16 - Roaring and Song

Long after the dinner with the Elf lords, Thranduil stood alone on a balcony overlooking the river and continued pondering what was said in Lord Elrond's dining chamber. He had politely declined Ninniach's invitation to go walking with her; his mind was too unsettled to enjoy the night song of the trees or the youthful conversation of the lady.

Thranduil evaluated his agitated thoughts. Although the Last Alliance had undoubtedly taken a heavy toll on the kingdom, Greenwood was recovering quickly. In the three centuries since, the civilian population had begun to climb closer to the number that it was before the army had marched. The Silvans that remained in his realm were optimistic as ever, trusting that the threat from the Black Lands was vanquished and that their woods would remain safe. But in his heart, Thranduil knew the peace could not last.

His people still had not dared to venture back to the south of Greenwood where his father's fortress of Amon Lanc now stood abandoned. Satisfied with their lives close to the Dark Mountains, they conveniently neglected to recall why they no longer lived further south. Thranduil himself did not travel there. He knew it would either stir up memories of his father while the pain of his loss still gnawed at him, or confirm that the threat that plagued his unconscious mind was real. He looked down at the water of the Bruinen, crashing relentlessly against its rocky banks in an endless, fruitless barrage.

As a king, he felt paralyzed. Of course, he would support the growth and prosperity of his people…but he felt it would not be safe to expand the established settlements. A larger population meant a greater border to protect. If the darkness were to rise again, his people would be in needless danger. And, as he knew all too well, the only reliable protection against the hordes of evil was the blood of good soldiers.

With sudden clarity, Thranduil realized that the threat paralyzed him as an ellon, as well. He had kept his old counselors and closest servants. While he gladly met more of his subjects, he did not take the time to forge meaningful new friendships. In the same way that he did not seek expansion of his kingdom, he did not invite anyone new into his heart. It was a way to reduce threats. By dedicating himself to the duties of kingship, he was almost able to avoid having enough time for his own personal thoughts to acknowledge—

He gripped the stone railing for strength and dared to identify the feeling. Recently, he had noticed the trace of a new emptiness in his heart, separate from the scars left by the tragedies of his past. And though he had no previous experience to compare, he strongly suspected that the solution could not be obtained within himself. His instinct to protect what he had and resist outside interference rose again. He could keep his heart guarded and so protect it from harm. If he were to let someone in, someone who could relieve his fears and sorrows, his resulting happiness would doubtlessly overshadow his caution and leave both him and his kingdom at the mercy of a force he could not control.

The roar of the water below was uncomfortably loud and seemed to echo his troubled and tumultuous thoughts. He shut his eyes tightly and willed them to cease—his thoughts and the water's thunder alike. In the effort, a soft melody intruded into his perception. He focused on it as an anchor for his senses, bringing him back to the tangible present. A moment's listening revealed it was an elleth singing softly from the gardens close to the guest house. Thranduil set his shoulders in determination. He would see who had provided him an escape from his broiling uneasiness, if only to confirm her reality.

On silent feet, he walked slowly closer. The humid air was perfumed by the low blooming flowers of the garden, and the thick canopy of trees blocked the sparse moonlight and muffled the sound of the river, making it hard for him to discern at first what was before him. The darkness and quiet was a welcome change in itself. The soft voice continued humming a melody. As Thranduil's eyes adjusted, he observed an elleth kneeling by a rose bush, moving from one blossom to another, delicately brushing her fingertips over the petals, leaves, and thorns that the plant seemed to bare to her hands.

The humming soon transformed into words, an even steadier anchor for him to grasp. Although the elleth's voice was soft and the melody unembellished, he found the quiet confession beautiful.

*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

As his eyes grew more accustomed to the space, he could appreciate the soft gold of the elleth's hair as it streamed down her back over a simple dress of muted green.

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 felt his pulse begin to race as he realized who he beheld. A golden-haired elleth in the uniform of Greenwood — it could only be Elluin. She remained oblivious to his presence and continued her song. He found it increasingly easy to dismiss the insistent booming of the river.

I'd hold a finger to my tongue

I'd a hold a finger waiting

My heart is sore, until it joins in song

With your heart mating

My heart is sore, until it joins in song

With your heart mating

Elluin's voice stopped. After a moment, he barely perceived her sigh. Then she stood, and turned, eyes widening when she saw him.

Thranduil berated himself inwardly for not slipping away before. He had no choice but to acknowledge that he had been listening. He was relieved when Elluin broke the silence.

"My king," she said with a curtsy, dropping her eyes to the ground immediately, "forgive me, I did not know you were there." It was not within her rights to ask what he had been doing there. In her eyes, he could see a glimmer of curiosity warring with the more prominent embarrassment that she had been observed. "Do you require anything, sire?" she asked slowly.

"What a question," he breathed, surprising both of them. What had happened that he was suddenly so unguarded? Thranduil struggled to regain his regal composure and resolved that the mental battle within himself beside the river must have left him too fatigued. He settled for replying, "I will sit here a while."

Elluin curtsied again and made to leave. The idea unexpectedly sent a cold dart into Thranduil's heart and he quickly commanded, "You will stay." He fought to keep the confusion from his face as he made his way to a stone bench amid some twisting ferns.

Elluin stood an arm's length away, her cheeks still colored from embarrassment, clasping her hands tightly before her in uncertainty. However, her poise betrayed contentment.

Thranduil studied her from his seat. This was the elleth who had confessed her love for him, who had been moved almost to tears when she felt she would hurt him when cleaning his wounds, who often clambered through the underbrush finding flowers for his breakfast tray. He suspected that her devotion included other actions of which he was not aware. But was that devotion to him or Greenwood? To the king, or to the ellon?

He could not stop himself from wondering aloud, "Elluin, why do you serve me?"

"Sire?"

Thranduil sighed, searching for the words that would allow him to discover what he wanted to know, and mildly frustrated at himself for his unkingly manner. He hesitated, realizing that words would be insufficient for his satisfaction. He lifted an arm.

"Take my hand," he said quietly, his challenging eyes boldly searching hers. He had expected to see fear and unease, but it seemed instead that Elluin was fighting eagerness as she slowly obeyed.

He felt his skin tingle at the soft contact as her fingertips slid into his palm. Their grasp was gentle but unmistakable. The air seemed to hum in patient expectation. Instead of the rush of water, he heard the soft rustle of the fragrant breeze in the trees above him.

Thranduil realized they were both neglecting to breathe and, reluctantly, he released her hand. She was not quick enough to hide the flash of dismay in her eyes before assuming again a neutral expression.

Thranduil searched her face a moment longer. "I see," he said, again without intending to have spoken aloud. He disapproved of his lack of self-control and his brows furrowed. Fear then sparked in Elluin's eyes and he realized she thought that his disapproval was directed at her. Looking instead toward the ground, he finally managed to temper his expression and adopted his usual polite tone. "Elluin, you serve me well," he said, attempting to reassure her.

"I will continue to do so, my king," she replied softly, "if it pleases you." They were the words she had said to him before, when she had brought her parents to dine with him and revealed that his favored daisies came from her garden.

He found it appropriate to respond as he had then. "It does," he said just as quietly, reveling in their mutual admissions, resisting the urge to look at her directly again. He thought he heard a breath of relief escape her.

Hesitantly, he gave the near-imperceptible nod he knew she would receive as a dismissal, and she curtsied and walked briskly away.

Thranduil was thankful. He had been rescued from the torment of his mind. Elluin's song and all that he had seen in her eyes acted to quiet it. Where there was previously a disorderly tumult, he realized there was only acceptance. Although some pessimistic expectations would darken his thoughts of the future, he was at least clear-headed enough to be able to face them.

However, here was a new challenge now for his heart. Finally, he had identified the love he had long since seen in Elluin's eyes as that of a bond-mate. He nearly laughed at himself. Was he so blind to this type of love that he could not recognize it when it was staring him in the face? He conceded that it was entirely new to him. He reflected sadly that he did not have enough time to observe it in his parents before his mother sailed west. His married advisors also generally kept their spouses out of court. In this matter, he did not feel it appropriate to ask for advice — at least, not yet. He would first examine the situation himself. Much like Elluin had examined the flowers. They waved gently in the night breeze a short distance from him, seeming to flaunt the parts of themselves that had been touched by the elleth's gentle fingers.

How did one learn whether or not one could love another? he wondered. A bond could be awakened in many ways, he'd heard, all of them requiring proximity of bodies, minds, or spirits. But did he even wish to pursue the answer to this question? He once again lamented his fear of instability. To love would bare all his most intimate hopes and fears. His burdens would become hers.

He felt a pang of sympathy for Elluin. She was in no position to attempt to woo a king. He realized she had made a valiant effort considering the avenues available to her: flowers, near-inordinate attention to his peace and comfort, stalwart support of his position both with words and actions. If he were to give her rein to do as she pleased in pursuit of him, would she succeed in winning his heart? And even if she did — if any elleth did — would he be willing to expose her to the horrors of his past, still lingering in his spirit? Would he be willing to encumber her with the oft-times crushing weight of responsibility to his kingdom?

Thranduil studied one of the roses in the garden, noting how its petals glowed faintly with stolen moonlight and how even its thorns seemed to turn silver. He could not decide whether to risk injuring his fingers by pulling at the prickling stem to pluck it, or to let it be, shimmering unobserved in the empty garden.

He sighed, resigned that his heart would find no answers tonight. Bidding the garden a silent farewell, he made his way back to his chambers.

Turiel sat up on her small cot as soon as she heard Elluin come into the room and shut the door with a sigh.

"I know that sound," she whispered. "You saw the king."

It took all of Elluin's restraint to keep from screaming her reply. She managed to keep her voice quiet so as not to wake the ladies in the adjoining room. "I did, and he knows, Turiel. I did not need to tell him how I feel — he saw it."

Turiel could not help but feel excitement for her friend. "Well, does he feel the same?"

"I do not know. He said nothing," Elluin said dejectedly.

"That is not a rejection," Turiel encouraged.

"I do not know what to do," Elluin said with muted exasperation. "Do I try to win his affections somehow? Do I act as if this evening never happened? Do I leave his service so he can make the decision unhindered?"

Turiel shook her head. "Cease this needless worry, my friend. Tomorrow will bring its own counsel. I have far too little relevant experience to grant any sure advice, but I do believe it best for you not to leave the king now. Be ready for him to invite you into his confidence, if that is what he would wish."

Elluin sank into her own cot and nodded. "You are right, of course," she conceded. "But I cannot help but think that even though he knows, he must hear the words from me. I believe I must tell him outright, lest he think I wish to hide my feelings."

"That would be the honorable thing," Turiel agreed. She gave her friend a teasing smile. "You sound much braver now than you did at home."

Suddenly Elluin's worried expression faded into a smile. "Although the weight of uncertainty is heavy, I feel my heart is lighter now that he knows. It is a barrier broken."

"Yes," Turiel agreed with an answering smile. "There is a greater reason for hope, now. And greater reason for rest," she added pointedly.

"I am indeed thankful to be in Rivendell," Elluin sighed, removing her shoes and outer dress for the night. "There is a magic in the air here that seems to bring peace to the spirit. I will heed your advice and wait on the king's will. And I will look for the chance to speak to the king."

As the two servants floated into their dreams, Elluin admitted to herself that she would not be able to leave Thranduil — not unless he asked it of her. Even if he did not grow to love her, even if he found another, she would stay. Serving in the palace was a way to be near him, and she found the idea of distance between them unbearable. Now that her heart was revealed, she felt her previous trepidation begin to relent, leaving a faint glimmer of hope in its place.

* Adapted from the song "I'd Pluck a Fair Rose" by Anne Dudley, as heard in the BBC series Poldark.