52 – The King's Body Servants

Elluin traveled the familiar path between the kitchens to her office after the usual morning distribution of duties, most of it concentrating on gathering springtime plants from the forest. She debated for a moment before she shut the door behind her. She was certain there would be no runner peeking in to summon her to the king's chambers today. Sighing, she pulled out the root cellar inventory to compare to the scrawled notes she had taken from Dinen's most recent report.

Of course, Elluin had noticed the instant Thranduil disappeared from the Feast of Awakening two weeks ago. At first, she had thought he left because of some urgent business of the kingdom. She was confused to learn afterwards that there was nothing of the kind. Her disappointment only grew as the days passed.

Since the feast, Thranduil had withdrawn again into "one of his moods," as the other servants usually called it. Breakfasts were once again sent back to the kitchens untouched. For the past several days, Thranduil had not even taken the flower she sent with his meals. At council meetings, he did not look at her, and responded to any remarks she made with the same polite but distant tone that he used with everyone else. He did not seem to notice that it tore a hole in her heart each time.

Reluctantly, Elluin had to admit to herself that duties had kept them both busier than usual of late. In addition to finalizing agreements with the Dwarves of Khazad-dum and the two clans of Men, an envoy from Lorinand had arrived to discuss coordinating patrols along the Anduin. Everyone wished to prevent another attack like the ones they had suffered last spring. And yet, Amroth's and Thranduil's generals and captains mostly held conference among themselves. Furthermore, the council members designed the final trade recommendations that would be presented to Thranduil and the human representatives in the upcoming days, meaning that the king was not often directly required. Elluin's duties were hardly more than usual despite the guests; the Elven visitors preferred to stay in guest quarters in the barracks and eat with their fellow soldiers, while the Men tended to feel nervous staying inside the palace and camped outside the grounds. She rubbed her forehead. It was certainly not enough of a distraction to keep her from feeling the sting of loss.

She turned back a page in the ledger and ran a finger down one side, noting how the stores decreased with each entry. Was this what happened to Thranduil's regard for her, as well? He had professed love for her, and had shown it through words, embraces, and actions whenever he had the chance. But as winter had faded and spring overcame the Greenwood, he had withdrawn from her completely. The new season would replenish the palace store of produce, but she saw no hope for such renewal in her relationship with the king.

Two days ago, she had been given a painful jolt of hope. Thranduil had just dismissed the council members with the normal nod and she had lingered, knowing Galion would wish to speak to her regarding what was discussed. But Galion had first turned to speak with Lady Raegdis. While Elluin waited for the steward to finish his conversation, she felt the king's gaze on her. When she turned, she saw such a mix of yearning in his eyes that it took her breath away. Thranduil seemed to come to his senses, immediately assuming a neutral mask and turning away to walk out of the council chamber.

She thought furiously about what she could have done to hinder him approaching her. Did she need to make herself more available? Perhaps if she worked harder, Galion would mention in his reports to the king when she completed the primary tasks for the season. If Thranduil knew that she had more time on her hands, perhaps then he would seek her out? But her own duties had never stopped him from coming to her before. And she had told him when they began their courtship that she would modify her schedule to suit his wishes.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, quickly banishing the pain from her face.

In an instant, Sulros had slipped through the door and plopped dramatically on the chair opposite her desk, setting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his palms with a forlorn expression.

Elluin blinked in surprise. "Sulros? What's wrong?"

The ellon all but glared at her. "You know perfectly well what's wrong," he scolded. "Why can the two of you not work out your problems so the rest of us can have some peace?"

"That's not fair," she said, realizing that the body servant was speaking about the same thing that had occupied her own thoughts. "And how is he robbing you of peace?"

Sulros sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "The king always behaves with such decorum outside of his rooms, but in his private chambers, he allows his foul mood to surface. I have suffered just about as much of his brooding and grumpiness as I can stand. He is not satisfied with anything I offer, and seems only marginally more tolerant of the choices he makes himself. He refuses to be cheered. He hardly even spared a glance for the walnut bread I brought him yesterday!" He pegged her with an accusing look. "He is not happy. You obviously aren't, either. I thought you two had some spell of enchantment over you and that your betrothal would be announced by now. What, may I ask, happened?"

Elluin heard the concern in his tone. It nearly made up for the sting of his words, though he was only voicing the reality.

"I don't know," she squeaked out through a tight throat, fighting to keep sudden tears at bay.

Sulros was obviously taken aback by her response, and could only stare as she set her forehead in her hand and took a few breaths to bring herself back under control.

"Lady, forgive me," he said at length.

Elluin waved her other hand at him to dismiss his apology. "He must regret opening his heart to me," she muttered after a while, her voice only slightly strained, still hiding her face. "I see no other reason for his sudden coldness."

Her companion grunted. "Then the king is not as wise as I had once thought," he nearly growled.

Elluin finally looked up at him with a question in her glistening eyes.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to him," Sulros explained angrily. "It is absolute folly for him to spurn something that makes him happy and whole. Before you came along, I had been fearing that the darkness in his spirit from all the sorrows of his long years would someday claim a part of him, and spread to the kingdom. He had been successful at fighting it all this time. But when you began your courtship, he no longer had to fight. And now, it seems, he is fighting you — fighting the light that you give him. I don't understand it. It is hurting everyone, himself not least. I have never known him to be cruel this way."

Elluin's breath nearly caught as comprehension dawned. "That's it, Sulros," she nearly whispered. This time, she did not attempt to hold back her tears. "He withdraws because he does not wish to join me to the darkness in his spirit. He is trying to protect me. Cirdan's prophecy was wrong! I have healed nothing — the darkness could claim him, still." Her despair threatened to overwhelm her. Were all her efforts for naught? …Would her own heart never have what it desired?

Sulros shook his head incredulously. "You are both fools," he suddenly bit out. "I don't know what the prophecy says. But you need to go in there," he demanded ruthlessly, pointing a finger in the direction of the king's chambers, "and tell him that he does not need a healer. Tell him he needs someone to battle the shadows alongside him. And that you are that person."

Elluin's eyes blurred further as she recognized the wisdom in her friend's words. But then she sniffed resolutely, mastering herself once more. "This is not a matter of state," she finally answered. "The mistress of the household has no authority to demand an audience with the king, especially not for personal matters. And I have no right to demand what he obviously does not wish to give."

"I know." The ellon's reply was sharp. "And yet, what else can you do — for his sake, and yours?"

Sulros rose from his chair and reached for Elluin's hand across the desk. She gave it automatically and he held it between both of his, beseechingly. "Lady, I know I have often complained when you have given me orders, but I have always known that you act for the good of the realm. Do not, now, falter in your aim."

The usual glint of humor in Sulros' eyes, that had been so uncharacteristically absent during their conversation thus far, finally reappeared. "Where walnut bread and plum preserves fail, a housekeeper must do," he said. "Else, what will become of poor Sulros before the Elvenking's temper?" He gave her a smile, more from encouragement than mirth, then squeezed her hand and left.

~.~.~

Days later, Thranduil stood staring at the tunic that Maethon had laid out for him as he prepared to dine with his advisors. Suddenly, he snatched it up and tossed it on the floor. The servant patiently retrieved it and watched the king stalk over to select a different one. Once he did, Thranduil turned back and was stopped in his tracks by the look on Maethon's face.

"You are glowering," Thranduil accused, seemingly unaware of the scowl that almost permanently pulled at his own features.

Maethon decided not to push his luck by giving the king the eye roll and disappointed sigh that he naturally would have. Instead, he gave his response quickly and succinctly. "I wish the king would permit me to perform my office."

"Then perform it!"

Thranduil threw the tunic at Maethon, who managed to maintain his composure as he elegantly gestured for the king to sit. The royal's eyebrows creased in confusion but he slumped onto the bench his servant had indicated.

Maethon came to stand behind the bench and briefly wondered how successful he would be if he were to attempt to strangle the ellon before him. The past few weeks in his service had certainly taken their toll. But he quickly pushed the thought aside because, for one thing, Thranduil was much too skilled of a warrior to die so easily; and for another, he did not relish the idea of spending the next few centuries in the dungeons for treason.

He pulled a vial from his pocket and emptied a few fragrant drops onto his hands before setting to work on the king's shoulders. His movements were likely much more forceful than they needed to be, but Maethon was concentrating too hard on keeping his voice steady as he spoke.

"You are too tense of late, sire. I asked the housekeeper to bring me something from the healers a week ago to help. She only brought me this today. She is slow to do her tasks, it seems."

"I will not have anyone speak ill of Lady Elluin," Thranduil warned, though he kept obediently still.

"No, of course not," Maethon said, pressing his elbow between the king's shoulder blade and spine. "In any case, she has been greatly distressed — I mean, distracted by her work." The servant was unable to conjure any regret for the obvious accusation and poor excuse for self-correction. Though a distant part of him was thankful that the king still seemed to care at least a little about his friend.

"Is she unsatisfied with her position?"

"Not as housekeeper, no," Maethon responded. He left unsaid that for her position as the elleth courted — or, who used to be courted — by the king, her feelings were entirely the opposite. And Thranduil knew it.

The king sighed, both surrendering to Maethon's hands and acknowledging his message.

The servant remained silent, thankful he did not receive any angry outburst in retribution for his forward speech. His knuckles slid weightily between the lines of the king's muscled ribs. He did not think his master would speak again. Now that he had been informed of the consequences of this ridiculous distance he was insisting on between him and Elluin, he would certainly be contemplating how to resume his suit.

"It is better that I stay away from her," Thranduil admitted at length.

This was the reverse of what Maethon had expected. He stilled the motion of the heels of his hands across the king's neck and took a breath, stepping away. With tight lips, he walked around the bench, noting the pain in the king's eyes before he dropped his gaze to the floor and knelt before him.

"Sire, I will dare to abuse my position to beg you, for my friend's sake, to reconsider."

Maethon held his breath, not sure what he was waiting for but unable to abandon the request.

"It is for her benefit that I stay away," Thranduil clarified. "Don't you see? Look into my eyes, Maethon." He reached out to pull his servant's chin up with a firm hand.

Maethon resisted the command at first. He pretended to himself that he was just unaccustomed to so much familiarity between them, but in his heart, he realized it was because he knew exactly what he would find. His Silvan brown eyes met the king's frosted blue ones.

"Do you see it?" Thranduil asked in a hiss, dropping his mask completely to allow Maethon a glimpse into himself. "Do you see the dark, splintered wreckage that is my spirit? Tell me!"

Maethon stared for the space of several breaths, allowing his sorrow and love for the ellon before him to sweep through his own heart, knowing Thranduil would see it. At last, with both hands, he pried the king's hand gently from where it still clutched his jaw, and brought it to his forehead briefly before looking back up again and speaking. "You are not beyond my trust, sire," he said, each word deliberate and his voice strained with conviction. "You are not beyond her love. You have earned it. It bears its own strength — it is enough. Accept what is yours. Please."

Emotions swirled across the king's face as Maethon studied it. At first there was incredulity, then a spark of hope and longing, all too quickly overcome by uncertainty. Then came the terrible, resigned sorrow, soon fixed into place and unyielding.

Maethon blinked at the moisture in his eyes and dropped his gaze back to the ground. He sniffed and dropped the king's hand to rise, recognizing defeat. Wordlessly, he retrieved the tunic Thranduil had thrown at him.

"The one you chose is fine." Thranduil's voice was quiet.

It took Maethon a moment to overcome his surprise enough to move. He took the statement as the king's intended apology for his moodiness, and retrieved the right garment. But Maethon had not relinquished his bitterness on his friend's behalf.

"You know, sire, the lavender plant does not grow in the forest," he said as he adjusted the tunic sleeves.

Thranduil cast him a questioning glance.

"That was why Elluin took so long to bring me the oil: lavender is the primary ingredient. She and Aurados traveled south for nearly three days along the Greenwood's western edge to find the plant. And she only just finished preparing the mixture this morning."

Thranduil pursed his lips in displeasure. "My housekeeper was away for a week, without my knowledge or consent?"

Maethon settled the king's robe over his shoulders. "Lord Galion gave her leave, and Captain Telior assigned Aurados to accompany her. She made preparations for her absence, and it did not seem likely that the king would require her during that time."

"Enough — you've made your point," Thranduil warned.

Maethon completed his tasks quietly, bowing and stepping away when he finished.

Thranduil took a few steps, then stopped and turned slightly back toward his servant. "Please convey my thanks to Elluin for the healing oils." He gestured feebly to his tunic. "It did help to relieve some tension."

"Yes, sire."

"And tell her…" The king stared at the door for a long moment. "Tell her I will do anything I can to protect her." He disappeared through the door.