Turiel and Elluin sat with Maethon on the floor of his talan, allowing the sunlight, birdsong, and warm breeze of late spring to dominate their senses. Their friendship, though young by Elven standards, provided this space that neither solitude nor blood kin could — a space to examine their hidden burdens and grieve together, without expecting consolation, but consolation coming nonetheless through simple companionship.
In her mind, Elluin started to confront the images that surged through her nightmares, a hand resting over the lingering scars on her thigh as a physical confirmation of the trauma to her spirit. She could see the Orc jumping at her, and she fought also to recall its dead, powerless form on the blood-stained earth. Despite the pain of reliving the horror of those moments, she was determined to help herself heal. She could not allow the memories to darken her spirit.
Turiel worked steadily through her grief for her mother, who had been killed on the night of the attack. She also prepared her heart for separation from her father, who was struggling to maintain any semblance of hope and would likely sail westward before burdening his family further with his own death. Her parents had been her closest and most constant source of love and support. Now, she was forced to face a darker world without them. Turiel allowed the sorrow to wash over her. But she also felt gratitude—many of her mother's kin remained and would help her with her new endeavors in service of the realm. And she had many friends, especially her present company, that would not forsake her.
Maethon struggled to recover his self-respect. He had been roused from sleep by the dying screams of his neighbors, too late to aid them, and only barely managed to escape his own home without being discovered. He felt it was mere coincidence that landed him on the same path as Elluin and her family as they ran to seek refuge at the palace, and only their proximity allowed him to be of any help. However, even after his small contribution in defending them and assisting them to the healers, Maethon did no more to aid in the attack than his normal duties as one of the king's body servants. He had been too repulsed by memories to return to the battleground to take part in cleansing the woods, too unskilled to be of much use in the healing rooms, too grieved for lost friends to offer encouragement to other survivors with words. And the scratches on his arms and fingers did not even allow him to work the buttons and laces on the king's robes until days after the attack.
He had felt useless. But Elluin's family often reminded him, gratefully, that Linalda would not have made it to the healer's without assistance, and that Soronume would not have been able to join the king's soldiers and more quickly vanquish the threat if he had taken her himself. Maethon also knew that King Thranduil was grateful for his survival and found comfort in his service. He clung to the hope that his presence and perseverance could be enough.
When the shadows began to lengthen, Maethon took up his harp and plucked a melancholy but hopeful melody, reflecting their thoughts. "Turiel, when does your father leave?" Maethon asked at the end of the song, now strumming quietly along the same theme.
"Two moons hence," she answered with a sigh. "There are several other Elves that will make the journey, as well. He will not be alone."
"And neither will you," Elluin said earnestly, setting a comforting hand on her friend's arm.
Turiel gave her a small smile of thanks and their talk gave way again to the crisp tones of Maethon's music. His fingers halted after a while and he raised a conspiratorial brow.
"Elluin, it appears that the incident with the Dwarves has rather placed you at the forefront of a certain royal's notice," he said, looking at her expectantly.
"For a while, yes," Elluin answered. "Though it was short-lived. He has not come to visit or spoken to me since the night of their arrival." Her fought a blush at remembering how he held her in his arms as he carried her. "I will be resuming work at the palace tomorrow. Nothing has changed."
"I would disagree," said Turiel. "He learned more about you. Perhaps his heart opened more."
"Even if it did, he still does not love me," she said dismally.
"Patience," Maethon encouraged. "You still work in his palace. I am sure you will have more opportunities to become better acquainted."
"Maethon, you know I cannot speak to him without cause," she scolded.
"I am certain a cause will arise," he said, completely unconcerned. He resumed his strumming as he saw the glimmer of hope in Elluin's eyes. Perhaps he was not so useless, he thought.
~.~.~
In the council room, Elluin remained quietly by the wall, as always, her gaze trained to the floor and her hands clasped before her, listening silently to the discussion. She had thought that her return to the palace would lead to awkwardness between her and the king, but her worries were unfounded. It stung her briefly that, after the ordeal they shared with the Dwarves and their conversation as he carried her to the healers, Thranduil had barely spared her a glance as he walked by to take his place at the council table. She berated herself, however, since she enjoyed her position and could not imagine how she could do it successfully without remaining as invisible as she always had.
She had long since distributed refreshments and refilled water goblets, but now the advisors were starting to shift in their seats. Matters were ready to conclude, and they all felt the pull to set to their tasks.
"Sire, the summer festival approaches," Galion mentioned. "Do I have permission to make the preparations?"
"I set this matter to my counselors," Thranduil answered. "I understand that preparations often require our citizens to wander longer and more frequently into the forest to gather supplies. The number of attendees will be less in any case, both after…our losses… and with more soldiers dedicated to patrols." He gestured languidly to the Elves at the table, inviting discussion.
"Even with our increased patrols, it is impossible to ascertain that the forest is free of invaders," Captain Telior admitted. "I agree that the feast preparations would increase risks to the people's safety."
"Will the people not miss the feast?" Lord Derion asked.
Lady Raegdis shook her head. "I believe not. The feast to commemorate the Battle of the Unseen Army is still fresh on everyone's mind. Moreso, since we had our unusual guests present for it. Furthermore, the attack caused somewhat of a decrease in our food supplies as it was, from which we have yet to completely recover."
At Thranduil's questioning glance to Galion, the steward confirmed, "We have sufficient stores for our daily needs, sire." Thranduil nodded, understanding the implications of his words: the feast could not be held without the usual additional foraging trips.
"You are all in agreement, then?" the king asked. He received the nods and hums of assent that waved around the table without noticing Elluin stiffen at her post. "Then it is decided. Let us adjourn."
Thranduil rose with his advisors, who bowed before filing out. He glanced in Elluin's direction as he turned to leave, intending to give her the nodded command to clear the table, and was surprised to see her looking directly at him with anger in her eyes. Taken aback, he froze in his steps.
She shocked him further by speaking first, taking a step away from the wall toward him and curtsying quickly. "Sire, I beg leave to speak with the king."
He stared at her for a moment. The adoring gaze he always expected from her had disappeared, and he suddenly felt a strange sense of loss. "Very well," he managed to say, turning fully toward her.
"Sire, I believe it is a mistake to forgo the summer festival," she began, her gaze once more on the floor.
Thranduil cocked his head to the side. "Why?" If another servant had said such a thing, he would have answered simply that this was what the royal council had decided — if he answered at all. But he had found Elluin to be sensible, and the reasons presented by his advisors were sound. He was curious about her disapproval, especially since she felt it important enough to confront him about it.
"Sire, it is true that it would be a burden for the people to spend their time on the preparations. But it is a lighter burden than the one they carry now. If they go to the forest in guarded companies, as the palace servants usually do, they will be safe. But more importantly, they will be among the trees and their friends, planning and looking forward to a celebration of persevering life, instead of staying isolated in their homes, mourning their losses and contemplating the lingering horrors of the past battle." Her voice was quiet and shaking by the end, and her knuckles were white as she squeezed her hands together.
Thranduil noticed tears growing beneath her lashes and a jolt of answering sorrow shot through his heart. He dismissed the fleeting notion to pull her into a comforting embrace. "You include yourself in this," he observed.
"Yes, sire," she answered quietly, shutting her eyes tightly.
Thranduil knew she was confronted by the memories of the attack. "For some of our people, especially the younger generations, this was their first experience with such foes," he said quietly in realization.
"Forgive me, sire," Elluin said suddenly, her voice still rather unsteady, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand and stepping back toward the wall. "My youth and inexperience are stealing my reason. The king, of course, knows better than his servant what is best for his people." She turned toward the table to begin clearing it.
"Elluin." His voice was a soft command. He waited until she turned toward him again and studied her as she masked a sniff and blinked back tears, eyes down. "If I always knew what was best for the people, I would not have a palace full of advisors," the king said kindly. "And it seems they have failed me today."
She looked up at him in surprise, finding a soft smile on his face.
"There is wisdom in your words," he said decisively. "We will hold the festival. You and your family are to attend as guests. You may inform Galion of the change."
She stared at him for a moment before the words sunk in and she quickly curtsied in acknowledgment. "Thank you, sire," she said.
He turned toward the door to leave but stopped. "Elluin, look at me," he said. Though she was still slightly dazzled and embarrassed, he found again what he was seeking in her eyes. Reassured, he gave her another smile. He stepped close to take her hand, kissed it, and left.
~.~.~
"My lord, the king has determined that the summer festival will continue," Elluin said.
Galion sighed and crossed his arms, studying the elleth standing meekly before him. His expression was thoughtful but betrayed no other emotion.
"The king also wishes for me and my family to attend as guests."
He allowed his brows to rise slightly at the revelation. "Very well," he finally said. "You will be excused for the day of the feast and also the day prior, to ensure your own preparations."
"Thank you, my lord."
Galion waved a hand to dismiss her and started turning back towards his desk, but changed his mind before she could leave the room. "Wait, Elluin. I would like you to inform Master Umen directly that I need to speak with him."
"Yes, my lord."