Chapter 45
That Elvenking, Jealous?
Santien looked up from her work. She expected the arrival of Raithon soon, but her hopes went downhill when the Elvenking made himself comfortable in the infirmary. It was larger than what they had in the South; the room was located on the lower halls, near the underground stream and barracks. White beds were lined up on both sides, with the Elvenking casually sitting on one, near the auburn-haired healer.
"If you are not wounded in any way, you are free to leave." Her insensitive voice came, and the King only laughed.
Thranduil propped his chin lazily as he looked up at his long-time friend. "Oh, come now," he crooned at her, earning a glare this time. "Are you not happy that I am here? I haven't seen you for a while now. And why do you always sound so cold to me?"
The Elvenking was not there; it was Thranduil who was there with her—the cheeky Sindarin elf.
"You ought to busy yourself with more important matters." Her hazel eyes rolled at him. She was in the middle of mixing herbs that Amardís had gathered long before the winter came; for a healer like Santien, she found it troublesome to lose herbs and fruits during winter, especially when wolves and larger Wargs thrived in the forest to hunt. She looked at him and said, "Or perhaps you have shared another argument with your dark counselor. Celairis has been working too much, I presume?"
He shrugged at that thought. It seemed even Santien noticed how Celairis buried herself in her duties, that she was more engrossed with her work than anybody else—well, except for her beloved King of course. However, even Thranduil found it stressful and rather bland. It had been centuries since he felt adrenaline rush, and he was certain Celairis never liked doing that. She would rather lock herself in the library scouring for books, or bent over her desk and rewriting every letter that King Amroth was sending them.
"An industrious lady," he finally commented, and suppressed a yawn.
Santien had seen through it. "Forgive me if I am boring you," came her almost sarcastic reply.
"Not at all," he answered, smirking. "I quite enjoy your company, Lady Santien." He laughed heartily when the healer scoffed and threw a roll of bandages at him. He leaned back against the head board and sighed. "The throne has been too cold lately. I do not feel like sitting on it. You do not mind if I stay here for another couple of hours? I swear not to interrupt your work. I feel lonely and no one is to keep me company. The counselors are too loud for my liking. Anyway, the Elven-guard is sure to arrive anytime soon. I think I will wait for them here."
She considered his plea for a moment. True enough, the Elvenking was too lonely. Although Celairis took much of his time, he was still unsatisfied by her attention. She often wondered, and even wanted to ask, if Thranduil should pledge himself to Celairis already. It had been years for him, and Greenwood was stable enough. Everyone thought he was going to propose to his counselor on Aduial en Meleth, a fitting way to continue the affair, but Thranduil showed no initiative at all.
She watched quietly as Thranduil closed his eyes, his silken scarlet robe falling loosely from his shoulders to pool at his lap. As quiet as he was, the King looked handsome and youthful enough to catch the attention of many.
"Suit yourself," she whispered, but she knew he could not hear anymore. The King's mind wandered now into a sweet reverie.
In a few hours that followed, Thranduil was shaken off by Santien, announcing that the Elven-guard had arrived. Yawning audibly, he fixed his robe and marched back into the palace where he would receive the captain. The drawing-room was already prepared by the attendants; a bottle of wine was there to accommodate the exhausted captain. The grand velvet couch in which the King would sit on was dusted off, and the curtains were drawn back to let the sun illuminate the seldom-used room. There was a large hearth that sat in the middle of the room, in front of the small wooden table where the wine was placed.
Thranduil dropped himself lazily on the couch, watching as the servants excused themselves from the drawing-room. The Elven-horn sounded this time, and the large double doors were opened. Raithon was already smiling even before he stepped inside the room and bowed to the Elvenking. The other elf guards bowed and greeted, and then returned to the barracks, carrying their gears with them. Without words, Raithon slumped on the couch.
This was not the Elvenking; it was Thranduil—his childhood friend.
"How's Imladris?" Thranduil casually asked, pouring wine into his glass and offering one to his friend. He had removed the crown of leaves from his head: having been freed of its weight was relaxing.
Raithon smiled. "Oh, it is beautiful in winter. You should have seen how the courtyard was blanketed under the thick snow, how the windows are frosted, and how captivating the frozen waterfalls are. You really should have seen them."
Thranduil rolled his eyes. "Not Imladris itself! But the people! Tell me what has changed except from Elrond's marriage to Celebrían."
"For starters, their sons are mischievous and energetic, much like their mother," the captain began, recounting how the brothers pestered him throughout their stay. He sipped from his wine and continued: "Very mischievous if you asked me, always sneaking in the kitchens and poking someone else's cheek. Lord Elrond is quite exasperated with them. There was also Arwen: a beautiful, quiet, thoughtful girl, just like Elrond. She is such a sight even for strangers to see. She knows the arts, music and literature; Elrond and Erestor must have taught her well."
The King nodded pensively. "And the others?"
There it was: Raithon's moment to torment his friend. He hid a devious smile curling on his lips. "Well, Gildor and Lindir are no different than the last time. Lord Erestor, however, seems to have turned a new leaf. He is no longer Captain of Rivendell, but now a Chief Counselor to Elrond. I can imagine why he wound forsake such a duty. His battle in Mordor was the last time for him. And he is quite good at being a counselor; he has always been intelligent and sharp-tongued. He has become more slender, but still tall nonetheless, after the years."
"The others, Raithon," Thranduil scoffed impatiently.
"What others?" The captain asked innocently, sparing his friend an innocent look. He was waiting for a name to be mentioned, but as proud as Thranduil was, perhaps he would not do so. And he was sharper than any of the elves in Greenwood. When the King glared at him, scowling under his breath, Raithon laughed.
"Do not make fun of me," the King warned.
"Well," the captain continued his narration. "There is one elf in Imladris that has caught everyone's attention. His name was… wait, Glor, something…" He knew pronouncing the name was difficult. "Glorf… Ah, Glorfindel!" He beamed enthusiastically. "His name is Glorfindel!"
"Oh? What makes him special then?" Thranduil sighed in boredom.
"He is said to be reborn from death," Raithon answered, feeling the King flinch beside him. "He arrived in Middle-earth a almost a year ago, during the spring, I believe. I heard from Elrond he arrived with five more others from the West, though I do not know who they are. He serves as Elrond's right-hand now, the Captain of Rivendell. Everyone basically adores him there; it was said he slew a Balrog in the olden days and saved a great deal of his people." He could go on and on describing how magnificent Glorfindel was in their first meeting. Thus, he continued: "Everyone looks out for him you know, especially Erfaron."
Thranduil choked on his wine and spilled some droplets on his elegant robe. He wiped some that trickled from his chin and glared at Raithon. "Erfaron looks out for him?"
"Yes." The captain leaned back on the soft couch and shrugged. "It was really hard for him to adjust in his new life, and he relies on Erfaron to help him. She doesn't seem to mind though. I asked her to travel back with us but she declined, saying that the seneschal needs her more than she is needed here." He laughed quietly. "You know how selfless she can be… Uh, Thranduil?"
The Elvenking was seething as he drank on his wine, teeth biting at the rim of the glass, and the captain swore he could hear the glass breaking.
"Thranduil, relax!" Raithon tapped his friend's shoulder, and grinned. "She is only helping him! And I thought you have moved on? Seems to me that you haven't."
"Oh, do shut up." Thranduil snorted. "So, Erfaron takes care of Elrond's seneschal, like the little helpless elfling that he is?"
"I wouldn't call him helpless," Raithon said carefully, now sensing the fury of his friend. "I mean, Erfaron herself said that it was hard for him to connect two lives in one."
"I could care less." Thranduil growled, his pale blue eyes glaring at the doors up ahead. "Did you give the envelope?"
His friend thought for a moment. "Ah, yes, I did. What were the contents anyway? Her eyes were puffy the next day. Surely, whatever you said in the letter made her cry. You did not say anything mean to her again, did you?"
"Hm, she cried?" the King mused. "I wished I was there to see her. Did she say anything else?"
"I don't think so," said Raithon. "She was sleeping with Lord Glorfindel when we left Imladris."
"She was what?" Thranduil almost choked on his wine again. Good thing he saved his robe from being soaked this time. He set the glass aside and narrowed his eyes fiercely. "She was sleeping with the seneschal?"
The captain shrugged. "I know right? Sleeping in the same room, but not really sleeping. Do you get what I mean? Lord Elrond does not give it a big deal. Erestor does, though, and he is not very pleased with it. I think there was a time when he punched Glorfindel, or something along those lines."
"If I was Erestor, I would never let her sleep with the seneschal, let alone touch her."
"Too bad you are not there," Raithon simpered. "You sound like an overly jealous—"
"Enough!" Thranduil snapped and stood up from the couch, surprising his captain. He glared down and said, "I have heard enough. I will return to the throne room now. Celairis must be looking for me already." He crossed the drawing-room in long strides and disappeared, leaving his captain laughing at his tease.
"Jealous," Raithon murmured under his breath.
"I heard that!"
Next Chapter: Sometimes, Glorfindel just couldn't handle pressure.
Author's Notes: Hello, everybody! I loved writing this chapter, though I am so sorry it is not much. I'll keep this note short because I have chores to attend to. (Really, I need a break from school and chores and whatnot!) Hope everyone enjoyed this little chapter featuring Thrandy the jelly Elvenking!
*Overlord Rousdower - Ooh, I just noticed your changed name. Now you are officially my Overlord Rousy! *bows* How may I serve milord Rousy? Don't bully Thrandy over Eryn's decisions! Thrandy is such a cute little elfling. *pats Thrandy on the head*
*Zip001 - Gildor has nothing to do so I think knitting scarves is a pasttime of his. I laughed out loud when I read about Raithon taking over Eryn's "daylight" hours. That's actually a good one! Yeah, I guess Eryn does like to know that she was needed, just like how she was needed when Thranduil was burned and he depended solely on her. Well, it all depends on how we interpret it. So you're going with Team Glorfy? LOL. Thank you for the review~!
*only-one-mirkwood-princess - Yes. I am actually brainwashing you and making you ship Eryn/Glorfy instead! Jaja. ¡Muchas gracias!
*Eirithdiel - So-so between Team Thrandy and Team Glorfy, huh? We all need Glorfy snuggles! I want to snuggle with someone like Glorfy! *squeals in delight* I'll make sure to write an intense chapter wherein Thrandy and Glorfy are basically glaring at each other. XD Thanks for the review!
*Asmodeus Black - Black, I've missed you~! *hugs you tightly* It's good to have you back. And I am glad you enjoyed the previous chapter! High five for jelly Thrandy! Thank you for dropping a review!