
"Yes, my lord. You see, the thing is, it would be troublesome if some of our people wander too far from our borders. Captain Raithon and his guards would not be able to keep an eye on them. A gate may also warn the other men that the forest belongs to you."
Thranduil nodded quickly. "Alright, alright. Get that thing right away." He shooed the counselors away and sighed in relief when he was finally left alone. He knew exactly where he was going, and that place was one that he loved the most.
The gardens were situated behind the palace, a small and round area, fenced by stone walls. Flowers of different colors grew there. But it was not the flowers he was after— it was the lady who watered them. Her dress touched the floor, yet Thranduil could see that she was barefooted. Her back was turned to him, that thick dark mane that always smelled of flowers. On her hands was a blue watering can, something that one of the Silvan attendants had given her. Thranduil had no intention on sneaking up on her; his robes were too heavy and hot that he slipped them off his shoulders and dropped it in a loud heap on the grassy floor.
Celairis jumped up from the sudden noise and turned behind her.
The Elvenking met her eyes and smiled. "You did not like the light shoes I gave you?"
She shook her head and returned to watering her beloved luinell. Spring was her favorite season. "I was wandering too much in the place that the shoes were already worn out, my King."
"Oh, what a shame," Thranduil crooned, sitting on a wooden bench beside where she stood. He looked up at her with the same mischievous blue eyes. "Shall I stop giving you gifts? You always wear them out anyways…"
Now, she laughed whole-heartedly. There was a familiar tug at his heart whenever he heard her laugh. "If you would only stop giving me gifts, which would be better."
"Everyone would kill to have the great Elvenking give someone a gift," Thranduil said confidently, enjoying the view that he had of her. "I don't understand why you kept declining them…"
"Because I do not need them," Celairis answered. She was almost finished watering the patch of bluebells that were there in the small garden. The King yawned lazily and propped his chin under his palm, continuing to watch his favorite counselor do what she called "hobby".
He suppressed a yawn this time. "You love your luinell, don't you?"
She nodded. "Yes, Erfaron loved them too, didn't she?"
Suddenly, Thranduil's face turned grim and he sighed deeply, his face turning away from her. She stopped watering the plants, instantly concerned of what she said. As counselor, she should always be careful about things that fell from her mouth. Thranduil made it clear that he had no intention of remembering that part. It had been too long for that matter, and too late for something to blossom between them. He had moved on, and Celairis knew that.
"Thranduil, I did not mean—"
"Doesn't matter," the Elvenking nonchalantly said, standing up and picking his heavy robe. His sudden change of mood worried her. Before he could fully leave the gardens, he turned to her and added: "I'll see you later at dinner."
She nodded obligingly. Perhaps it was too soon for them to mention that name in Greenwood.
Another well nigh thousand years passed since then. It was no trouble for the lives of Elves; they could live forever, a gift bestowed by the One in the very beginning. Rivendell was peaceful with all the elves that lived there; however, the Men of the south fought for their lives. Easterlings began to ransack their fields and homelands. The Kings of Gondor continued to rule and defend their kingdom after the downfall of Isildur and the taking of the One Ring. The Elves did not bother themselves to deal with those problems, especially when Elrond had finally settled with his family.
Arwen grew more beautifully each day, and she had more suitors than Erynlith ever had. All those suitors were scared off by Elrond, and more importantly, by Elladan and Elrohir. Whoever would so much talked to Arwen would face the consequences from the brothers. It was most amusing for the past years; Arwen was very much adored by her father and brothers. And Celebrían was satisfied; the arrival of the next daughter should wait for another hundred years.
However, Erynlith was restless. She was not at all satisfied in Rivendell, being faced with the same routine each day. She was only kept busy when Lindir and the other minstrels offered her to join their nightly songs in the Halls of Fire. Sometimes Gildor suggested that they continue with their travels; he found someplace north of Rivendell that was quite enjoyable. With Erestor's counsel, Erynlith began to travel once more with Gildor and his company, learning more each day. Once back in Rivendell, Elladan and Elrohir would urge her to go riding with them or simply spend the rest of the afternoon holding an archery challenge. There were times the brothers would lose to her, but there were also times that she lost, and had to face a dare the brothers had in mind. She enjoyed their company more than she did with Arwen, but there was mutual respect between the two ladies, and Arwen sometimes turned up to her for counsel.
"The Havens?" Erynlith echoed what Elrond had just said. There were in the middle of having their dinner when Elrond opened up the discussion.
"Yes, the Havens," Elrond confirmed. "I have received word from the Valar. Someone will arrive in the Havens soon, and I am planning on sending you and Gildor to welcome them, along with Lord Círdan."
She raised an eyebrow. "I thought people leave from the Havens, not arrive in it, tra-la."
Elladan and Elrohir snickered at her sarcastic comment.
The Lord of Rivendell turned and glared at his sons, and the two quickly composed themselves. "Well, yes," Elrond answered. "There should be someone to welcome them in behalf of Rivendell. Since you and Gildor are Rivendell's most adept travellers, then I am wishing for the two of you to go in my stead."
"That sounds fun," Gildor remarked, lifting his fork and waving it a little. "What do you think, Eryn?"
She shook her head and dismissed herself from dinner. She felt no excitement on meeting new people at all. Perhaps Elrond should find someone else; Elladan and Elrohir were strong enough to travel great distances. They were younger and faster riders; they could outrun orcs in a matter of seconds. Yes, she would convince Elrond to send them instead.
"It cannot be done," Elrond said as if reading her mind. They were standing in a porch, and Erynlith was leaning against a pillar, not exactly looking amused of his announcement. "Listen, you told me yourself, that you are losing your edge."
And it was true. A thousand years of being passive made her lose her edge. Her hands were unsteady when handling bows and arrows; she got exhausted more easily when riding out with Elladan and Elrohir. The one good thing she could do now was to sing and play the harp, something that enlightened Lindir as a fellow minstrel. She longed for adventures, craved for it even. She wanted to hunt around for wargs just like the good old days, when she stayed in Greenwood.
Erynlith sighed in defeat. "Fine, whatever you say, tra-la. But why should it be me? Meeting other people is your job, not mine."
"You'll see," Elrond simpered with a devious smile. "You will find this enjoyable when you meet him."
Next Chapter: Lindon expects a wide-arrayed colour of visitors: from white to grey, blue to brown, and what else?
Author's Notes: Phew! Did that go well? Again, I apologize for the terse narration about what happened in the first centuries of the Third Age. If I elaborated, it would probably take another thirty chapters or so. Anyways! Hoped you enjoyed this chapter! And Thranduil! What are you doing?! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻
*only-one-mirkwood-princess - Eryn and Thrandy, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G... Or not. *sobs*
*Rosiethehobbit17 - Seems the King is rather lazy to get off his new throne. He needs to have a hobby! And sorry if the previous chapter was short. LOL.
*Asmodeus Black - Nooo, I do not like spoilers, especially when reading books. Haha! Yeah, I do hope Thrandy and Eryn already go down to business!