55 – The Scent of Daisies
Sulros had many hopes for this journey. Primarily, he had hoped that the time away from the palace would cause Thranduil to set aside his perception of his duties to others, enough to recognize his own needs. At the very least, he had hoped that traveling among the trees would lighten the king's mood, as it usually did. On similar journeys in the past, Sulros had also enjoyed fewer obligations, as the king often tended to care for himself. So far, he had been disappointed on all counts.
Thranduil had been content to keep himself distant from all others, which was well, for he was sullen and prone to snap at the slightest provocation. Anarrima and Ninniach had long since resolved to avoid attempting conversations with him, no matter how lighthearted or gentle, for he would either ignore them or make such a biting reply as to remove any desire for further endeavors. The ladies rode side by side whenever the path would permit, and by the second day, there was always at least one or two rows of silent guards between the king and his female companions. Sulros himself had only brief moments to indulge in conversation before a glare from Thranduil would silence him — usually with one of the guards, or Turiel, who came along bearing birds to introduce into Lorinand.
Sulros knew the king was also sleepless, for his constant fidgeting and disgruntled sighs kept the servant up at night. More than once, Sulros had quit the royal tent to join the soldiers outside in hopes of a more restful night. More than once, it was to no avail, for the king would call him back to attend to this whim or that—sometimes to make him tea, sometimes to fish out the whetting stone for his weapons, or to prepare his things so he could bathe in some nearby stream or spring. It soon became the most tiresome journey Sulros had ever been prevailed upon to take. And he had walked to and from Mordor!
Finally, after another long day of travel and irritable commands, the body servant finally remembered that he had a tool that could help.
He and Aurados had set up the king's tent as normal, a short distance from the tents of the ellith and the captains from Lorinand, while most of the party had their evening meal. After arranging everything inside, he fetched his own satchel. From it, he dug out a small glass vial.
Elluin had approached Sulros before the journey and asked him to pack it with his own belongings. She had firmly instructed him not to allow the king to see it, for fear of rekindling the anger he had expressed toward her for offering it. Sulros had thought it was a joke, at first, that the king had shown anger to her. But one look at the grief in her eyes was all it took to convince him she was telling the truth. So he had accepted both the item and her warning with as much grace as he could. Elluin had also told him not to use it unless he judged it absolutely necessary, and to do so sparingly. Rubbing his tired eyes, he knew that there could be no better time.
Despite his resolution, Sulros was somewhat nervous as he walked toward the pallet he set up for the king. Would he receive the Elvenking's anger, again, as Elluin had? But he soon set his jaw and unstopped the vial, letting three drops of its liquid contents fall from it onto the bedding. The entire tent momentarily filled with a floral scent that brightened his own mood. Sulros winced inwardly, realizing just how serious Elluin was when she said to use it sparingly. Quickly, he replaced the stopper and hid the vial away again. He made a weak attempt to let some of the scent escape through the tent flap as he went in and out completing the preparations of the space.
Thranduil, predictably not of a mind to stay and enjoy conversation with his companions by the fireside after the evening meal, retired early. Sulros led the way into the tent with no small amount of apprehension. As soon as he stepped inside, Thranduil took a quiet sniff of the air. "What is that, Sulros?" he asked curiously. There was a hint of some other emotion in his voice that the servant was too nervous to identify.
"I thought it would help you sleep, sire," he responded evasively, trying to gauge how his king would respond.
Thranduil took a tentative step forward, obviously debating between throwing all his bedding out in a rage and sinking gratefully into it. Sulros held his breath as the king took another step forward. At last, he sat down on the low bench as usual. With some relieved surprise, Sulros took his cue to help the king prepare for the night. Gently, he removed the dusty outer layers of the Elvenking's clothes and combed out his hair. He hesitated only a moment when Thranduil rose, but decided to risk it and pulled the covers of his pallet back for him as he always did, avoiding meeting the king's eyes.
Thranduil obediently lay down, and Sulros draped the covers over him. "Good night, sire," he murmured. He dared to leave the tent, not wishing to tempt the king to change his mind and rebuke him. As quietly as he could, the servant settled onto his cloak right outside the opening.
For hours, he listened. The stars wheeled overhead, and as he gazed at them, his mind drifted up among them in dreams.
He awoke in the early morning as the dawn coaxed birdsong from the canopy, having heard a sound from within the tent. It was a soft exhalation of surprise, he thought, though he was not certain. A glance around revealed that the rest of the camp was still asleep, except the silent guards on watch. A short while later, Thranduil's voice called him inside. Almost reluctantly, Sulros rose and entered the tent.
As soon as he saw the king, Sulros had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It was clear Thranduil had just sat up after a very restful night. His hair was sticking up in places and his expression was dazed.
"Good morning, sire," Sulros began. "It seems you slept well." Mostly for his own sake, he took out a brush and set to fixing the king's hair without even waiting for him to rise.
"I slept all night," Thranduil said quietly, his usual smooth tone now gravelly with sleep.
"Thank Lorien for that," Sulros muttered as he finished. He quickly fetched a bowl of water and held it while the king washed his face.
While the cool water did seem to wake him up more fully, Thranduil still looked somewhat astonished. He still seemed uncharacteristically reluctant, however, when he asked again, "Sulros, what is that scent?"
Sulros decided that honesty would serve him best at the moment. "It was a gift from the housekeeper," he said, cautiously avoiding the use of Elluin's name. "Extract of daisies."
Thranduil was silent, but submitted himself to be dressed for the day. He even ate some breakfast, thoughtfully chewing on an apple and sipping his tea. Sulros still surreptitiously shook his head at Lady Anarrima when she cast an inquiring glance at him. He did not consider it a good idea for her to approach just yet, despite the improvement in the king's mood. But it was a long journey, with days still to go before they crossed the Anduin. Perhaps the king would open up soon. Once he did, perhaps he would finally accept the long-repeated advice from the people around him.
~.~.~
Maethon entered Elluin's office after a morning of harvesting chickweed and sorrel with the kitchen servants. She happily accepted a hawthorn flower from him and invited him to sit.
"Was your foraging successful?"
"Very," he replied. "Are you very busy now?" He was never one for small talk.
Elluin shook her head. "Not particularly—this work is not urgent. Why? Is there something amiss?"
"No," Maethon answered reassuringly. "There has been no news; everything is running smoothly. But I would like you to come with me." He stood and held out his arm for her to take.
Trusting him, she did not hesitate to comply. But she did ask, "Where are we going?"
"You will see," came the cryptic reply. He knew his blank expression gave nothing away.
Just as Maethon said, Elluin soon recognized the route. She knew this path all too well, in fact. Suddenly, she sympathized with how Thranduil must have felt when Anarrima had led him to her garden. Anxiety began building in her gut as they drew nearer to the king's chambers.
Maethon's hand closed over hers where it rested in the crook of his other arm, both comforting and restraining. "I am not doing this to be cruel, my friend," he said. "We are just walking."
Elluin tried her best to believe him. Inevitably, they came to the door, which Maethon opened for her. He stood aside for her to go in ahead of him. Eyeing him uneasily, she entered and heard him close the door behind them.
Everything was just the way it was when she was last there. Thinking back, it must have been half a year ago at the end of autumn, before Thranduil left to install his new recruits on the border and her father went on that fateful journey with the Silvans to Rivendell. How sorrowful she had been before Thranduil departed—but it was so vastly different from the sorrow she felt now, that she hardly considered it the same emotion. Back then, she had hope, and felt certain he would return ready to celebrate their reunion with one of his tender kisses that left her heart racing and her belly warm. But now…
"Why did you bring me here, Maethon?"
"To remind you that this is still a path you can travel," he said. "I have noticed that your face fills with pain each time you pass near here. But the king's chambers are open to you. Thus they have been, thus they are now. And they will be so in the future, also. I know I cannot guarantee what you will find within these doors. But, all the same, I wished to remind you."
"I can hardly come here uninvited."
"You are the mistress of the royal household. This is your domain as much as it is the king's. Otherwise I would not have dared to bring you here at all." Maethon's eyes twinkled with mischief. "In fact, Lady Elluin, I invite you to sit and rest a while with me."
Elluin stared incredulously at her friend. Maethon determinedly ignored her expression, pulling out a chair for her at the king's small informal dining table, and proceeding to pour them both a glass of wine that had been waiting there. He took his own seat and took a sip from one of the goblets, humming appreciatively at the taste.
"I went to some trouble convincing Galion to give me a bottle of the Dorwinion wine," he said, swirling the dark liquid with interest. "It would be a shame to let it go to waste, Elluin." He gestured to her chair and flashed her one of his rare smiles when she finally relented and sat beside him.
"I doubt you would let it go to waste, even if I did not join you," she commented wryly. But she did take a drink. In fact, after only a brief pause, she gulped down her entire share. Maethon watched in silent surprise as she calmly set the empty goblet back down onto the table, staring listlessly at it.
"You are not quite well, are you, Elluin?" he asked gently.
The elleth was quiet for so long that Maethon she might not answer. But eventually, she spoke, her voice small and strained. "I am so tired. It is taking everything I have for me to stay."
By nature, it was rare for Elves to embrace anyone other than a family member or bond-mate. Since their bodies were so connected to their spirits, physical contact was much more intimate than it would be considered among Men. And yet, when Maethon came to kneel beside Elluin's chair and wrap his arms about her shoulders, she felt as distant from him as a cloud above a river.
"Do not lose hope yet, dear friend," he urged, attempting to keep the grief out of his tone. "You may still be mended."
She made no reply, but slowly turned to return her companion's embrace, tucking her forehead onto his shoulder. And Maethon was terrified, because though he had meant to encourage her, it felt strangely like she was starting to say goodbye.
They were both startled by a knock on the door.
"Lady Elluin!" someone called from without as she and Maethon rose. The ellon cast his friend a confused glance as he opened the door.
"Lord Derion," he greeted with a slight bow, stepping aside so the advisor could enter.
Derion spared Maethon a nod before walking in. He raised one eyebrow slightly when he spotted the wine on the table, and Maethon saw Elluin's face twist briefly at this, holding back either laughter or tears. But the advisor brushed it off just as quickly.
"Lady Elluin, a servant told me I could find you here. We have had another contingent of Men come from the plains."
The mantle of responsibility dropped onto her shoulders like a stone, made heavier by her weakness and solitude. "Let us meet with them," she said.
~.~.~
For Sulros, the journey had become significantly more pleasant since the night he used Elluin's vial. He had not used it again, but the scent lingered faintly in the tent. Thranduil was still unusually quiet, but the anger seemed to have drained out of him. He sat near his aunt during meal times, though he still did not participate very frequently in conversation. He even started to stay around the cooking fire in the evenings, listening to the Silvan guards sing their welcome to the stars before retiring.
After two weeks of travel, they had crossed the Anduin and made camp on the borders of Lorinand, joined by some of the Elves that guarded Elvenking Amroth's forest. Sulros enjoyed meeting these Silvans, as their people and his were once the same tribe. It had also been long since he had spent time with any of them off the battlefield. But it was hard to recall the Black Land as they sang their common songs under bright stars shining between verdant leaves.
When it was time for Thranduil to retire, Sulros went through his normal routine of preparation. He was running a brush through the king's pale hair when the question came:
"Sulros, how much of Elluin's vial is left?"
He nearly dropped the brush. The king had used her name, and acknowledged her gift!
"I only used three drops, sire," he managed to stammer. "It is still nearly full."
"Give it to me."
It took only a heartbeat for Sulros to remember his feet and move to comply.
Thranduil clutched the glass gingerly in his palm before closing his long fingers around it and holding it close to his chest, bowing his head over it with a sigh. Sulros could not help but feel as if he were intruding. He decided to resume his duties.
"What did she tell you?" There was a bitter edge to the king's quiet voice.
Sulros hesitated, but did not dare to evade the question. "She said you became angry with her when she tried to present her gift."
"Did she say why?"
"No, sire."
The king's hair was perfect. The servant had no choice but to set aside the brush.
Thranduil sighed. "It was a lie."
"What? Elluin lied?" The incredulous question was out before he could stop himself.
"No," the king clarified. "My anger. It was…"
Sulros could not help his nerves. Why was the king opening up to him like this? He had never done so before, about anything, in all the hundreds of years he had served him. But he could not waste the opportunity.
"You were pushing her away." Sulros winced, anticipating a reprimand for his forwardness despite keeping the accusation out of his tone. Instead, Thranduil simply rose from his bench and took a step toward his pallet, obviously expecting Sulros to take his cue to pull back the covers.
The servant did so curiously, noting that he still held the vial to his heart. The Elvenking sank into the bedding with a sigh, curling into a ball with his back to his companion.
"I don't know how else to help her," he murmured sadly.
Sulros barely managed not to roll his eyes, not trusting that Thranduil would not sense it, although it was behind his back. He also bit back the urge to yell, Just pull your head out of your arse and marry her! Instead, he took pity on the royal fool.
"You are a wise king. I am sure the answer will come to you, sire." It was a much kinder response than Thranduil deserved. But in his heart, Sulros recognized his own words as a wish — that the king would see his error, that Elluin would forgive him, and that they could mend each other before it was too late. "But you also must live with whatever you decide, my king," he dared to add.
Thranduil made no reply, and Sulros soon left the tent. He thought he heard he vial open late in the night, and the scent of daisies wafted through his dreams.
A/N: I was so happy to receive so many reviews for the last chapter. It seems I was successful at turning you all against the Elvenking! I have now yanked the shovel firmly out of his hands, so from this chapter onward, I am hoping he will at least stop digging himself deeper into that hole he's wallowing in right now. But it remains to be seen whether he can achieve redemption.