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Chapter Thirty-Seven
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SUMMARY: As the gang prepare to return to the North, the kings—and dads—have a "come to Eru" meeting with Vildan and set him straight on a couple of things. To prove his point, Thranduil shows Vildan something that might inspire and encourage the wounded, depressed Vanguard.
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"Love is something sent from heaven to worry the hell out of you."
– Dolly Parton
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Lothlórien, 17th of September 2946 T.A.
The party from Dale was busy making last-minute preparations for their journey home in the morning. Galion and Hilda scurried from wagon to wagon to make sure the trunks and the tents were arranged correctly, and the members of the Woodland Army had bathed and groomed their horses until their coats shone like glass.
Ohtar, Evvy's father, had his own things packed and were added to the couple's wagon. The Archivist was looking forward to spending his year as Thranduil's guest in the Palace, though he planned to make frequent trips to Dale to visit his daughter and her new husband as often as he could.
As a dowry, Celeborn and Galadriel had generously provided their foster-daughter with their own wagon and team of horses, plus they had commissioned furniture, reflecting the unique stye of Lothlórien for the newlyweds' new home, so that Evranin might not feel homesick. Evvy squealed with delight, then tearily threw herself into Galadriel's and Celeborn's arms and expressed her thanks. Galadriel's smile was sad, as she would miss the bright, brown-eyed Elf with that beautiful spray of freckles across her nose.
At the presentation of the gifts, Thranduil fondly remembered his Mírelen's furniture from her parents, and was glad that Legolas slept in the bed made in Imladris. Bard must have thought the same thing as he squeezed Thranduil's hand and leaned into his side with a knowing smile
Throughout all this, Darryn and Melui were scooting around on the forest floor, laughing and giggling, as they scooped up leaves and showered them on each other's heads.
"The kids were cute," Bard said that evening as he and Thranduil relaxed in the sitting area of their guest rooms. There had been a lovely farewell feast in their honor, and after, the Kings left their subjects to enjoy their reverie.
"Yes, they were. I remember doing that when my father brought me to visit our cousin." Thranduil settled himself in his chair with a contented sigh. "This is so comfortable! Not all furniture is well-suited to someone of my stature, but this seems to fit me perfectly. Not even my chairs at the Palace are as nice as this."
"Why don't you see if you can take it with you? Or at least take the measurements so the Dale carpenters can make one like it?"
"Good idea," he said, just as there was a soft, tentative knock at the door.
"Neledâf!"
The door was opened by one of the Lord and Lady's Sentries. "Erain nîn, Lieutenant Vildan of the Vanguard of Imladris is here to see you."
"Thank you," Bard replied. "Send him in."
A nervous Elf (who was doing his best to not appear nervous) entered.
"My Lord Thranduil," Vildan saluted him, then turned to Bard. "My Lord Bard," he bowed in Dale fashion.
This thoughtful bit of etiquette impressed the Elvenking, as Bard gave Vildan a reassuring smile and offered him the third chair in front of the fireplace. Thranduil had set it there on purpose, and Bard joked that he was putting the poor Elf in the "hot seat." The Elvenking just shrugged and told him he wasn't entirely wrong.
The Vanguard perched on the edge of the chair and rubbed his hands over his thighs a few times before he caught himself and clasped his fingers together.
"I am not going to insult your intelligence by assuming you have no idea why we wish to speak to you," Thranduil began. "While Bard and I are heartily sorry for all that happened to you during the past year, and we truly are, it is time for us to discuss Tauriel and your intentions. I know you have not declared for each other, so nothing formal was put into place—"
"Because I had no idea what would happen!" Vildan cried, before he realized he interrupted the King, and his eyes grew wide in horror. "My deepest apologies, My Lord."
Thranduil waved it off. "It is an emotionally-charged subject, and I agree with the way you left things with Tauriel at the time. You did the honorable thing by keeping Tauriel free from any sort of obligation, save to give her your horses, which she gladly accepted and has devoted herself to their care."
"I hope she did not do so because of me," Vildan licked his lips. "From what I know of her character, she did so for their own sake."
"You are correct in that assumption," Thranduil's mouth lifted slightly. "But I think it is fair to ask what your plans are for the future. And I also think it fair that Tauriel be made aware of the extent of your ordeal. To that end, whether you wish it or no, she is going to be told the full truth upon our return."
Vildan sat very still. "I…understand," he said, eyes falling to the floor.
"Vildan?" Bard uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "You act as though you've got something to be ashamed of, and that's just not true. No one thinks any less of you, especially not Thranduil."
The Vanguard gave a barely noticeable bob of his chin. "I appreciate that. If I am honest, I hate the idea of Tauriel knowing how weak I have become." A wry smirk grew on his mouth. "I want her to look to me as an equal, not someone to be pitied. I…could not bear it."
"And we appreciate that," Bard said. "But don't underestimate Tauriel, son. I get that you don't want her sympathy, and I admire that. Don't underestimate her family, either. If we believed for a minute her devotion is rooted in pity, we'd put a stop to it."
"I'd never want that for her, or for me, My Lord. I think in the end, we would both end up miserable." Vildan's throat bobbed as he swallowed and, once again, stared at his feet. "The truth of the matter has nothing to do with Tauriel. I confess I am finding it difficult to move past my grief.."
"So Galadriel has told us," Thranduil said. "The Lady was right to urge you to stay, but as parents, Bard and I cannot be so ambiguous. Tauriel will not cleave to you until you are ready to be the husband we know she deserves." He tilted his head with a concerned expression. "But I do not believe you grieve forever."
"I wish I could be sure," Vildan admitted.
"I know it seems like you will be in this state interminably, but that will not be the case. Strength is one thing—Bard and I believe you can regain this, sooner than you might think. Wholeness is another matter entirely, and this is not something you should strive for, Vildan."
The Vanguard's brows, nearly as dark and heavy as the Elvenking's, drew together. "I am a stranger to myself, now; why would I not want that?"
"Because this 'stranger' you speak of is not a stranger at all; it is who you are now, and you must get to know yourself again." Thranduil said, his voice was softer, kinder. "Tragedy does not just befall us, Vildan. Tragedy destroys pieces of us that cannot be replaced. But that does not mean one cannot mend enough to find joy again."
"How?" the Vanguard asked in a rough voice. "I do not have any idea what to do."
"Time will take care of a great deal of it. But we can learn to use our scars to enhance us, as you will see." But of course, Vildan didn't see. How could he, when he has no real example of such a thing? Thranduil had been prepared for this. "May I share something of my own experience?"
"Please, My Lord. If you are willing."
Thranduil straightened his posture slightly, closed his eyes, and concentrated. In a moment, icy flames stabbed into the entire side of his face, the naked nerve endings screamed in agony. To his right, Bard grasped his fingers with a loving squeeze and his fëa received a wave of support that dulled the pain somewhat, but not much. Sweat broke out on his forehead, as he opened his eyes to see Vildan's own, bulging with shock, pink with the sudden sting of tears, and one slowly sliding down his cheek. His head moved back and forth as the Vanguard processed this unexpected revelation.
"Enough, love," Bard murmured softly. "That's enough. Put it back, now."
Thranduil closed his eyes again, and soon the pain was reduced to a dull ache, which experience had shown would last a while. Dorwinian wine always helped, too. Maybe he'd have a little of Haldir's dreaded vintage. Just a little.
When he opened his eyes, he took the measure of the Elf before him. Vildan was visibly shaken, but behind that, a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes.
The Lieutenant's jaw worked, until he managed to breathe, "I had no idea, My Lord,"
"I am not surprised. It is common knowledge among my people, but there is also a silent agreement among them not to reveal my condition to outsiders. Nothing I commanded, you understand, though I very much appreciate it. During the War of the Last Alliance, I was attacked by a dragon. The injury you just saw was from the creature's blood, of which there is no cure in Middle Earth.1
"And you have lived with that since…"
"The beginning of the Third Age? Yes, I have," Thranduil said sadly. "And I owe your own Lord a great deal, for it is thanks to him that I lived and recovered as much as this."
"Lord Elrond?"
"Indeed. Elrond rightfully should have put me out of my misery and let me go to the Halls of Waiting. Had I not been the only heir to the Woodland Realm, he would have done so. Many, many times I hated him for making me live, for I was little more than a pile of ash. He and Galion tended to me for almost a year, and diligently worked with me to form this glamour and keep it up. 2
"My point is to show you that, not only do I understand your present state of mind, but I think you needed to see that it can be done. I have survived much in my long life, Vildan. I watched my father be butchered in that war. That Orc tore most of King Oropher's head from his body, an image that still haunts my dreams. I lived through this," he gestured toward his left cheek, "I know what it is like to watch a parent—in your case, both parents—sail to the West, and I also witness my beloved wife's murder at the hands of another Orc."
"My sincere condolences, My Lord." Vildan's jaw drooped as his mouth turned under.
"Her death was common knowledge but what is not is how that grief nearly destroyed me, and it did destroy my relationship with my children. Whereas once I was easily affectionate, I grew distant, mostly in order to keep from fading. But even after…" Thranduil's throat tightened.
Bard reached over and rubbed his arm. He turned and gave his husband a smile and patted his hand. "Thank you, Meleth nîn." After turning back to Vildan, he said. "The truth of the matter is that I lost them. For almost a thousand years, I neglected them, and every day I regret what Legolas, Tauriel and I could have had. But this is why I work so hard at it now. Not because I can change the past, but meeting and marrying Bard has helped me to make every day with my family special.
"This is why I tell you these things; not to trivialize your sorrow, but to hopefully show you that, even when you believe all is lost," he gave Bard another affectionate glance, "life can be full of wonderful surprises, as well."
"I am grateful, My Lord."
"There is a large vase on display in my study. Have you seen it?"
"I do not recall it."
"After my return from the War, Galion commissioned the vase from the Dwarves of Moria. Once made, they deliberately break the pottery in pieces, then glue it back together using pure gold. It was given to me during Yule after I took my mother to the Havens, and, to me at least, it is a metaphor. We are all broken, but we can be mended and made into something beautiful. I hope that one day soon you can see it for yourself and fully grasp its meaning."
"I sincerely hope to, My Lord." Vildan shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. "And thank you for trusting me with your story. It helps a great deal. Unfortunately, though I might recover and be ready for the next stage in my life, I may not be able to come right away. The Lady needs to work with Melui, and teach her things about her powers that I cannot."
"That's a good idea," Bard nodded agreement as he rose, went to the sideboard and poured out cups of water for everyone, filling the room with it infused fragrance of Athelas, sliced peaches and a touch of nutmeg. "I admit I was a little worried about what might happen if the child were to have a tantrum or something." Bard winked at Thranduil. "Do Elflings have tantrums?"
"Not in general, no," Thranduil laughed. "But that does not mean they do not get into mischief. As I am sure you are learning," he said to Vildan.
"I am indeed. Though Elladan and Elrohir are most definitely not a calming influence." Vildan's eyes sparkled.
Thranduil was pleased to see the Elf's shoulders relax. "Vildan, I am confident that things will get better for you. You are wounded; anyone who knows you can see that, but I can still see that core of steel in you that you possessed when you first came North with Elrond. You have not lost as much as you think you have, and you will see that one day soon."
"That means a great deal to me." The Vanguard gave him a tentative smile. "You are correct in that Tauriel deserves to know. But that burden should rest upon my shoulders, not yours. With your permission, I will write and tell her everything myself, then give her the choice of what she wants."
"Meaning what?" Thranduil's eyebrows rose.
Vildan licked his lips, and his chest rose as he inhaled through his nose. "I have not spoken to Tauriel, but I feel it only right to declare to you and Lord Bard first: Tauriel Neldor-Thranduilliel is my One. For me there will be no other, and if she so desires it, I will come North as soon as I can with the intention of courting your daughter with the hope to marry her."
The Elf's hands fisted the fabric of his leggings, shaking slightly. Yet, surprisingly—or maybe not, this was a Vanguard of Imladris after all—Vildan's eyes never looked away from Thranduil's. Not even to glance at Bard, though he knew his bowman would also agree.
A slow smile grew on Thranduil's face until he beamed. "And if our daughter so chooses, I would like nothing more than to have you for our son-in-law."
Bard slapped the arm of his chair. "Finally!" he lifted his glass in a toast.
The Vanguard broke into a relieved grin and laughed. Then he added, his face serious, "Only if that is what Tauriel truly wants. I will not pressure her."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, son," Bard chuckled, sneaking a sidelong glance at Thranduil. "You two were meant to be together; anyone can see that, and if Tauriel has any doubts, Ada and Legolas will take care of it. What my husband didn't say, though trust me it's true, is that even more than he wants to be a father-in-law, he wants to be a Granddad."
"I believe you mean, Haru," Thranduil said primly, though he could barely contain his excitement.
The next morning, before the official Ceremony, Vildan approached Thranduil and Bard with a formal salute and a bow. Then he handed the Elvenking a thick envelope bearing their eldest daughter's name, tied with a string with three Elanor blossoms tucked into it.
He returned his salute solemnly, and tucked it into the pocket underneath the chest plate of his armor. "I will make sure she gets it," he promised. "I will also encourage her to write back, and often."
The dimple in Vildan's cheek appeared as he smiled. "I truly love her, My Lord."
"I know and I am glad of it."
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Around them, the Lothlórien Elves were saying goodbye to their friends from the Woodland Realm, and their new friends from Dale. Hilda was dabbing at her eyes as she and Percy spoke with Ruvyn and Orophin. Daeron picked up a sobbing Darryn after he said goodbye to Melui, as Rhian kissed the Elfling on the cheek. Elladan was making funny faces at both of the children to make them smile, while Elrohir looked on with affectionate exasperation. Darryn found no comfort in it, and buried his face in his Ada's chest and cried harder.
Melui reached up and patted Darryn's back. Thranduil couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but from all appearances, the child was confident they would be seeing one another again. Her little mouth puckered into an "ooh." Was she saying Yule? He sincerely hoped so.
Turamarth, Evvy, and Ohtar surrounded Orlin in hugs as they promised to write and hopefully visit again. Tilda and Sigrid threw themselves at Lady Arwen, whose beautiful features barely remained serene. Galion held Rôgon's hand as they spoke to some of the Council members. No doubt his Aide was eager to return to his home and his beloved cat. 3
It had been a wonderful visit. Thranduil glanced over at Bard, who was talking with Haldir and Mithrandir near their horses. His husband looked even more beautiful in his mithril armor with the seal of Dale on the front, his plain gold circlet gleaming against his ebony hair.
It wasn't just the Lady's magic that enhanced Bard's features, though the effects of Galadriel's healing had restored the Golden Wood to the same peace and serenity as he had always remembered. When he came two years ago, there had been no time to contemplate the change in the atmosphere; he was too worried about Legolas and the rest of his people. But now he made note of the difference and was glad to see his cousin's wife in her full glory once again.
His father had always been wary of the Lady of Light. Perhaps with good reason, for there was no greater foe to have in Middle Earth, aside from Sauron himself. But it wasn't out of fear that Thranduil cultivated their good relations. He was truly fond of Celeborn, and trusted his good judgment. This might be officially the Lady's realm, but Celeborn's role in the lives of Lothlórien was equally important. His primary job was to protect his queen, but he also coordinated the protection of their people and the surrounding lands. It is Celeborn who sees to the operation of their kingdom, so Galadriel can focus on the individual people. The love between Celeborn and Galadriel was legendary, and the story of their first meeting in Doriath are contained in books sitting in shelves all over Middle Earth.
They gathered before the Lord and Lady who bestowed blessings upon them all. Speeches were given, farewells were said, and soon everyone was either in wagons, carriages or on horseback. The trip was over, and their journey had begun.
After the caravan passed through the Main Gates and they were shut behind them, they stopped so Tilda could come up front and ride with Ada. It was then that a voice whispered inside Thranduil's mind. Worry not, cousin, Galadriel said. All will be well.
Thranduil held his face to the sky and laughed.
Tilda looked up at him shielding her eyes from the sun. "What's so funny Ada?"
"Love," he said, and hugged her to him.
"Do you mean you love me?"
"That, too, Tithen pen. Though one day you will meet another whom you might love more."
"I'll always love you best," she promised.
Thranduil glanced over at Bard, who gave him an affectionate smile. He had put away the circlet and the breeze lifted his thick dark hair as Fînlossen trotted along.
Would the love between an Elvenking and a King of Men be written down in history, long after he and Bard left these shores forever?
Who could say? But, as he told Vildan, Bard and the family they had made together was a wonderful gift that came from tragedy. One of the gifts, anyway.
The other? To appreciate the beauty that came with each day, and to live it to its fullest.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Erain nîn – My Kings
Neledâf – Come in (Lit. "Permission to Enter")
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NOTES:
1 What Makes a King, Ch. 13: /works/10838010/chapters/25232985
2 Legolas, Ion nîn, Ch. 16: /works/17088320/chapters/43099031
3 Broken Wings, Ch. 44: /works/20519588/chapters/63065956
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