Chapter 65
Spirit of Competition
That night, she dreamed of the Marchwarden again. She was back in the same unrelenting stretch of great beech trees and singing nightingales; and the warden was perched on one of the tree's branches, singing a melancholic song. He was cradling a harp in his hands, while his longbow was strapped behind his back. Erynlith went forward, the grass blades tickling her bare feet as she approached the foot of the tree, staring up at him. He noticed her, smiled, and in his movement it seemed the moonlight had caught the silver of his long hair. Graceful he was on his feet, landing in front of her. His smile widened as he spoke:
"I knew you'd be back in the forest."
It felt like the reverie could go on forever, and she wanted to stay with the Marchwarden, but someone had shaken her shoulders, bidding her to wake up and say goodbye to the warden. Unwillingly, Erynlith opened her eyes and found herself back into the bedchambers in Greenwood. Amardís was standing at the foot of her bed.
"Good morning, tra-la." She rubbed her eyes and sat up. "What did I miss?"
"Good morning, Erfaron." Her Silvan attendant bowed. "I was just about to take you to the dining hall, for breakfast. The King bids you to start without him."
"Breakfast?" Then she remembered the promise last night, that they would explore the forest after eating. She immediately jumped out of bed, washed her hair and face, donned her long-sleeved tunic and trousers, and then pulled Amardís out of the chambers with her. "Are we going out after breakfast, to see the trees and rivers and flowers, tra-lay?"
"Yes, yes." Amardís laughed at her enthusiasm. "Though the King remains occupied in his duty and refuses to see anyone."
Erynlith stopped walking, and blinked. "You mean he won't join me for breakfast, because he is working?"
"That's right."
"But what about the forest?"
"I... I am not sure, Erfaron. The King is in bad spirits this morning. No one is allowed to visit him in the library as he works."
"He is working in the library?"
"For some reason he evades the council chambers," Amardís whispered under her breath, not quite liking the thought of gossiping about the King. Should someone hear them talking, it would be embarrassing.
But the forest... he promised. Erynlith scoffed and went off, leaving the attendant dazed and calling out for her. She could not remember where exactly the library was, but if she kept on running around and checking each room, she was bound to come across it, right? Some of the guards pointed her towards her target place, and she thanked them and dashed off again. He promised, he really did. She always held on to her promises, so why shouldn't Thranduil?
She did not need an announcement when she came upon the library. It was easy to distinguish actually, with the two armoured guards with spears standing on either side of the door, as though they were guarding a prisoner, not the King of Greenwood. In front of them she seemed vulnerable, and when she tried to enter, one of the guards lifted his spear to ward her off.
"I am looking for the King."
"Our King has forbidden us to let anyone disturb him in his duties."
"Well, you tell him that it is me and we have an agreement." She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to look defiant, but their brown armour and intricate helmet looked intimidating to her.
"Forgive us, but we cannot allow you inside. King's orders."
"Yes, but—"
"Who are you? And why do you insist? If you keep on being stubborn, we would resort to force." The guard on the left stepped towards her, his metal armour clinking, and gave her a stern look.
"I am Eryn—Erfaron, actually." She drew herself taller, as though she was proud that the name belonged to her. If she had used her true name, none of these guards would take her seriously. But mention Erfaron once and suddenly, it would work. It always worked like magic.
The guards exchanged glances. One of them leaned close to the other, whispered something in the ear; the other elf considered for a while, observed the strange female elf's appearance, and nodded to his companion.
"Very well. If you are Erfaron, perchance we could let you in. However, if the King becomes furious and sends you out, you shall not request to enter any longer."
She smiled and thanked the guards, who opened the door for her.
The library was snug and warm; there were countless shelves pressed against the walls, filled with old hardbound books, parchments and letters written in Tengwar. The way around the place curved to the right, like the Old Forest Road, leading into another passageway of shelves and books. Orange lamps were hanging on the ceiling, illuminating each shelf. As Erynlith followed the curving path, she saw long wooden tables lined up at the very end, and a lone dusty window with green curtains.
She found the King on one of the tables, hunched over as he wrote something. It was simple to sneak up on him.
"...Thranduil?"
Thranduil jumped up from his seat, scowling when the damp ink made an awful scribble on the paper, and turned to her. His scowl faltered at the sight of her, and he tried to blink the tiredness away and smiled.
"Eryn," he said, standing up to meet her. "What are you doing here?"
"Why are you working?" She tilted her head.
He chuckled. "I am a King, mele... mellon nín..." He bit on his tongue as he had almost called her meleth. That would have been disturbing to her.
"But you promised me." She pouted childishly.
"Promised?"
"To explore the forest, remember?"
"Oh... I suppose I did." He could smack himself on the forehead now. He was so occupied on finishing work that he had forgotten about going outside. He blamed Celairis for abandoning her work, but he could not truly blame her. He was aware why the Chief Counsellor intentionally refused to work, telling him that she had other duties to attend to, and that it was his duty as King to see into every matters and requests that were being sent by the Silvan folk.
She looked around the room and saw the mess he made on the table. "I understand; your kingly duties come first."
"But Eryn—" He paused, fervently thinking of something to cheer her up. "Um, I promise to finish work in an hour, and then we would go exploring the forest. Sounds good?"
However, she was not listening to him. She crossed the room and went to the sole window within the library, and peered at the grey clouds. "It's all right," she murmured. "It seems rain would not let us leave anyway."
"Rain?" He went beside her and stared at the dreary clouds. He could almost hear the thunder rumbling. "Rain at the start of winter?"
"Maybe the Vala of the Waters is in a bad mood, tra-lo," she singsonged.
Vala of the Waters. It sounded ridiculous to him. Then again, what else would he expect from Erynlith? He smiled then and returned to the messy table, intending to finish his work. "By all means, you could stay here and do whatever you want, but please don't start singing randomly. I need to concentrate."
"Oh yes, Thranduil." She saluted and began to scour through the old books, while the King of Greenwood resumed his heavy duties.
It began to rain from morning to afternoon, falling from the grey wintry skies.
Glorfindel had been riding nonstop, following the trail northwards and passing through the lifeless Gladden Fields. The Misty Mountains were nothing but blue-grey haze to his eyes. It rained on the second day of his continuous journey, and he had not anticipated such a heavy rainstorm at that time of the year.
By midafternoon, everything around him looked dark and glassy, the road was hard to recognise, being swept away by the rushing waters and covered with mud. He was wearing the lightest of his travelling robes, and not one cloak; thus by the time evening kicked in and he was still riding onwards, he was chilled to the bone. He dared not to stop and make camp, not in the middle of the fields where enemies could be lurking in the darkness. No matter how his horse panted, Glorfindel urged it on, the thought of reuniting with Erynlith with every single step of his horse bringing comfort in this stormy night.
He was tired and hungry and steadily determined to bring her back to Lórinand—where they could curl up in the bed together, walk under the trees and amongst the elves, and where he could keep an eye on her all the time and not to worry about a damn Elvenking. Thinking about the King made him grit his teeth in frustration. How could he be so blind, letting the pale blond-haired elf to get close to her and then whisk her away?
If Haldir and the wardens were angry, Glorfindel was furious. He was furious and he was tired and cold and he wanted Erynlith back home.
There was a roar of lightning from the darkened skies. Once upon a time, he would have cowered under the sheets of his bed, shaking the nightmares away, praying the fiery demon would not return. Erynlith had been there to help him; she had sung to him and cast his fears away, held him when he cried and shook. She had always been with him, for well-nigh a thousand year. No one else had taken her attention, no one until the King arrived and took her from him.
When he reached the Old Ford and saw the dangerous-looking rush of the river, he dismounted his horse and whispered something in the High-elven tongue. At once, the white stallion set off from whence it came, trotting at first and then breaking into a swift run. Glorfindel was pleased to watch it leave, a little sorry for being such a harsh rider to it, but his cause was reasonable. Erynlith was in Greenwood and the King was with her, and it made Glorfindel more furious and determined. He had not felt so wrathful with someone else for thousands of years, even if it was one of his young guards who tried talking back to him, or Elladan and Elrohir playing a prank on him, or Erestor glaring and scolding him. He was so furious because Erynlith was not with him, and he hated remembering it.
It was his determination that let him cross the Old Ford despite the dangers. He jumped from one boulder to another, balancing himself on top of the slippery rocks and made sure he was not washed away by the increasing current. When he reached the other side, the rainstorm continued and he continued as well, dashing off into the forest, admitting himself into Greenwood for the very first time in his second life.
He was getting closer now; each step he took was one step closer to her.
"Is the Vala of Waters somehow enraged with us?" Erynlith sighed.
It was the second day of the rainstorm, and it seemed as though the rain threatened to fall throughout the Aduial en Meleth celebration tomorrow night. She was back in the library, sitting beside the window, and watched as the droplets fell from the skies to the leaves, then to the window, and then out of her watchful eyes. She continued quietly, while the King on the table worked and burned his hand with exhaustion as he tried to answer all the requests from him; he would have simply given the work to one of his many counsellors, but it would only make Celairis the winner of this silent fight.
"There is no such thing as Vala of Waters," Thranduil reprimanded softly, his eyes never leaving the papers, "but I suppose Ulmo of the Seas does count as one."
She withdrew her eyes from the rain, and shot him a quizzical look. "How do you know these things?"
"Because I read books and heard stories about them. Did your brother never tell you stories?"
"Of course he did." She huffed a little. "He has told me countless stories before, and it is my duty to turn them into songs." She trailed her sentence with a little cheerful hum, to lighten up the dreary ambiance in the library. Ever since the storm began yesterday, none of the attendants had come to the room, except to bring them lunch and dinner.
"You turn stories into songs?" He looked up from his parchment and smiled mischievously. "Then perhaps I could tell you a story from my childhood and turn it into a song."
"Why not?" She turned away from the window, completely interested in him now. "Tell me a story."
"Hmm... Let me think..." He signed one of the documents, before setting the quill down. He stared long at her face, racking his mind to remember parts of his childhood back in the forest, living within the Hidden King's walled city. He remembered one. "I had a friend; he was the Chief Marchwarden of the forest. He was skilled with so many weapons—axe, daggers, spears, you name it! But he was best known for his mastery of the bow, which gave him the name that he would carry forever." And even down to the grave, he thought bitterly.
"What is his name?"
"It's—"
"My Lord!" The two guards from outside burst in, quite in panic that it made Thranduil and Erynlith more alarmed. "You are needed at the main gates. An elf has arrived and demands to see you. Quite a trouble, he really is, my Lord. He has taken down the guards single-handedly."
Growling, the King stood up and held up his hand for Erynlith. "Stay here," he ordered her, his voice so stern and commanding that she did not dare disobey him—not this time. "I'll see what I could do to settle this dispute."
Then, with a sweep of his blue-grey robes, he turned his heels and dashed out of the library.
Glorfindel was shouting at the top of his lungs, because no one was answering him properly, and all the Greenwood guards could do were hurling themselves towards him and make a woeful attempt to make him stop. It was easy to fend them off; he always did it with the aspiring guards in Rivendell. He would make them come at him, tackle him or punch and kick him; but as an experienced warrior as he was, he did not have to exert much effort to take them down. Young ones were always so hasty and proud, which made it easier for him.
"ERYNLITH!" He continued shouting, walking around in circles. When another group of guards arrived to subdue him, he broke into a run and crossed the bridges, and shouted: "Eryn, where are you?!"
He came across an armoured elf on the throne room. He grabbed the end of the spear and threw it down to the river below, grabbed the astounded guard by the shoulder, and demanded, "Erfaron! Where is she? Where is the King keeping her?!"
"I-I have... no idea..." the guard sputtered.
More enraged now, the golden-haired warrior released the guard and circled around once again. He took in the view of the whole underground palace, observing each bridge and lamp and pillar. Erynlith could be anywhere in these halls, he knew. He shouted her name again and again, dashed off when the guards closed in on him. He jumped from one bridge to another, much to the surprise of the Silvan guards; because no one in Greenwood had tried such dangerous act. He raced across the bridge, shouted her name, becoming more and more frustrated at himself.
What if the King took her somewhere else?
He gritted his teeth and was about to leave the palace when another group of guards arrived. There were perchance around twenty of them, Glorfindel did not care how many, and he decided to stand his ground against them. He watched them with a predator's eyes, assessing each of the armoured elves walking around him until he was left in the middle, completely surrounded. He felt the weight of his sword heavy on his waist, his right hand itching to draw it and defend himself.
A horn sounded then, taking away his glare as he looked up.
It was not difficult to recognise the King of Greenwood in his brocade and crown of red autumn leaves and berries, or his silver rings and the blue gemstone set on the brooch about his throat. He arrived flanked beside two more guards, and upon settling his pale blue gaze on the golden-haired warrior, it was noticeable that he inhaled sharply and forced an amiable smile.
Before the King could open his mouth to spill out some forced greeting, Glorfindel cut him off with a straight punch to the jaw.
"Where is Eryn?!"
Thranduil staggered on his balance, his jaw throbbing with pain. He was aware that the impact sent him backwards for a few feet, but he did not let his scowl show until the warrior was closing on him again, demanding where Erynlith was. He straightened himself and held up his palm for the guards, signalling them not to interrupt the outburst of the newcomer—who was still drenched from the rainstorm outside, whose long, golden hair was plastered all over his body, with twigs and blades of grass poking out.
"Lord Glorfindel," the King began to say, before the warrior in question went forward again. He let the warrior grab him around the collar, wincing when he heard the precious fabric ripping, and stared at the fiery dark blue eyes. "I am afraid—"
"Where are you hiding her?" the Elda rasped.
"I am not hiding her..."
"Then how dare you take her from Lórinand without permission!?" Glorfindel shook him by the shoulders.
Annoyed now, Thranduil grabbed the warrior's hand and tore it off his brocade, and scowled. "Get your filthy hands off of me."
"I would if you return Eryn to me!"
"Oh? I do not know she belongs to you. If she does, she would have told me before we left. But she came with me under her free will. Do you understand what that means?"
The King flashed one of his mocking smirks, one that always set the temper of others, and made an attempt to walk out—but the warrior grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn around. Thranduil, expecting something like that, tightened his fist, whirled around, and punched the other elf on his left cheek.
Glorfindel reeled backwards, caressing his aching cheek, and glared up at the King. Then, like how he often did with his young trainees, he bent down and tackled the Sindarin elf, knocked him off his feet and to the ground. He hovered above the King and felt the guards clutching his arms, while the King himself got to his feet and delivered an uppercut. Glorfindel slipped away from the grasp of the guards, mainly due to the impact. When he recovered, he went to his fighting stance and charged.
It was futile to fight against an experienced warrior, but Thranduil knew he had no other chance. He was used to finishing whatever troubles others might have started. He grabbed the wooden spear of the nearest guard and thrust the blade towards his opponent.
Evading the blade was easy as a walk in the courtyard; Glorfindel could have laughed it off on a wonderful sunny morning—but it was raining and it was definitely not a wonderful morning. He grabbed the other end of the spear and yanked it towards him, pulling the King as well. His fist came in contact with Thranduil's temple, but the spear-blade had caught in between them and gashed Glorfindel's right forearm. Blood tainted his white tunic, but he did not care. He threw the spear off the bridge and anticipated another charge from the enraged King.
Thranduil felt blood trickling from the cut on his forehead, down to the curve of his jaw. He wiped it off with his sleeve, fierce eyes narrowing at the warrior, thinking of a way how to subdue him. His guards were holding their breaths, clutching their spears, unable to process what was happening. Wiping more of his blood now, the King charged and wrestled against the taller and physically stronger Elda. He felt the adrenaline washing over him, something that he had not felt for a thousand years. He was easily thrown back by Glorfindel, who smirked triumphantly, which made his blood boil even hotter.
"You left without permission!" Glorfindel shouted across the throne room, his voice echoing.
Again, Thranduil smirked mockingly. "A King needs to ask permission from a mere Captain of Rivendell? Don't make such jests, Lord Glorfindel. It's not funny."
"Everyone in Lórinand was worried sick! You could at least have some decency as King to leave a word!"
The Elda stomped towards the Sindarin elf, and before he could deliver another punch, the Elvenking elbowed him on the chest and then kicked him away. Glorfindel staggered, almost falling off to the edge of the bridge. He recovered once again; and when his temper was setting off more and more because Erynlith was still not there and the King was painfully taking so much of his precious time, he drew the dagger from his left boot.
"What's the point in asking permission?" Thranduil snapped, eyeing the dagger warily. "Even if we did ask for it, you still would not let us leave!"
Glorfindel scoffed and swung his blade towards the King, but unfortunately, he missed him by an inch. "Damn right you are! I've heard about you from Erestor! Your temper scares her! You made her cry countless times before! I cannot stomach the sight of you near her, and I won't let you hurt her ever again!"
The King's anger flared. "You have no idea what you are talking about, you simpleton!"
"Do I not?!" The warrior shouted back.
Once more, the fully-grown elves sparred at each other, clawing at each other's face and eyes, grabbing and punching and kicking, and then spat several curses and accusations. Glorfindel punched, Thranduil evaded and kicked, Glorfindel tackled him towards the dais, Thranduil circled around and pushed the warrior down, Glorfindel got up and aimed for an uppercut, Thranduil felt the hideous pain—the clash went on for both of them, without one noticing that the person they were fighting about was running towards them.
Erynlith could not believe her eyes at the sight of them: two respectable elves, one Elvenking of Greenwood and one Captain of Rivendell, fighting each other as though they were young recruits in the barracks and were ordered to spar. She stood motionless not too far away from the throne, too dazed to even comprehend what was happening. She was utterly bewildered to see Glorfindel, and even more astounded when she saw the crimson blood on his forearm spread over his tunic and trousers.
"You have to make them stop, Erfaron," Amardís cried out to her. She had been the one to fetch Erynlith from the library, and explained to her what was happening in the throne room. She thought the guards were completely useless, but if she were one of them and watched the fight ensue, she would have been dazed herself.
Why are they fighting? What am I to do? Erynlith winced when the King seized Glorfindel by his wounded forearm, and the warrior howled in pain.
As she was standing idly, the Chief Counsellor arrived, as shocked as everyone else. Celairis watched with wide eyes, her breath coming in short pants; she had run from the council chambers all the way here, when one of the guards called out for help. She had abandoned her work, still furious with her beloved King, but the sight of him now—battered and exhausted—she felt her heart reach out for him.
"Enough!" Celairis shouted, aware that she was not noticed by either elf. "Stop fighting now!"
Amardís was on the verge of crying and clung to Erynlith. "Erfaron, please make them stop!"
Erynlith herself felt her tears coming. She had never seen Glorfindel act so violently, never had she seen him so angry and wounded. Thranduil was in no better condition; he was panting, blood still exuding from his forehead wound, but he kept on charging as the warrior did. Her tears finally fell when Thranduil went down on his knees, breathing raggedly, but he looked more resolved than ever.
For someone who knew the King well, he would never back down from a fight.
"Celairis," Erynlith breathed, not daring to take her eyes off them, "what should we do?"
The dark-haired Silvan beauty turned to her, as though she had never noticed her standing there. She shook her head. "I don't know. Oh, by the Valar, I do not know," she mumbled.
Then, the Elda's hatred-filled voice boomed within the place.
"How do you expect to lead your people if you have no respect for the Elves of Lórinand? You have taken her away without a word! Do you truly expect that all of us would take this lightly, only because you are King? You need to learn respect!"
From his kneeling position, Thranduil chuckled harshly and looked up to him, meeting his eyes.
"Where does all this woeful hatred coming from, Lord Glorfindel? Are you jealous?"
It was the last straw Erynlith could take. She spied a bow and quiver attached to an armoured guard, snatched it from his unsteady hands, and went in like a whirlwind. She stood firmly behind the throne and the guards, bent the bowstring and stretched it back to her cheek. She took a deep breath, her tears still brimming from her eyes. When Thranduil made an attempt to tackle Glorfindel again, she released her arrow, barely missing both elves by an inch, but successfully cutting off few strands of their hair and earning their attention.
Both of them turned to her with widened eyes.
"Are you done fighting like children yet?" She put the bow down, so both could see her glaring at them.
"He started it," Thranduil complained and pointed his thumb at Glorfindel's direction.
"But I finished it." Glorfindel scowled at him, but when he turned back to Erynlith, he smiled tiredly and stepped towards her. His bloody arms opened for her, ready to embrace her; he missed embracing her, the feeling of her fitting so perfectly in his arms, her warmth and scent so comforting to him. Now that she was here, they could go home together.
Erynlith stepped away from him, however, much to his shock.
"Don't touch me," she snapped at him, amidst of her crying. "I am disappointed with you."
"Oh, how heartbreaking," Thranduil teased, as he passed beside the stunned warrior and attempted to approach Erynlith. But even he was rejected.
"You cannot come closer either." She noticed the pain flash in his face. "I would have yelled to make both of you stop fighting, but I figured it would be fruitless. What else should I do to make you grow up and act like your age?"
Glorfindel gave her an apologetic look. "Eryn, forgive me, I was only—"
"Don't apologize to me." She stepped away from him again. "Apologize to Thranduil."
"I have no need for his apology." The King glowered. He tried walking towards Erynlith again, but she shook her head, denying him. It hurt him. It always hurt when she refused him.
Celairis then rushed between them, and bravely embraced Thranduil in front of them. "Oh, my King, oh look at you..."
Her soft fingers brushed his face, cheeks and the wound on his forehead. She bit her lower lip and rested her head against his chest, hearing his heart hammering inside. She cared not if Erynlith saw them like that; she wanted Erynlith to see. She wanted to tell everyone that the King still cared for her, and that no elf from Rivendell could take that from her.
Overwhelmed by her care, Thranduil sighed in exhaustion and pressed himself against her. He rested for a while, too tired to even walk alone. At length, the guards finally went in to assist him, with Celairis following beside the King, whose one arm was still draped around her shoulders.
When the King and the Chief Counsellor were gone, the throne room was once again quiet and deserted.
Erynlith had watched them leave, worried about Thranduil; but Celairis was already there, thus she should not be anxious for now. She turned her entire attention to the golden-haired elf, who cast his head low, and watched the blood on his forearm spread further on his clothes. She sighed in defeat, swallowing the rest of her anger and disappointment at him, and touched his cheek.
At once, Glorfindel looked at her.
"Eryn—"
"Hush now." She smiled for him; it always cheered him up when she smiled. She let her fingers comb through his hair, because she knew it would soothe him. She leaned forward and rested her head against his chest, like what Celairis had done to the King, and put her arms around his broad shoulders. She felt his arms wrap around her waist, so gentle and careful that it was hard to believe that he battered an Elvenking with these arms. Her tears fell again.
"Forgive me, Eryn. I did not want to upset you. Please do not cry," Glorfindel whimpered, his arms tightening around her. He buried his face in her hair, fighting his own tears. "Please, please forgive me. I only wanted you back in Lórinand. I was worried, we were all worried. Please don't cry."
It only made her cry harder. "You should have not started a fight. You should have asked politely, like you always do, remember? Why do you act so unreasonable now?"
Unreasonable. She referred to his panic over her loss as unreasonable.
"I was not being unreasonable," Glorfindel answered stoutly. "The King took you away and I was worried. He would not tell me where you are, and I was afraid that something might have happened. Please forgive me." He lifted her chin.. "Please, Eryn."
"Very well." She nodded and closed her eyes when Glorfindel kissed her tears away. "But you have to promise me. You would apologize for your behaviour."
"Yes, of course. Anything." He embraced her again, relieved now.
"Come to my chambers. We need to tend your wound."
Erynlith took his hand and led him across the stone bridge. As they were passing one hallway, the guard pointed his spear-blade at Glorfindel's face.
"Forgive me, Erfaron, but the warrior remains outside. Someone as dangerous as him cannot be allowed access into the palace. Strict orders from the King."
"But his wounds—"
"It's fine." Glorfindel frowned at the guard, and then gave Erynlith a reassuring smile. "We'll go back to Lórinand sooner or later anyway. I'll be waiting for you outside."
"Ah, it is still raining—"
However, the Elda was already on his way outside the palace, cradling his wounded arm.
Next Chapter: Once again, we come upon Aduial en Meleth, but in Greenwood this time! Now that means party and drunk elves! Especially drunk elves...
Author's Notes: Thank you for stopping by and reading this chapter! Even I felt the adrenaline just writing this one. Here we have the long-awaited clash of the century, Thranduil versus Glorfindel! Things get physical between these two and no one's happy about it. Oh boy, if only Erynlith stayed in Lorinand.
*Tibblets - Thanks! It feels good to be back!
*melodicechoes - Worry not, my friend! Happy ending will eventually come around.
*Fiera Evenstar - I hope you enjoy this as the story progresses. Thank you!
And to all reading this, let me thank you once again for reading. Your reviews and opinions are greatly appreciated. See you all in the next chapter! :)