Chapter 66
Aduial en Meleth III
Amidst the rainstorm, Aduial en Meleth was expected to be celebrated.
Erynlith had spent the past hour preparing, with the help of Amardís. Her Silvan attendant made her try many dresses for the celebration, but in the end, Erynlith settled herself with a long light green dress, and her umber hair was pulled back into a loose yet beautiful bun. She thanked Amardís wholeheartedly, who was delighted to be able to help.
It was still early when they finished, thus Erynlith took the chance to visit the infirmary. She found the auburn-haired healer prepared for the night; Santien's hair was left unbound, and she was wearing her midnight blue velvet dress and light shoes. She crossed her arms when the Sindarin elf approached, but then she knew exactly why she was there.
"Do you need another roll of bandages and a patch of athelas?" Santien inquired, already rummaging through her cupboards.
"Yes, please." Erynlith had been watching over Glorfindel since yesterday when he was refused entry into the palace; his arm was still wounded, and he remained waiting for her outside the gates, getting drenched in the rain. She would have spent the entire night with him, even if it meant getting soaked, but the guards ordered her not to stay outside for too long because it was 'the King's strict orders'.
Santien returned with a handful of clean bandages and athelas. "I taught you once how to use these. Do you still remember?"
"I think I can manage, tra-lay. Thank you." Erynlith went back to the upper halls, crossed the bridges and went straight for the main gates. Six guards were stationed there for the night. It was usually two, but perhaps the King found Glorfindel such a threat that he tripled the guards. She stopped in front of these guards, smiled cheerfully, and said, "May I go outside to see my friend?"
"No one is allowed to leave the Halls, my Lady."
"But my friend is waiting outside. He needs these bandages. It would only take a few minutes, I promise, tra-la."
The guard inclined his head to the side, confused to hear her singsong. "What?"
"Stop questioning her," one of the guards sharply whispered back. "It's Erfaron, you stupid!"
"Oh, oh, of course! Go ahead outside and we shall wait for you, Erfaron."
"Thank you."
Outside, Erynlith was greeted with a thunderclap that made her flinch. Rain sprayed across her face as she embraced the bandages closer. She cautiously passed the stone bridge, aware of the river below and the possibility that she might be whisked away by the strong winds and fall over. She walked and walked, until she reached the old oak tree where Glorfindel stayed.
It did not make him feel any better; he was still the same drenched and tired and famished elf when he first arrived. When he looked up and saw her running towards him, he jumped onto his feet.
"Eryn, it's raining!"
"Yes, I know, tra-la." She huddled close to him and gave him the roll of bandages. She forced him to sit down on the overgrown roots, as she proceeded to lift the blood-stained sleeve.
His skin felt feverish under her touch; it must have been the long gash on his forearm, which became even worse. She soaked a clean cloth with the rainwater and dabbed it on the wound, cleansing it. She heard a deep rumble of growl at the back of Glorfindel's throat, as he fought against the throbbing pain. Her hand pressed more gently now, and the warrior relaxed. Then, she laid out the bandages, careful not to get them damp, and also coated the wound with athelas. Afterwards, she dressed it with the white cloth and kissed his arm.
"There. Better?"
"Much better," Glorfindel agreed, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "You look beautiful in your green gown, Eryn, but perhaps you should return inside. If you stay longer out here, you would get soaked."
"Are you not cold?" she asked worriedly.
"Not in the slightest." He smiled in reassurance, though deep inside, he was chilled to the bone and it took all his willpower not to chatter his teeth in front of her. "You should go back inside for the celebration. I can wait until morning."
"But you look terrible, Glorfindel. Maybe I should talk to Thranduil and make the guards let you come in."
"No need for that, really. I am fine." He did not want her to spend the rest of the evening panicking over him, and he certainly did not want her to see the arrogant King of Greenwood and plead for his comfort.
"Are you sure? Like really, really sure?"
He laughed. "Yes, I am one-hundred percent positive. Go back inside and tomorrow we could return to Lórinand."
"We are not leaving until you apologize to Thranduil. It was your fault, Glorfindel. No matter how you look, it was your fault. You barged in and attacked the guards, and attacked the King himself. You should be ashamed and sorry for that. We are not leaving Greenwood until you apologize." She placed her hands on her hips, and gave him a stern look.
He stood up and drew her closer to him. "Yes, anything for you, Eryn."
"No!" She stepped backwards, pouting. "You would not do it for me. You do it for Thranduil, because you owe him."
Glorfindel did not really like the thought of them fighting, not when she was finally reunited with him. He stared at her face, contemplating with his options: apologize to the King and be done with it, or remain prideful and wait outside the gates until the King himself pardoned him? No, the warrior would never let the latter option happen. He still had his pride as the Captain of Rivendell, and though Erynlith might be right that it was his fault, Thranduil was at fault, too. He whisked her away without a word from the wardens. It was a mistake as well.
"I promise then." He held up his palm. "I promise to apologize on the morrow, before we leave for Lórinand. Does that sound like fair trade?"
She thought about it for a while. She still had not explored Greenwood like what Thranduil promised her. She had barely spent a week here, barely knew what had changed for the past two thousand years; and here was Glorfindel, all exhausted and wounded, wanting to go home. If she denied him, it would break his heart and will for sure. He had come all the way to fetch her, but if she refused...
"Sounds fair." She heard the gates open behind her and there were the guards signalling for her to return. "I have to go."
"I know," he muttered begrudgingly. "Enjoy Aduial en Meleth tonight, Eryn."
"I wish I could spend the night with you." She sighed.
His eyes softened, and he could not help but pull her for another kiss on the forehead. "Yes, I wish that, too. If it is not too late, we could celebrate together in Lórinand."
With that, one of the guards fetched her. He held out his steel-plated hand and guided her back into the Halls, while the other guards were keeping eyes on every movement of the golden-haired elf. To them Glorfindel was already a threat, for none of them had seen a warrior so experienced to subdue many of the guards all alone, and had the boldness to defy their ill-tempered King and challenge him into a fight—all because of one lady.
Erynlith was admitted back into the underground keep, as the four guards shut the gates behind them. She thanked them for letting her out, and then went on her way back to the centre of the palace. She could make out the chattering of the excited Silvan folk, the melody of the harps, the clinking of glasses and so on.
It would be her very first Aduial en Meleth in Greenwood, but she was not as enthusiastic as she thought she would be. She had Glorfindel to think about—his well-being and wounds—and then there was Thranduil, whom she did not see since the accident yesterday. She supposed Santien and the other healers were occupied on keeping their King on good health, and to keep his wounds in check all the time. Celairis must have been upset and worried; she was, perhaps, the most concerned elf about the King right now. Erynlith would understand if the counsellor was worried; Celairis had the reason to be worried.
Speaking of the dark-haired beauty, Celairis was striding towards her. She was wearing a magnificent gown of scarlet silk, trimmed with pale lace. Around her neck was a silver necklace set with a sapphire pendant, and upon her head was a matching silver circlet. She stopped walking when her eyes fell upon the lonely Sindarin elf, who was partially drenched from the rainstorm outside.
"What happened to you, Erfaron?" Celairis questioned, her voice sharp but not unkindly.
Erynlith was too engaged in admiring the fellow elf, when she flinched and answered, "Oh, I went to see Glorfindel outside..."
"Glorfindel?" the Chief Counsellor repeated. If her voice did not give away her disdain for the warrior, her face did. She frowned upon hearing his name, well remembering that it was his fault that her King was bleeding earlier. "He remains outside?"
"Yes, he would wait until tomorrow, after the celebration."
"I see. He sounds kind enough when you talk about him."
"What do you mean?" Erynlith was still over-thinking about the argument between him and the King, that she felt quite annoyed to hear the counsellor's disrespectful tone of speaking about her friend.
Celairis pursed her lips, and then answered, "I was told that the wardens from Lórinand were enraged when they found out the King snatched you away from home; and now you must keep in mind that we Silvan folk feel the same way now. We are deeply grieved to remember that Captain Raithon remains in your forest, possibly a hostage, while our King suffers from mild injuries from yesterday's assault."
"Raithon? A hostage?" Erynlith gasped. It was unthinkable! "We would never do that! My wardens would never let it come to that. Haldir knows it, he's a good warden and he knows what to do and what not to do."
"I understand your sentiments, Erfaron," Celairis agreed, "but we are as disappointed as the Nandorin folk about our King. Everyone thinks it is Glorfindel's fault that the King was hurt. With him lingering around, the Silvan could not help but... see it as your fault as well..."
"Thranduil... hurt because of me?"
The counsellor nodded, unperturbed of the painful truth she laid bare. "It is what everyone thinks. You brought the warrior here, thus it is your indirect fault that the King is hurt." She shook her head. "I am sorry to bring the news to you, Erfaron..."
"May I speak to Thranduil?" Erynlith had never thought that it might be her fault as well, but if it was, she would apologize to him, and perhaps even apologize in Glorfindel's behalf. She had the notion that everything would be back to normal if Glorfindel expressed regret; and she did not like the thought of the argument getting worse because the Silvan elves think it was her fault as well.
"It cannot be done," Celairis whispered. "He has refused to see you and Glorfindel."
Erynlith's shoulders slumped. "Is that so?"
"Sorry, Erfaron."
"Ah, no, don't be sorry. If you see Thranduil, just please tell him that I was sorry about what happened."
Celairis smiled and bowed. "Of course."
After that encounter, Erynlith was left alone again. She stood in front of the imposing throne, finding it intimidating with the extended antlers and high seat. No one was around to guard the place. Not far from where she was, somewhere in the upper halls, the celebration pressed on. She heard the exuberant laughter filling her ears, the harps and flutes inviting her to sing, but she remained standing, pondering, hesitating.
She knew Celairis was right; it was not only Glorfindel's fault, but hers as well. Of course Celairis would know this, because the King trusted her with his thoughts and secrets. Maybe it was because the King had grown more than fond of his counsellor over the years. She remembered how the Silvan beauty had thrown herself into the arms of Thranduil, pressed herself close to his body, whimpering and enunciating her worry for him. Erynlith had noticed that Thranduil actually felt relieved that his counsellor was there to comfort him.
Watching them like that yesterday had sparked a queer feeling. Erynlith did not know what to call it, but it was akin to something when Erestor was giving his attention to another elf than her. Yes, it felt exactly like that. Whenever Lindir invited someone else to sing and not her, she felt it.
"Erfaron," Amardís called out, walking towards her. "What are you doing here? The King has been looking for you."
"He cannot be," Erynlith answered sullenly. "He finds me at fault for what happened to him."
"You? Impossible!" Amardís placed her hands on the other elf's shoulders, shaking her. "He cannot blame you after what happened. The King cares for you."
Erynlith's head shot up, her grey eyes widening. "N-No... You don't know what you are talking about..."
"But after all these years, he waited for you. Does that not mean anything at all?" She might have been too young to remember accurately, but Amardís could swear the King loved her while he was still prince and Erynlith was no more than a minstrel from Rivendell. Her fellow Silvan elves whispered behind their hands, murmuring about their prince's newfound interest; even King Oropher himself mused about it countless times in the council chambers. She thought it was obvious, like it was to Raithon and Santien, that King Thranduil was only waiting for the right time.
"I am tired." Erynlith sighed. "I am tired because I still haven't resolved the argument between Glorfindel and Thranduil, and now you're feeding me with absurd thoughts of your King being in love with someone like me. He has Lady Celairis, remember? It seems like I could burst from all these strange feelings. No more, please."
"But Erfaron—"
"Enough, Amardís, please."
The Silvan elf sighed in defeat. "Would you at least come to the celebration? Even if the King would not see you, others would."
"I might as well."
Both elves wandered into the deserted hallways, past the pillars and old tapestries. Not too far away from the throne room was a spacious dance floor, occupied by the dancing Silvan folk. There was an area on the corner for the feast and drinks, stout wine barrels opened and consumed by eager guards and some counsellors. Others, most commonly couples, were already dancing to the melody of the minstrels, who were positioned parallel to the feast, and where the moonlight could shine upon them. At the very end of the dance halls were the King and his Chief Counsellor, engaged in making small talks with other elves.
"Perhaps you should speak to him," Amardís whispered, guiding her charge towards the table. "When he finishes speaking to Haldamir and his daughter, you should get in there."
"Haldamir?" Erynlith repeated. She remembered that time in Greenwood when she and Thranduil had just returned from Lórinand, and King Oropher had thrown a wonderful feast that same night. She had refused to eat vegetables, refused to drink wine, but agreed when a friendly counsellor invited her to explore the forest.
"Yes, one of the King's veteran counsellors." Amardís pointed across the throng, where the King could be seen talking to a dark-haired Silvan elf in dark red robes that it almost looked brown. Beside him was a lovely maiden, smiling bashfully at the handsome King. "Today is his daughter's begetting day."
"Well, she's really beautiful."
"She is a very intelligent young one. I think she might become one of the counsellors soon."
Erynlith nodded. Her eyes went from Haldamir and his daughter, to the King and his Chief Counsellor. It was hard to look at them together, especially when Celairis was clinging onto the King's arm, her dark head brushing against his broad shoulder. The King did not seem to mind; despite the bandage around his forehead, to keep the cut from opening further, he looked no less in bad spirits tonight. He was smiling, drinking wine from his cup, complimenting Haldamir's daughter that it made her blush the lightest shade of pink. Celairis, in turn, laughed as though she found the tease amusing.
It was absurd to assume that Thranduil loved Erynlith, right?
Utterly ridiculous and foolish, but for a moment there, she had believed what Amardís told her.
Here she was again, assuming about him.
It was getting frustrating. She was supposed to apologize, not trouble herself with such petty matters of alleged love and whatnot. She forced herself to think of Glorfindel under the oak tree, all soaked and tired and stubborn as an ox. He was waiting for her until tomorrow, and maybe when they left, she would forget the notion that the King loved her. What a laugh it would be once she returned to Lórinand with Glorfindel.
"You seem gloomy already," Santien pointed out, striding across the dance floor gracefully. She favoured Amardís with a slight nod, and then turned to observe the defeated look on Erynlith's face. "What's the matter? You don't feel like celebrating Aduial en Meleth?"
"Not entirely." Erynlith shrugged dismissively. "I just feel so tired."
"Would you rather stay in your chambers?" the auburn-haired healer asked.
"If I could, I would have done it already." Her eyes went past Santien and returned to where the King was. She watched Celairis accepting a wine cup from Galion, and then offered it to Thranduil.
A few moments later, Galion approached them and offered wine.
Santien turned to Erynlith. "Do you not drink, Erfaron?"
"Last time I did, I made a mess, tra-la," Erynlith answered, twirling a stray lock from her bun. Santien sighed exasperatedly and went to fix the umber hair, binding it with a silver floral headpiece. Erynlith chewed on her bottom lip; she felt a child in Santien's gesture. Thus, she decided to continue: "I remember Glorfindel carrying me in his arms when I could no longer walk." She trailed it off with a soft laugh.
The healer had stepped back to admire her work. The bun looked better than the last, she knew. "I kept hearing about this Glorfindel. It was him who battered Thranduil yesterday, right?"
"I—I am afraid so..."
"Well, I must say he did a good work wounding Thranduil's forehead, though he failed to shake some sense into that stubborn elf's head," Santien remarked in her usual aloof attitude.
"Are you sure you don't want one, Erfaron?" Galion interrupted, holding out a glass for her.
"Alright." The minstrel sighed and closed her eyes as the liquor slid down her throat. The heat pooled in her stomach, but she agreed that the wine tasted sweeter than any other. "Tastes good," she commented.
Santien smiled a little.
"Then have more." Galion thrust more and more wine glasses, rounding everyone up in his reach.
Even the usual aloof Santien was going along with the flow. She had already finished more than five glasses, yet her gracefulness was yet to leave her. Beside her, Amardís drank as much as she could take, ignoring the wine spilled on her elegant robes. Some of the counsellors had joined the brawl; grease-smeared faces from the grilled pork laughed at one of the guard's jests.
"Drink, drink, drink!" Someone was shouting eagerly.
More of the guards gathered around them, clinking glasses and calling out names. Some of them pushed at each other, coaxed Erynlith and Santien to drink more wine, pulled Amardís back when she tried to walk away from them. Galion supplied them with all the wine they needed; he opened two more barrels of Dorwinion wine and spilled it in the glasses and goblets, and offered it to the counsellors and guards. Haldamir soon joined them, after his conversation with the King, while his daughter remained with someone on the dance floor.
"Erfaron! What are you waiting for? Drink as much as you can!"
"Here taste this wine, Erfaron! It calms your nerves and clears your mind!"
"Clears the mind?" Erynlith stared at the wine cup in her hands. She could not remember how many glasses she had already. Five? Ten? It just kept going back to her direction, the guards so eager to mingle with her, trying to be friendly.
"Just be careful," Santien reprimanded softly. "Don't drink too much."
But Erynlith had already chugged down the drink. When she drank it to the last drop, Galion thrust another cup. She consumed that as well, attempting to be polite for the butler and the army of drunken guards and counsellors. When she smiled, her cheeks flushed bright red. She leaned against the end of the table, quite unsteady on her feet now, feeling the drunkenness taking over.
If Erestor was here, he would have scolded her and sent her back to her room. If Glorfindel was here, he would have carried her to her room, like he did before.
When the singing minstrels stopped to join the commotion, the King removed the Chief Counsellor clinging onto his arm and approached the table.
"What the…?" Thranduil found it in great disaster.
The Silvan elves were scattered everywhere, either lying on the ground or walking unsteadily. One walked up to him, obviously overwhelmed by the wine, and saluted like one of the elf guards. He ignored him and advanced further in the room, searching for his minstrel.
"Would you look at them?" Haldamir called out from behind him, the voice sounded in disbelief. One wine glass was still in his hand, and he drank it before continuing. "They couldn't last for the night."
"It's because they are not as experienced as you are, Haldamir," Thranduil calmly stated. "Where is Erfaron?"
"Oh, she's dozing off," the dark-haired counsellor answered, pointing a thumb to his left. Turning to that direction, the King saw the minstrel sleeping on top of the table, arms crossed and her face buried on the mantle stained with wine.
Thranduil sighed and knelt beside her, shaking her shoulder lightly. "Eryn, time to go to bed," he whispered. He could feel his head swirling from too much wine. The minstrel did not budge. He tried again. "Get up now. You cannot sleep here until morning." He rose to his feet and forced Erynlith to her feet, earning a moan of protest from her.
"Sleep…" The voice was groggy. Her knees buckled and she almost collapsed back on the ground, if Thranduil had not caught her in time. Her eyes were shut tightly and her breathing was faint. She was asleep again. Thranduil sighed and slung one arm around his shoulder, then bent himself to carry Erynlith in his arms. The umber hair tickled his neck as he made his way out of the great halls.
"Finally making a move, Thranduil?" Santien mocked him.
The Elvenking grumbled under his breath as he trekked the dimly-lit hallways on his own. The fires of the lanterns were already quenched, leaving the moonlight that seeped through the pillars shine his pathway. When he reached the first flight of stairs, Erynlith suddenly jerked up in his arms and bolted awake. Her grey eyes scanned the darkness in uncertainty. Finally, she locked gazes with Thranduil and smiled, her drunkenness taking over.
"Ah, Glorfindel," she muttered, and Thranduil had never been so frustrated before.
Next Chapter: Some secrets should have been kept in the darkness, but with Erynlith's current's state. Thranduil decides to push his luck.
Author's Notes: Time flies so fast! I couldn't even keep track of it. I apologize for the lateness of the update. Also, I am afraid I would not be able to answer everyone's previous reviews; I am kind of updating the story in the middle of writing a research project. XD Ah, school can be quite busy!
I hope you guys enjoyed this one. Things would flair up next update. Have a great day! (^._.^)~