39 - Friendship with the Housekeeper

The world is changed, Elluin thought. The eager rain had only yielded sporadically throughout the morning and the whole of Greenwood was dripping. Small rivulets of water crossed the forest floor, sweeping away the dried and brittle leaves that the now-vanquished drought had littered there. The deluge had brought a deeper chill to the night and many of the leaves that had remained on their branches quickly responded by coloring. Soaked seeds and mushrooms began to sprout in the more sheltered areas. Instead of clearly ringing through the trees, the sound of Elves singing along the corridors of the palace where she walked was muffled, competing with the pitter-patter of rain on leaves, bark, and earth.

But this was not the change Elluin felt most keenly. The king had started to open his heart to her. It was exhilarating. Still, she made every attempt to rein in her excitement, knowing that it could mean simply a deepening of a friendship and nothing more. Once more she resigned herself to following Thranduil's lead, finding contentment in her morning tasks, and eagerly awaiting the afternoon to see him again.

Maethon opened the door to the king's chambers when Elluin arrived there after the midday meal, as summoned. She could tell her friend had difficulty refraining from engaging her in conversation in the king's presence, but he grasped her shoulder fondly in a quick move as she entered. It let her know he was glad she was safely home, and that he was pleased with the recent developments.

Elluin gave him a bright smile before she moved past him to curtsy before the king, who sat at his desk reviewing reports. "Good afternoon, my king," she greeted.

Thranduil looked up and a pleased smile tugged at his lips. "Good afternoon, Lady Elluin. Maethon, you are dismissed for the afternoon."

The body servant picked up the empty lunch tray and could not resist a surreptitious wink at his friend before taking his leave with the due formalities.

Thranduil abandoned his reports and invited her to join him in the seating area, taking their normal places on adjacent armchairs. "Tell me of the foraging expedition," he said once he had sprawled comfortably.

Elluin happily complied, revealing in her tone her appreciation for Greenwood's bounty despite the short-lived drought. She was, however, at times reluctant to include certain details. On the first day, the group had been so distracted harvesting the abundance of wild grapes that one of the mules escaped his leads and wandered off, and the soldier assigned to bring him back did not reappear with his charge until past nightfall. The whole company had laughed, as the mule had a decidedly self-satisfied air. The tale made Thranduil chuckle.

Elluin herself had incorrectly identified a medicinal herb the following morning, and was obliged to use up some of the previous day's harvest of juniper berries and burdock root to treat the swelling and itching on her hands.

"Are you healed now?" Thranduil asked, eyes glinting in amusement.

"The skin is healed, yes," she answered with a self-deprecating laugh, "though the embarrassment lingers. I should spend more time with the healers.

"The wind picked up on the morning of the third day," Elluin continued. "Aurados warned us that a storm was coming. It was rather thrilling to see such enormous clouds suddenly come sailing over us. We had fortunately already started to gather our things to descend the mountain when the lightning struck." She was unable to suppress a shiver down her spine as she recalled how her senses had been overwhelmed at that terrible instant. "Have you ever witnessed such a thing, sire?" she queried curiously.

"Not from that close," Thranduil answered. "But from afar, I have witnessed lightning both as an immensely destructive force, and a harmless beat for the dancing of storm clouds." His brow furrowed slightly when he realized he had an urge to take Elluin's hand. Clasping them together before him instead, he told her honestly, "I am greatly relieved that you survived it."

"As am I, sire," she said. "I am grateful that it turned out to be more bothersome than harmful. We had already foraged in the areas that were burned — in fact, those areas were the source of most of our harvests. The wind was also in our favor, driving the flames away from us, though embers sometimes pursued on drafts of smoke and burned little holes in our clothing."

"I noticed the marks," Thranduil mentioned nonchalantly.

"Then, as you know, sire, the scouting patrol caught up with us and helped us home. There is a nicely filled corner in the fall storage rooms now," she finished, obviously pleased.

The king searched her eyes for a moment. "It seems the ordeal did not leave you severely impacted," he observed, alluding to the Battle with the Unseen Army that had left her body and spirit wounded.

"It did not." She was thankful for it, and again thankful for his help in her healing her spirit all those weeks past. "Although, I should have been more cautious before leaving on the expedition," she admitted with regret. "My father and some of the Silvans had expected that a rainstorm was imminent, and we were planning to go up into the mountains after a dry season. Lightning was a risk that I should not have overlooked."

"I do not know a single person who can predict when or where lightning will strike," Thranduil consoled easily. "However, additional caution next time would be wise. I value the safety of my people."

"I know, my king," Elluin replied with a smile.

Thranduil could not help but answer with a smile of his own as he saw the love and joy in her eyes.

"I missed you," he heard himself say, once again shocked at how her presence seemed to pull his thoughts and desires into words and actions without his consent.

Elluin blinked in surprise. What could she answer? If she were to tell him the truth and admit that she missed him also, it would be as good as complaining about the duties that kept her away from him. But it extended beyond just the journey to the mountains. Such a response would also serve as a rebuke for the past several weeks during which he had not summoned her, though he could easily have done so. And her efforts to distract herself with work and make excuses for his avoidance of her had not been entirely effective at guarding her heart against the resulting sadness.

Thranduil knew it as well as she did. He had been avoiding her. And although he found it to be a productive time in many ways, she did not know this. He wondered with some desperation what she could possibly respond when their separation had been entirely his own doing…

The unspoken conversation floated almost tangibly in the silence between them, eyes searching and somewhat uneasy, minds knowing, breaths arrested.

Thranduil watched as Elluin's eyes suddenly glittered with optimistic curiosity. It sparked hope within him, and he nodded slightly to encourage her to speak.

"Sire, I would like to remind you that the king still has an invitation to dine with my family," she said, fighting the urge to drop her gaze given the boldness of her statement.

The Elvenking finally released a quiet breath, his eyes shining with gratitude. Instead of pointing out that he was to blame for the past, she had proposed a remedy he could choose for the future. Perhaps it was not a definitive forgiveness, but it was a welcome.

Decisively, he rose to his feet, Elluin quickly following. He took her hand.

"Three nights hence?" he suggested.

She beamed. "Very well, my king."

Thranduil lifted her hand to kiss it. Elluin thought fleetingly that his lips lingered longer than usual on her skin, and she repressed a shiver. It took her another moment to realize she had been dismissed, and she quickly curtsied and left.

The Elvenking stared at the empty space she had vacated and shook his head, disapproving of his own behavior. It annoyed him that he was unable to control his tongue. He admitted, though, that the afternoon had not ended badly despite this. He was looking forward to spending more time with Elluin, and felt more comfortable doing so in an unofficial capacity outside of the palace. It also gave him a measure of relief that her parents would be included for dinner. She could hardly invite him to dine with her alone, he reasoned with a smirk, but it fell in line with his own intentions. He would be a friend to her, for now, as he had decided earlier.

Thranduil turned reluctantly back to his desk and the stack of reports waiting there, his feet slow to bear him to his chair.

Now, if only he could make his heart understand the decision. Before he picked up the quill, he ran his thumb across the calloused tips of his fingers, where he still felt the warmth of Elluin's hand. He had not wanted to release her. Indeed, he feared that, given his tendency to act so impulsively around her, he would find himself taking liberties that would not be proper for a friend.

He resolved to be more careful.

He doubted his own conviction.

Tossing the quill aside again, Thranduil reached for a book on the far end of his desk. Reverently, he opened it, uncovering a pressed rose. Its scent had all but disappeared, but still he gingerly lifted it to his face. He wondered if Elluin knew he kept this treasure. This had been the first rose to appear on his breakfast tray, he guessed about ten years back. He had not known who was responsible, thinking the flowers were some new standard that one of his administrators had suggested, and finding no fault with it. But roses did not grow close to the palace, where other flowers could easily be found.

It had touched him that someone had climbed up to the sunny slopes of the Dark Mountains, selected and cut the beautiful bloom, carried it carefully back to the palace, and placed it anonymously on his tray. He felt even then that it was more than a servant's due respect that motivated the action. And now, he knew for certain he was right. He could imagine Elluin's graceful motions as she swept aside branches and hopped over stones and roots, bright blue eyes searching.

*I'd pluck a fair rose for my love

I'd pluck a red rose growing

Love's in my heart, I'm trying so to prove

What your heart's knowing

The words came flowing into his mind again, as they had in Rivendell when he first heard Elluin singing them. A soft smile touched his lips as the knowledge dawned that she had been giving him peace for far longer than he realized.

I'd pluck a finger on a thorn

I'd pluck a finger bleeding

Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn

And your heart needing

Thranduil's smile faded into a sigh as he recalled the words. He steeled himself for the task of building a solid friendship with Elluin before permitting anything else. It was what she was expecting, wasn't it? As if to taunt him, the final words of her song echoed in his memory as they did in his heart.

I'd hold a finger to my tongue

I'd hold a finger waiting

My heart is sore until it joins in song

With your heart mating

~.~.~

The sun was quick to set the following evening, foretelling the end of autumn. In the fading golden glow, most birds had returned to their nests and the night insects had not yet emerged. Elven voices were heard among the telain and cottages, singing odes to the glorious colors of the forest's leaves.

The peace was interrupted by a knock on the door of Elluin's house. When she opened it, Maethon and Turiel stood there with a basket, immediately inviting her to a picnic dinner. They strolled along the woodland paths to the edge of the stream they usually favored for their picnics, calling out greetings to the Elves whose homes they passed on the way.

Over the meal, their conversation was light—the beauty of autumn now firmly settled across the lands, and the forest's exuberant response to the recent heavy rains. Turiel joyfully reported the progress she had made with her birds, and Maethon complained of not having enough time to practice a specific song on his harp that he had been wanting to learn. Elluin expressed her gratitude that the abundant rain had not drowned her garden.

At long last, their speech faltered as they chose to listen for a while to the symphony of the rippling stream and the night birds' calls. Maethon was leaning comfortably back against the trunk of a large oak, his eyes closed, satisfied with the food and company as much as the music of the night.

"Turiel," Maethon drawled eventually, "since you are not working in the palace anymore, I venture that you have not heard the latest news."

"Do tell," said Turiel indulgently, lazily braiding the hair behind her ears.

"It appears that the rain was very well received, indeed," he continued. "There are certain Elves in the palace who now spend their days with silly grins on their faces, floating from task to task as if they were treading on the Blessed Shores."

"Is that so?" asked Turiel, smirking now at a reddening Elluin. "And which palace residents would those be?"

"In particular, the Elvenking and the housekeeper," the ellon answered smoothly, eyes still shut. "I have it on good authority that the king will be dining with said elleth's family two nights hence."

"I do not know what possessed me to suggest it," Elluin admitted, shaking her head.

"I have a good idea of what it was," Turiel said playfully, nudging her friend with her elbow while her fingers still worked through strands of her hair.

Maethon broke in, lazily crossing one leg across the other. "Allow the poor Elf some companionship," he said, a note of sympathy in his voice. "His responsibilities have been light on his shoulders of late, it is true—no doubt due to the overdue presence of a certain elleth in his life." At this he finally opened one eye and cocked his brow at Elluin before relaxing again. "But, obviously, the demands of his position never cease. Before heavier trials come again, I would wish for him something akin to what the three of us share."

The ellith's eyes glittered with feeling. Now more than ever, they could see the depth of affection that the king's body servant held for his sovereign, and his frustration that he could not be the companion that was so clearly needed.

"Let those of his Sindar kin not bound to him in service distract him from his obligations for a while," Maethon concluded. "Although the one who is bound to him in service also seems to distract him quite well."

The ellith giggled. Elluin was never more thankful for her Sindar parents than at that moment, realizing that their unique position in the kingdom was more of an asset to Thranduil than she had previously thought. She reached over to squeeze her friend's arm in gratitude.

* Again, based on Anne Dudley's song as heard on the series "Poldark"