56 - Correspondence

By the time the company from Greenwood reached Cerin Amroth, Thranduil had regained some of his usual regal facade. Amroth's greeting to Thranduil was warm, and Celebrian's and Arwen's greeting to Anarrima and Ninniach was even warmer. The welcome feast was just like the ones of Greenwood—loud with the sound of Silvan music and laughter, and bustling with dancing bodies. Business began the following day, with Thranduil and Amroth tucked into meetings with their captains discussing matters of defense across their realms.

Turiel was met with great enthusiasm when she presented her project. Resources were immediately appointed for her use in setting up an equivalent in Lorinand, along with Elves to be trained to manage it after her departure. Captain Telior and the other soldiers of Greenwood took beds in Lorinand's barracks, eager to spend their days sharing strategies and sparring.

The following day, the royals were given a tour of the city, as none of the Elves of Greenwood had been there since long before the War of the Last Alliance. Lady Galadriel was quietly proud as she showed them some of the mallorn trees that she had planted. The saplings were now knee-high and placed in a circular pattern around and within the most concentrated cluster of Silvan residences, known as Caras Galadhon. Both the Silvans and the Sindar of Greenwood were fascinated by the silver bark and the rich green of the large leaves. The trees' young voices were sweet and pure. The Elves listened intently as Galadriel described how the leaves would turn gold once the land was well gripped by autumn, but that the leaves would not begin to fall until winter, providing the forest floor with a steady carpet of gold. Then, golden blossoms would cover the branches in the early spring before the new green leaves emerged. Thranduil's heart clenched as he recalled Elluin's fondness for yellow flowers. He wondered if she would ever travel with him to Lorinand in the spring…then he remembered himself and banished the thought brutally from his mind.

The afternoon saw the noble ellith strolling in a favored garden, and Amroth in his study to deal with matters of the realm. Thranduil had a rare moment alone with Celeborn. They sat together on a high flet surveying the glimmer on the leaves as the westering sun neared the canopy. Speech was superficial at first, their conversation straying seldom from political themes. The older ellon had many words of praise for Thranduil's agreements with the Dwarves. But that topic reminded the Elvenking of how Elluin had helped forge the unlikely alliance. Unbidden arose the memory of carrying her in his arms to the healing rooms when the wound on her shapely thigh had reopened. Although it had been surpassingly upsetting for him to see her thus exposed against her will by the Dwarven healer, he never could deny that he had enjoyed the sight himself. But, reflecting, he enjoyed even more seeing the honest admiration and love that shone in her eyes as he held her a short while later.

Celeborn noticed the shadow passing over the Elvenking's face. As was right among kin, he dared to probe. "I cannot help but notice, Thranduil," he began tentatively, "that you seem to be bearing a burden that I did not see in you when last we met in Rivendell."

Thranduil pursed his lips, but his roiling emotions left him unable to form an excuse or a response beyond a reluctant nod of his head.

"What is it?" Celeborn asked kindly. "I would help you, if I can."

"There is no help for it but time," he muttered, wincing inwardly at the doubt in his own voice.

"You speak of your heart," his kinsman perceived, leaning closer in concern.

Thranduil was silent for a long time. Eventually, he turned to his companion and said with an edge of bitterness, "You are lucky to have found such a wife as you have, Celeborn, who came to you in Doriath having already lived through many trials."

"I am indeed lucky," Celeborn replied truthfully, though his brow was still furrowed. "But we have also faced trials after we married. We both found those easier to overcome for the bond we share."

"I refuse to be the cause of any trials," Thranduil said, knowing that Celeborn would understand.

The older ellon sighed and leaned back. "In my experience, Thranduil, the marriage bond is stronger than anything one could face in this world. It is more than the sum of its parts—better, even. I would not counsel denying yourself this, if the elleth knows you and is willing."

"She does not know everything."

"You know what I mean," Celeborn said adamantly. "We are more than our history. All Elves have a future. It is better to face our long years, both the sweet and the bitter, with love at our side."

Thranduil said nothing. Suddenly, Celeborn's hand was warm on his shoulder.

"I forget how long you have been on your own," the Elven lord said sympathetically. "It is easier for younger Elves to form bonds, so recently begotten through the bonds of their parents and still remembering what it was to mingle with the spirit of another. For us older ones, we may need reminding: it is right for us to share ourselves, Thranduil — every hope and every scar. It does not mar the other, because the sharing itself is so beautiful."

The Elvenking was reminded instantly of Soronume using the same word to describe the bond. His resolve began to crumble, allowing him to voice his greatest fear.

"Will I not…corrupt her?"

Celeborn's eyes were determined. "No, Thranduil. Love does not corrupt. Selfishness does."

Thranduil turned a glare at his companion, who remained unflappable, but eventually removed his hand from his kinsman's shoulder.

"Consider. I will leave you, now."

And he was gone before Thranduil could muster any retort, leaving the Elvenking alone with his own thoughts. How dare he? Thranduil thought. He was denying himself his bond with Elluin in order to protect her! How could that be called selfishness? He riled at the accusation.

But his Celeborn's counterpoints surged resolutely to the forefront of his mind. He knew that Elluin was suffering for his refusal, and that the pain would eventually cause her own heart to scar, if it did not break her first. It was true, she could find peace in Valinor…but the memory of grief would be just as never-ending. And if she did not make the attempt to escape into the west… His chest constricted as he forced himself to recognize that she was likely dying.

As for himself, he already knew that another layer of ice had been steadily thickening around his heart. And ice was more brittle than flesh. Another stroke or two of tragedy such as the ones he had suffered could send him over the brink. Another attack on the realm, another loved one taken away from him…

He had just answered his own question, disproved his own point. If Elluin were to die, so would he. And he only had himself to blame. He had been trying to protect Elluin, true, but had caused much more damage than it spared.

What was worse, he knew that if both he and Elluin were to fail, all of Greenwood would suffer for it.

He became suddenly angry. What had it all been for, all this pain he put himself through, and the elleth he loved? He could have taken her when he wanted to, and she would have been whole and happy regardless of his scars, if Celeborn were to be believed. She would recognize the darkness in her bond-mate's spirit, but then used her whole, happy heart to spread the balm of love over it and thrive in their united spirit. And perhaps some of her wholeness and happiness would reach even to him through the bond.

Thranduil rose abruptly, his boots stomping on the flet. Why had nobody told him that it was useless?

Ah, but they had, and the thought chilled his blood further. So many Elves that were close to him had told him that the darkness within him could be overcome, that it would be no obstacle to Elluin's joy, nor to allowing his own. And he had refused to listen to the truth. He had, selfishly, refused to entertain any ideas but his own, believing foolishly that only his own good intentions had merit.

The ice permeating his being had come to its natural end. In its turn, fire sprang up inside him. His fury was uncontrollable. He knew of only one way to unleash it without burning down the forest.

In a twinkling, Thranduil was sprinting to the barracks in search of a sword.

~.~.~

Telior knew what was coming as soon as he saw the king approaching the practice fields, a naked sword held at a threatening angle by his side. The captain also knew that there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Thranduil would not hear anything he said—would not react to any sound. So, wasting no time, Telior did the only thing he could: provide his king an outlet.

"Attention!" he shouted at the casually assembled soldiers of Greenwood and Lorinand, in his best imitation of General Cembeleg's booming commands. "The strongest and bravest of you now has a chance to face off against the Elvenking of Greenwood the Great. Move, now!" Telior knew not to use the word "spar"— there were no guarantees that Thranduil would stop before causing injury. His eyes must have betrayed the fact, for the ellyn that had been engaging friendly competition now straightened their shoulders in preparation to meet a true threat.

There was only the briefest hesitation before five of Lorinand's guards stepped from among the ranks and strode over to intercept the king's path.

"One at a time," Telior said. "As soon as one falls, the next must take his place." He did not specify that they needed to get out of the king's way as soon as they were bestedfhe trusted they all recognized the murder in the royal's eyes.

A tawny-haired Elf reached the king first, but Thranduil simply swung his sword in a large downward arch, and knocked the soldier's sword right out of his hands and continued walking. The ellyn scurried after it.

"Next, quickly!" Telior commanded. The next Elf, with a bright face and sandy hair, had already lifted his sword in a defensive stance. It was just in time, as Thranduil leveled blow after blow in quick succession at him, forcing him steadily backward.

"Block, don't just deflect." The captain was more concerned with helping the Elvenking expend his energies than coaching the soldiers in effective defense.

The soldier soon began flagging, straining his muscles further and further as he caught the full weight of each ruthless blow directly with his blade. With a word to the next Elf, he dodged out of range. Murmurs rose among the onlookers, wondering how long the king could continue, some shouting encouragement to the brave Elves of Lorinand still willing to take on the king's wrath-fueled attacks.

Thranduil did not lose an instant, instantly turning to his new opponent to deliver another bone-quaking blow toward the soldier's shoulder. It was met steadily well before it could land, and the fight commenced. The speed of this new soldier's blocks had forced Thranduil's strikes to accelerate, and they lost some of their force. The Elf's straight brown hair swung about his shoulders with each dodge and parry, and his serious face was set in concentration. Many moments passed. He had not been able to offer the king anything but defensive moves, but he did not allow Thranduil to take any more ground.

Suddenly it became clear that the king was finally beginning to tire, allowing brief spaces before the next swing of his sword, and that the clanging became less intense as blade met blade. The young soldier daringly began to make his own attacks. The fire in Thranduil's eyes shifted, and Telior released a breath of relief. Though the king's opponent was far from safe, it appeared that Thranduil's reason had at last returned.

Hoots of encouragement rose from the gathered Elves as the fight became more balanced. Those from Lorinand became less nervous, recognizing that the imminent threat to their companions was diminished and appreciating the show of skill. But it also became apparent that the two fighters were not as evenly matched as it had seemed. Thranduil had now shifted from delivering blows based largely on strength, as a pure release of his anger, to utilizing all his agility and strategy.

The sunset had cast a golden glow about the space before the Silvan soldier's sword finally flew off to clatter onto the ground, Thranduil's blade held a hand's breadth from his chest. Both ellyn were damp with sweat and panting, but both had a very satisfied expression on their faces. Slowly, the Elvenking lowered his sword.

"Well done," Thranduil said after a tense moment of silence. "You do not seem overly displeased in your defeat."

The Elf bowed his head in response. "This is not the first time I have been bested, my lord," the soldier admitted easily, "but I enjoy a challenge and have never refused any opponent."

"What is your name?"

"Feren, my lord."

"Feren, are you especially loyal to Lorinand?" he asked.

The soldier's brow furrowed briefly at the strange question. "I consider it an honor and privilege to serve King Amroth," he said carefully.

"I see," Thranduil said, guessing from the soldier's guarded expression that perhaps he was less enthusiastic about serving the other rulers of the land—perhaps the ones who had left their home in Valinor to usurp the realms of Middle Earth in ages past, and their descendants. "My court is larger than Amroth's and composed entirely of Sindar, for now," Thranduil said. "But I steer it how I please, for what I believe to be the benefit of my Silvan subjects." With help from my beloved Elluin, he thought but did not say, and tried to suppress his agitation at the unresolved situation.

Feren respectfully remained silent, but gave the smallest nod of acknowledgment.

"If I request that Amroth release you from his service, will you join my guard?"

The soldier looked up in surprise and stared at him for a moment. Finally, he stammered happily, "Yes, my lord."

"Very well. Consider it settled." Thranduil finally glanced at Telior, who had materialized at his side, to ensure he acknowledged the decision. Telior bowed his head.

Feren gave a low bow at the king's dismissing nod and Thranduil left the field, feeling much lighter. But he knew that it was merely his rage that had left him. Now that its stranglehold was lifted from his heart, it still remained for him to face the actual dilemma.

There was the guilt, the sorrow…and the love that he finally allowed himself to recall fully.

His pace did not slow. He needed to find Celeborn and—-

A servant appeared before him and bowed. "My lord, a message has arrived from Greenwood by boat. King Amroth thought you would wish to see it immediately."

Thranduil managed not to scowl. Again, he felt the agonizing pull between duty and desire. He all but snatched the parchment from the servant, who scuttled quickly away, and opened it. The sooner he could deal with this business, the sooner he could shift to the matters of his heart.

It was from Lady Raegdis.

To Elvenking Thranduil of Greenwood the Great: fond greetings.

I wish first to reassure you, sire, that we face no danger at present and that our treaties still hold. But I thought it necessary to inform you of the latest news, lest you wish to convey it also to our allies in Lorinand during your visit, and to prepare you for the remainder of your journey.

The group of Men under Chieftain Borgel have returned. They weathered the winter with our aid, and have begun making plans to expand and fortify their village. They requested Greenwood timber. In accordance with your instructions, sire, Lord Derion led the negotiations along with Lady Elluin and her father. It was decided that we would be given a large quantity of rope of the sort made with the grasses of the plains, along with more of the butter and ground wheat that the king so favors, in exchange for this timber.

Lady Elluin supervised the Silvans that identified which trees could be felled — those that were dead or dying but would still serve for building. The Men aided in bringing down the trees, using their axes and guiding the fall of the tree with ropes of the same kind that they were to trade with us. When the third tree was coming down, one of the guide ropes snapped, causing the tree to fall far from its intended path toward where Lady Elluin and some of the Silvans were watching. The Elves that reported on the incident were terrified, sire, because at first it seemed that our housekeeper was not going to move out of the way. But she did, and then promptly had to diffuse an argument when the Elves accused the Men of trying to trade faulty wares.

I wish to commend Lady Elluin to you, my king. The tale was not entirely clear in the telling, but everyone there left feeling quite amiable toward each other, and the palace has already received several blocks of cheese above what had been agreed. Such was the goodwill between these Men and our Silvans that a joint hunting trip was arranged, with Lord Derion's permission, that would take the group all the way to the Anduin. And that, my king, is the reason for this urgent message, for we wish no ill to come from this venture with Greenwood's trading partners. I suspect you would agree, sire, that this information should also be shared with the border guards of both Greenwood and Lorinand, for in a few weeks' time, the hunting group may be spotted nearing the western edge of the Greenwood.

There is little else of import to share with you, sire, but I imagine this should be a comfort to you. The Dwarven blacksmiths have completed the year of service promised by King Droin, and their former Elven apprentices feel confident they will be able to meet the kingdom's demands. They will enlist their own apprentices before the change of the season. General Cembeleg has shifted the patrol schedule to allow for some of the soldiers, those whose wives are with child, to remain closer to the palace. It gives me joy to see the kingdom expanding, sire! Master Thalven returned to the palace for a brief visit, and recommended that Lady Elluin take a leave of absence from her duties. She did seem uncharacteristically spent after returning from the excursion for timber and has, reluctantly, followed his advice.

Lord Galion requested that I convey his greetings, sire, and wished to remind you that the Summer Festival is nearly upon us and invites you to shorten your journey in order to attend.

May the stars shine upon your path, my king.

Your loyal servant,

Raegdis

Thranduil was rooted to the spot. He reread the letter another two times to ensure he understood: Elluin was losing the fight against her breaking heart. Thalven and Galion clearly believed she would not last until autumn. He felt that a boulder had settled its weight on his chest.

He tried to control his breathing but ended up only managing to bellow Amroth's name.

~.~.~

Thranduil did nothing to announce his presence, stalking directly up to Turiel in her newly appointed talan immediately after his frantic conference with Amroth. A bird call warned her of his approach before he came fully into view, so she was already bowing when he said her name briskly in greeting. "How quickly can a messenger bird be sent back to the palace?"

"As soon as I have the message, sire," she replied quickly. Without needing an order, she turned and opened a leather satchel, removing a jar of ink, a quill, and several small sheets of parchment.

"I am afraid the birds should not bear more than three pages at a time, sire," she said, handing them to a mildly stunned Thranduil. He had not thought that he would write the letter at that very moment and was rather unprepared. "Otherwise," Turiel continued, "over this distance, they might tire too quickly. The more they stop to rest, the higher the risk that the message will not arrive."

He was scarcely listening, following Turiel's gesture to a makeshift desk. It was essentially a large tree root to sit on, with a plank beside it that served as the tabletop. As he settled himself there, he noticed Turiel retreating to give him some privacy, though he did not doubt she was well within earshot.

Now that he was staring at the blank paper, quill in hand, he found that he did not know how he could possibly express all that he wished to say. The slight size of the page seemed to mock him. He resolved to say only that which was the most important.

There it was. He dipped the quill into the ink and set to work.

He finished quickly, distantly conscious that dwelling too long over the words to find the perfect ones would mean the letter would never get finished.

"Turiel," he called, decisively taking his eyes off the pages as he rose. She came jogging up immediately and bowed. Wordlessly, he gave her the two pages. She respectfully avoided looking at them as she rolled them tightly and calling a bird to her.

"I leave on the morrow, Turiel," the king said. "Amroth has arranged boats for me and a small company to travel upriver for most of the way."

The elleth did not pause to look at him, instead focusing on attaching the pages to the bird's foot. "Very well, sire. I expect I shall see you in a few weeks' time?"

"Yes. You will return with my aunt and Lady Ninniach and their guards."

Thranduil was then suddenly aware that Turiel likely knew exactly what had caused his sudden shift in plans. And he realized with some surprise that he was pleased about it. Although he was realistic enough to know that it was Elluin and not himself who had her support, at least she was an ally for the relationship.

"I hope you are pleased with what you find when you return," he said a little awkwardly. If things went the way he wanted, he would soon be resuming his courtship of her dearest friend.

Turiel's face was grim when she replied, "I wish the same for you, sire." Yes— there was the reminder that Elluin's situation was grave and that his wish could only come true if she survived.

Turiel bowed. It was as effective a dismissal as any, and Thranduil accepted it as a way to spur him to action on her friend's behalf. And then he was gone, calling out for Sulros to help him prepare to leave.