Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, hair black as ebony
-10-
A light rain fell on the gardens of Greenwood the Great that morning, in perfect harmony with the melancholy mood of the Elvenking.
Because he had dreamed of her the night before, his steps had guided him to a statue surrounded by flowers, at the edge of the forest.
The hours passed without having the slightest effect on him, as he seemed to carry on a silent conversation with the statue, her alabaster face tilted over the figure seated on the ground and an infinite benevolence in her cold white gaze.
Thranduil sensed Bard's presence long before he arrived in the clearing.
If he had noticed Bard's natural discretion when his whole heart was beating in his chest (no doubt an art he had perfected during his long hours of hunting, Thranduil thought as he gritted his teeth), the bowman was now as silent as a shadow in the slightest of his movements, in every way similar to an Elf.
Still, Thranduil always knew when Bard was nearby. As he had once thought, it was as if an invisible thread connected them together, whether they liked it or not.
"Delilah died when Tilda was four years old. Her lungs were sick; she could no longer breathe properly. She died slowly and I was unable to do anything about it."
Bard's voice was tinged with emotion; Thranduil could almost feel it vibrating against his own skin.
He saw Bard sit down next to him without asking his permission and noticed from the corner of his eye the bowman's gaze, which went from the statue to the ring adorning his forefinger.
A sigh escaped him despite himself. If Bard took a step in his direction, he had no interest in pushing it away; quite the contrary. If the bowman was to become his husband, they were going to have to get to know each other and talk about their past, one day or another. Might as well start now.
"Mereneth was taken prisoner during a battle against Orcs in Gundabad. One moment she was there and the next she had disappeared into the fortress."
Thranduil felt Bard's gaze rest on the statue, forming a question in his mind that he seemed reluctant to ask.
"There is no body. I could not bury her. That is all there is," he explained, pointing at the stone figure with a tired look.
"You did not get to say goodbye," Bard observed in a low voice.
Thranduil could sense the deep empathy emanating from him. Without a doubt, Bard drew a parallel with his own situation: he had also lost his wife but he had had the opportunity to say goodbye to her and dispose of her body according to the funeral rites of his people.
A sad smile played on the Elf's closed lips and he knew Bard could see it.
"It is strange to conceive saying goodbye to the people dearest to our hearts, isn't it? Even after thousands of years of living in these lands, I cannot get used to it."
To his astonishment, Thranduil felt Bard's hand rest on his and his fingers gently entwine his, exerting a simple pressure on them. He could not help but think how warm Bard's hand felt against his skin and what that meant.
"I am sorry about your wife, Thranduil," Bard whispered and Thranduil knew there was truth in every word of that sentence.
"I am for yours as well, Bard," he replied with the same honesty, suddenly aware of the similarities they shared despite themselves.
A peaceful silence settled between the Man and the Elf during which the only contact between them was Thranduil's hand nestled in Bard's, while the rain still fell lightly and delicately on the forest's green trees.
"You look tired, adar."
Thranduil let Tauriel hug him gently and enjoyed this embrace, the young Elf's arms around his waist and her face against his back. She had entered the room as silently as Bard and snuggled up to Thranduil as she had been accustomed to doing since their return from Dale a season ago. Thranduil placed a hand on Tauriel's, caressing them with a smile she did not see.
Tauriel had been a very tactile child with Legolas and with him, seeking cuddles and embraces. In a way, she had always reminded him of the cats who slept within the palace and who sought the company of the Elves for a few strokes.
When she became an adult and, especially, when Thranduil made her captain of the guards, Tauriel's behaviour changed and the hugs ended up disappearing, making their relationship more formal. This had deeply upset Thranduil, who nevertheless understood that Tauriel did not want to be considered privileged given the relationship she had with the king and the prince of Greenwood the Great.
As a child, there had been nothing reprehensible about her manners: Tauriel had been an orphaned Elf and Thranduil had instinctively taken her under his wing while he himself tried to overcome his grief. The presence of this intrepid, gourmand and cuddly young Elf had brought the light that Mereneth had taken with her when she had disappeared and Legolas had been delighted meeting this adopted little sister, having suffered from being an only child.
Now that Legolas was gone and Tauriel had lost the one her heart had chosen, both had rebuilt the bond they had long lacked. Hugs, smiles and conversations returned slowly, at their own pace, tiptoeing, so as not to disturb the fragile balance they had found.
"What makes you think that?" Thranduil replied simply.
Tauriel broke away from his embrace and walked around to stand between Thranduil and the window he was standing in front of, watching the gardens.
"Because I know you," she replied with the same simplicity.
She touched the skin under Thranduil's eyes with her fingertips, where there were faint dark circles that did not usually exist.
"Is it because of the ritual?"
Thranduil looked into Tauriel's eyes and saw deep concern there.
He had explained everything to her, without omitting even the slightest detail. She was his closest family and deserved to know why Thranduil sometimes slept longer than usual. Besides, Thranduil needed a witness for the betrothal ceremony and his choice naturally fell on Tauriel. He knew that Bard had – obviously – chosen Sigrid and so he had to explain to her the counterpart of the ritual that the Elvenking had performed to bring him back to life. To this day, he did not know the Princess of Dale's opinion on the subject.
"It is possible, indeed. However, there is no reason to worry. I think this is a normal side effect. The magic I called upon was powerful. Maybe it is natural until Bard and I are officially engaged, who knows?"
He saw Tauriel frown; she was not convinced.
"That is a lot of assumptions, without the slightest certainty."
"Let time take its course. Do not worry," he repeated in a voice that he wanted to be reassuring. "I am a lot tougher than you imagine, and even more."
Even though Tauriel still had her brows furrowed tightly, she did not fail to snuggle into Thranduil's arms and hold him close. It was as if she was seizing every opportunity to make up for all the hugs they had missed over the centuries.
"I know it, adar. I do not want to lose you. Ever."
Thranduil knew perfectly well what such words implied. Tauriel had endured the rejection of her adopted father, the death of the one she loved and the departure of her brother on the same day; she quite naturally feared the next ordeal and clearly doubted her ability to overcome it.
He closed his arms around her, gently stroking her long copper hair.
"I am not going anywhere, iellig."
Galion's discreet step brought father and daughter back to the present moment. Thranduil released Tauriel and turned his head towards the Elf who was waiting at the entrance to his bedroom.
"It is time, Your Highness."
Thranduil nodded, looked at Tauriel who nodded in turn and the two left the room, followed by Galion.
The betrothal ceremony took place in the library. Galion had banned access to this part of the palace several days ago and Thranduil had thought that it was a neutral and unambiguous place. In truth, he had no idea what place would have been suitable for secretly getting engaged to the Lord of Dale. He had thought of a clearing in the forest but he had abandoned this idea following the incident with the bear. He was afraid that Bard would only think about that during the ceremony.
Galion had been appointed master of ceremonies by Thranduil. He had been his right-hand man for centuries – since Oropher's death; he had assisted the very young king of Greenwood the Great without ever failing. This role theoretically fell to the parents of the engaged couple, but Thranduil and Bard no longer had them and, moreover, they were past the age to obtain parental consent.
The ceremony was as plain as the chosen location. Galion pronounced vows in Sindarin and gradually translated them into Westron for Bard and Sigrid. Thranduil and Bard had to, in turn, say specific vows that they had learned about a few days earlier.
Galion gave them each a silver ring, simple and delicate, without the slightest embellishment so as not to draw attention to it.
Thranduil paid attention to the atmosphere around them as he slipped the ring along the middle finger of Bard's right hand. When he looked up at the bowman, he saw that his eyes were staring at the jewel that now adorned his finger. He could sense how helpless, lost and perplexed Bard seemed about the situation he was experiencing and he felt deeply sorry. He also sensed Sigrid's emotions as she stationed behind Bard. The young woman remained calm, an impassive expression on her face. He had caught a few smiles between Tauriel and her but nothing more. Current events must have been even stranger for her...
Thranduil found himself feeling conflicting emotions as Bard took his hand in his and slipped a ring similar to his along his middle finger.
They were now engaged, for a whole year. At the end of this period, Bard would have the choice between definitively uniting with the Elvenking or giving up on his existence, at the same time putting an end to Thranduil's.
Thus, only five people in all of Middle-Earth knew of the betrothal of the King of Greenwood the Great and the King of Dale and all were bound by this secret, which they were under no circumstances to betray.
The only trace of this union were the discreet rings, which adorned the finger of each of the betrothed.
Bard had told Thranduil that he would leave the same day as the engagement. Since the ceremony had taken place in the morning, there was enough time for him to return to Dale with Sigrid, the healer, and the few other people who had been present on the initial trip.
"How are you going to feed yourself?" Thranduil asked frankly, as they met one last time in the palace gardens, on the bench they had been accustomed to occupying over the weeks.
Bard let out a slight sigh.
"I will hunt in the surrounding woods – rest assured, I will not cross your borders. This will make meat for Dale's families," he explained with a deliberately detached air.
Thranduil suspected he was being pragmatic to hide the real emotions he felt at what he had become.
In any case, Bard's solution did not please him. Whether these animals were under his protection or not, he still did not understand, after millennia of existence, that one could kill them to feed on their flesh. There were plenty of other edible things, so why go to that length?
"I am not going back on my offer, you know that."
Thranduil looked into Bard's green and brown eyes. An unhappy smile appeared on his lips.
"That is too much to ask of me right now, Thranduil. I am not yet ready to... I do not know if I will ever be ready to accept that it will come to that. I still cannot believe that I have to..."
"I just wanted to remind you, in case you had any doubts."
A deep weariness had taken hold of Thranduil throughout the morning and a part of him hoped that this conversation would come to an end as he longed for rest. Another part of him, on the other hand, did not accept that Bard would leave him like this and so soon.
"Take as much time as you need. Every future decision concerning you, and concerning us, is entirely up to you. I have made too many decisions for you lately without measuring the consequences."
Thranduil felt his words resonate with Bard from the way his eyes lit up. A deep sadness, imbued with compassion, invaded the forest-coloured eyes. Thranduil felt the cold metal of the ring against his skin as Bard took his face in his hands with infinite gentleness.
"Stop thinking that you have made mistakes," Bard said, his voice suddenly very calm, as if he wanted to reassure Thranduil. "Everything certainly did not go according to plan and it will clearly take time for me to accept the changes I have to face but do not forget that you saved my life. You made significant sacrifices for me even though you owed me nothing, and I do not think you realize it. I owe you my life, Thranduil. I have half of your heart inside of me and I promise to take care of it, at least for as long as our engagement lasts because I am currently unable to plan further."
Bard seemed as surprised as Thranduil at the extent of his tirade. He never talked that much.
They both stared at each other for a long time, aware that their faces were very close to each other and unable to utter any further words.
Thranduil felt like he was losing himself in this look tinged with kindness and gentleness, far from the anger and disgust that Bard had sometimes shown him over the past weeks. His heart sank at the thought that, once again, he did not want to see Bard leave.
A thought suddenly crossed his mind as images of the morning ceremony came back to him.
"Take care of Sigrid," he whispered, unable to look anywhere but into Bard's eyes. "She is a very resilient and very brave young woman but she needs her father, even if she does not show it. Promise me you will look after her."
Bard did not answer. His gaze searched Thranduil's, as if looking for silent answers.
Thranduil felt the caress of his fingers on his face, as if he were at that moment the most precious thing in all of Arda, and then, without a word, Bard tilted his face and pressed his lips to his, uniting them in a chaste kiss. Taken by surprise by a gesture that he did not expect from Bard, Thranduil closed his eyes and let himself go, focused on this contact that he had not experienced for many centuries.
He did not know if he appreciated receiving a kiss because it came from Bard or because he deeply missed such a gesture. It was probably a mixture of the two.
He wanted to disappear into this embrace because it seemed so natural to him – was it because they shared the same heart? had he developed feelings for Bard even before saving his life? Thranduil knew that the times to come would allow him to raise questions that he had not yet dared to address and even if this prospect did not please him, it was necessary in order to see things more clearly.
Bard's lips left his and Thranduil felt an immense emptiness grip him deep within his being. Why such a kiss? Why now? He wanted to ask these questions but the words did not cross his lips.
He would have liked, once again, for Bard to stay with him.
However, Bard was a king and his people waited for him. Besides, it was not the selfish and personal desires of his heart that took precedence over his duty as sovereign. Bard was going to leave and he himself was going to have to take care of his domain, which he had neglected recently.
"Thank you," Bard said simply with a smile that created slight dimples in his now beardless cheeks – Thranduil reflected that his beard had never grown again since the healers shaved him after his return to the world of the living: did this have a link with the changes occurring within him?
Bard's hands left Thranduil's face and the Elf felt odd as he already missed Bard's warm skin against his own.
Bard stood up, bowed his head in his direction, a hand on his heart to greet him in the manner of the Elves. This gesture suddenly had a very different meaning, when one knew what was within the bowman's chest...
Thranduil replied the same way, after getting up.
Overlooking the gardens from his bedroom balcony, he watched Bard leave the kingdom of Greenwood the Great, riding alongside his daughter and his men. Tauriel was at his side and hugged him with tenderness, visibly aware of the torment that was plaguing her father.
With half of his heart clutched inside his chest, Thranduil watched the travellers recede toward the forest, until Bard's hair, black as ebony, was nothing more than an indistinct speck on the horizon.
THE END
adar : father
iellig : my daugther