54 - Heartbreak
Thranduil did his best to control the swirling mixture of emotions that arose within him as he stood before Elluin in her garden. Distantly, he was aware that his aunt separated from his side and, after exchanging a nod with Elluin, withdrew in the direction of the house. Thranduil was somehow unable to feel that Anarrima had betrayed him by bringing him here; he knew that this meeting was inevitable. But so was the result.
He took a deep breath. Elluin was so beautiful, with her smooth face, and her hair a silvery-golden glow in the moonlight. Her eyes briefly took him in, and he saw within their deep blue depths, as expected, her pure and tender heart. By all the stars of Varda, how he loved her. His affection grew no less as she took a hold of her skirts and gave them a firm shake to dislodge the dirt from where she had been kneeling beside her plants.
She began, slowly, to walk toward him, and the stubborn resistance he had been nursing these past months leapt to the fore. Overcoming his longing, he felt the familiar sadness at the impossibility of their love, his anger at himself as the cause, his protectiveness over the precious spirit before him.
He held up a hand. "Please, Elluin, come no closer," he pleaded, closing his eyes against her beauty and his pain.
She instantly obeyed, stilling her stride several feet away. Her sweet voice trembled with trepidation and grief when it reached him. "Thranduil, I know that you still love me, and that you are trying to safeguard my heart by keeping your distance. You can leave whenever you please, of course. But I beg you to let me show you this, first."
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and followed her gesture around the edges of the space. He had been too overwhelmed to truly notice the garden before, only distantly aware as he had approached that it was not as vibrant. But now that his attention was drawn to it, surprise quickly took him. It was the start of summer, when the leaves should have been green and the boughs studded with growing fruits. But here, all of the plants, down to the last sprout, were dying—with only the daisy bush as the exception, clinging onto each struggling bloom with a stubborn tenacity, though it appeared strained by the effort.
"I tend this garden as soon as I am relieved of my duties," Elluin said. "I have not neglected it for a single day. And yet, it rejects my efforts. You see, Thranduil, these plants are responding to what is in me. When they hear the song of my heart, they hear death and decline, and take it into themselves." She pointed dejectedly at the only surviving flowers. "Those daisies stand as the only testament to the hope I still bear, holding onto the possibility that I might yet attain what I long for, and find joy."
She took a single daring step closer, drawing his gaze. "Thranduil," she said earnestly, "this has never happened before—not after the Orc attack, not when we buried the victims or sent the survivors to the Havens, not even when my father was on the brink of death. During these times, I had hope for a future, of forming a bond with you and becoming whole. I am not…" her voice faltered, and she ended in a whisper. "I am not strong enough to be without you."
He stared at her, his heart breaking as he witnessed the truth of her words. Allowing himself to study her face, he could see the dullness of her eyes where he had always seen the brightness of life, and the shadows beneath them that suggested an overly prolonged period of troubled and inadequate rest. He did not doubt that entirely too much of her time apart from her duties was spent scouring the forest for flowers for him, given that no presentable ones could be found in this wilted space. He could also see the evidence of her extensive time here: mounds of dirt where plants had been moved to what could possibly be a better location, and piles of trimmings where some of the dead branches had been removed.
"Please, Thranduil, give me the chance to prove the strength you give me," she continued. "Open yourself to me. I would rather share your heart, however scarred or darkened, than remain untainted but alone. And who is to say what trials are in my future? You may be acting to save me from your own shadows, but you know as well as I that the Enemy was not completely defeated. And when the Enemy moves against us again, I would rather stand by your side as a bond-mate so we may find strength in each other, instead of watching from afar as you take the burden onto yourself again for the kingdom's sake."
Her voice became stronger as she spoke, and she ended firmly, though Thranduil could see her hands were still trembling. She seemed to remember herself and dropped her gaze, taking a meek step back, knowing he did not want her close to him and doing her best to hide how much it hurt her.
Perhaps the result of this meeting was not as inevitable as he thought, after all. The Elvenking now looked at the elleth before him with calmer emotions as his mind puzzled over what she said. But his heart broke again as her eyes drifted over all the bare branches and dead leaves around her. This was the manifestation of her spirit—she was on the brink of fading. Instinctively, he stepped forward and was about to reach for her before he realized what he was doing. She was looking at him with a pained hopefulness that made his heart clench.
Thranduil fought to collect himself. "I will consider your words, Elluin," he eventually told her.
"Thank you," she managed after a moment, swallowing her disappointment. "I love you, Thranduil."
"And I love you," he responded swiftly. With a slight bow of his head, he turned and walked back to the palace.
~.~.~
Word soon spread around the palace that the king was to tour the border again. The official reason was to ensure that the newly recruited soldiers had settled well into their new posts and had encountered no trouble. He would also make a brief journey to Lorinand across the Great River, accompanying Amroth's returning folk, to compare scouting reports. But those close to Thranduil hoped that he would be using his time away from the palace to consider whatever it was that Elluin said when they met.
The days leading up to the journey were much the same for Elluin, though she had the single additional duty of preparing provisions for the travelers. Sulros and Maethon sometimes came to her office to collaborate with her. They reported to her, unasked, that Thranduil had been quiet of late. And though he still frequently refused to eat, he always took time to notice the flowers sent with his meals. The body servants had taken to collecting them afterwards without the king's knowledge.
"They are all pressed in a book we have hidden in his dressing room. It will make a lovely keepsake someday — something to show your children," Sulros commented wryly, sitting in her office two days before the journey. "A book full of evidence that the king can be the greatest idiot of the realm."
Elluin gasped at the audacity of the insult, though she was inwardly amused. But she was cautious to take the optimistic statement seriously.
"Children seem rather too far out of reach, my friend," Elluin said mournfully.
"Just give that royal dolt a few weeks to get over himself," Sulros assured, stretching himself out more comfortably in the chair. "I have faith he'll eventually regain his own wits and come groveling back to you."
"Please, Sulros, no more," Elluin said dejectedly. "I refuse to begin hoping, for fear it will come to naught and crush my spirit anew. It is more than I can bear."
"Very well, I will gladly do all the hoping for you," the ellon replied easily, deciding to suppress his alarm at hearing the truth of his companion's words. "Thus, when my hopes are fulfilled, everyone will know of my superior wisdom." He flashed a grin at her, and she could not help but give him a small smile in return.
"You do cheer me, Sulros. Thank you," she said.
"Do not thank me yet," he said, becoming more serious. "I'm afraid the king has changed his mind about a few parts of the journey."
"And these changes will affect the packing and preparations, I assume?" She sat straighter in her chair, deliberately setting aside her emotions.
"Quite. He has received correspondence from King Amroth's court. It appears Lady Celebrian will be in Lorinand with her daughter Lady Arwen to visit her parents, and she has invited Ladies Anarrima and Ninniach to join them there."
"Oh. Yes, that does change a few things," Elluin said, and quickly set to work, embracing the distraction.
~.~.~
Elluin was unable to hide her surprise when Galion informed her at their usual meeting the next morning that she was to have an audience with the king that afternoon. The steward, taking pity on her, mentioned, "I believe the king wishes to provide you with some instructions relating to your position to be carried out in his absence."
She could only nod dumbly in reply. But her attention was recalled when Galion turned the topic to the upcoming royal journey.
"Your experience would have commended you for acting as a lady's maid once more for the ellith of the court, as you did on their journey to Rivendell," he began with regret.
"I don't believe my experience to be so unique as that, my lord," Elluin contradicted thoughtfully. "A Silvan would be more apt for traveling and just as capable at caring for the ladies' needs. Perhaps one could be found with relatives in Lorinand. Their people and ours are not long sundered."
"Indeed," Galion conceded, "Though travel between the realms all but ceased in the years before the War of the Last Alliance." He was silent for only a brief moment while his mind wandered back to the days of his youth, when the forest embraced the Great River so closely that it was barely considered a divide, and the Silvan Elves crossed often in their light boats. But just as soon, he remembered himself. He cleared his throat softly and asked, "Do you have any suggestions for who could serve as lady's maid?"
The conference lasted the whole morning, during which the arrangements for the king's journey were finalized. Elluin kept attempting to distance herself from the situation, to see it solely as a logistical problem to be solved. She was only partially successful, as her fractured heart kept reminding her that the object of her desire was soon leaving her again. And though he would return to the palace before the end of summer, it was possible that he would be further beyond her reach than ever.
~.~.~
Thranduil could not believe he was nervous for this audience. He forced his hands to stop fidgeting as he rose from his seat. He had been king for well over three hundred years, and his father had gifted him with an abundance of opportunities to participate in the throne room as a prince of the realm during the millennia of his reign before that. For such matters, he could always rely on his diplomatic training, his slowly expanding wisdom, his love of Greenwood, and — above all — an ability to separate himself emotionally from the proceedings and address matters solely as an Elven political entity.
But now he was due to receive the elleth who had called to his heart as no other person or thing ever had, who had given him a taste of what life could be like with a bond-mate with whom he could share every joy and sorrow of their countless years together. He did not completely trust himself not to run to her and pull her into his arms, declaring his love again and sealing it with a kiss. A hidden part of him perhaps also wished to take her to him completely, if she would still have him, and make her a queen this very day.
He firmly banished the thought. He would need all his wits about him, and a firm command of all his powers of logic to combat the yearning of body and spirit. This was simply a meeting between Greenwood's sovereign and the mistress of his household. They would be discussing matters of state pertaining to the well-being of the kingdom. Thranduil took a deep breath and sat up straighter on his throne. He was the Elvenking, the lord over all of Greenwood, and even his treacherous feelings would bend to his will.
Seeming, at least on the surface, the epitome of businesslike indifference, he waved a finger at the guard by the door to admit the next person.
His resolve began to crumble before Elluin had even taken two paces through the door. The blue of her gown brought out her eyes. She had most of her blonde waves pulled back from her face, allowing him to appreciate the slender muscles of her arms and shoulders, and the golden tint to her skin that indicated long hours in the sunshine. Her soft slippers made for soundless footsteps, but the whisper of her skirts was like a soft breeze through emerald leaves.
She held a curtsy for several moments before Thranduil came back to his senses and addressed her.
"Lady Elluin, I have a request to make of you."
She rose and met his gaze. "Anything, sire," she said. And though her tone was light, as expected of a court member, the weighty truth of it was not lost on the king.
He cleared his throat. "While I am out of the palace, it would please me to have my other advisors seek your input on matters of diplomacy, if any arise."
"Of course, sire," she acquiesced with a bow of her head.
"Do you believe your father would be as willing?"
She shot him a glance revealing that Soronume had told his daughter about their last encounter. Nevertheless, she answered, "I do, my king. We both consider it an honor to serve Greenwood."
"Very well. You have my gratitude."
Elluin curtsied in acknowledgment of the end of the conversation, but did not leave. Instead, she said, "Sire, there is one other matter, if I may…" She opened the palm of her hand to reveal a small glass vial. "I have brought a gift for your journey."
Thranduil clenched his jaw shut against the desire to scream. How was he to contain himself in the face of this relentless generosity? How could he keep his distance if she insisted on exposing her heart before him so blatantly?
"Leave us," he choked out. He took a few deep breaths as the room cleared. He did not dare to look up, but could feel the puzzled, patient gaze of his housekeeper as she waited for him to speak.
"I do not believe a gift to be appropriate, Lady Elluin."
She seemed at a loss for words and stood there for several breaths. "Will you not permit me to present it, sire?" she asked in confusion, echoing his formal tone.
He deliberated silently for a moment.
"While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, it is unneces—"
"I beg you, Thranduil, to abandon civility for honesty!" Elluin's eyes widened with shock at her own outburst, and she immediately dropped her head. After a moment, she lowered herself into another low curtsy.
"Forgive me, sire. I overstepped."
Thranduil took longer to recover. His patient Elluin, interrupting in such a way… Perhaps he underestimated the effect his withdrawal was having on her. Her broken heart was beginning to change her. He tensed against a shudder.
"You ask for honesty," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will give it, though I fear it would break you even further."
She had risen again when he began to speak and met his tormented eyes with her own.
"Whether by your will or not, Elluin, whatever you give me will remind me of you," Thranduil confessed angrily. "It would be the most useless thing in Arda, for everything reminds me of you. The afternoon sky is the same blue of your eyes. The streams have the softness and strength of your voice in my ears. The very life in the leaves all conjure your image in my mind—your scent, the touch of your skin…"
He had, again, taken an involuntary step toward her. Part of him was demanding he close the distance and take down the ridiculous barriers he had constructed against her. But the logical side of him knew that it was for her own good.
"And now you come with another offering," he continued cruelly— "another sacrifice you made to keep another part of yourself near me, staining your hands in service of a brute. Do not argue!" He forestalled her protest with a raised hand, ignoring the tears brimming in her eyes. "I am naught else, Elluin, and you would do well to learn it. For all your powers of affection, you have no sense." He took a deliberate step back, disguising his grimace of pain behind a scowl of baseless disdain.
"Begone from me, and take your gift with you," he spat out, turning away from her. "You bring me nothing but pain."
Thranduil's every instinct screamed at him to take back his words and hold her. He knew he was breaking her heart—but this was the only way he knew to save it. Elluin was weeping now, despite her every effort to stop. He resolutely kept his back to her until he heard her, unbelievably, curtsy again and flee.
Suddenly, his knees were unable to bear his weight and he crumpled to the polished floor.