Two Former Kings and a Scribe

Thranduil ascended the stair, and upon reaching the third floor, took the hall which led most directly to his destination. He walked with a purposeful stride, one that onlookers might have mistaken for confident. Thranduil was many things on this fine spring day, but confident was not one of them.

It was many years since he first arrived in Valinor, and he had visited King Fingolfin's palace in Tirion several times at the behest of his wife. Each time he came to the city, he determined to arrange this meeting. Each time, the opportunity passed him by, or, more rightly, he allowed the opportunities to pass.

It was a pattern he could no longer sustain.

Caladhel had offered to accompany him, but he declined. In truth, he did not want her as a witness to this encounter. There was very little Thranduil hid from his wife, but there were a few details of the past millennia he was not yet ready to share. On the morrow, he and Caladhel would return to their home beyond the Plains of Yavanna. It was no short journey, and Thranduil was determined not to return to his father's halls without accomplishing this task.

He reached his destination in short order. There was no plaque upon the door, no nameplate. King Fingolfin had made a point to inform Thranduil of this fact. When he asked the King why the door remained unmarked, Fingolfin claimed it was unnecessary, as everyone knew which door it was, if only so they were certain to avoid it. Thranduil had avoided it long enough, though he was certain it was for an altogether different cause.

He knocked loudly on the door and a voice called on him to enter. He did so, and upon crossing the threshold, caught sight of the voice's owner. She stood upon a stair before a bookcase. Her slight form appeared worryingly unstable standing on tip toe, pushing a tome half her size into place on the top shelf. She managed to maneuver the book into position a second before Thranduil thought to offer aid. She turned her gaze to the door. Brown eyes widened in surprise and in what looked to Thranduil like recognition.

"Good afternoon, my lord. Can I help you?"

The scribe descended the stair even less agilely than she had stood upon it, but despite her lack of grace, Thranduil found she had a pleasant voice and was pretty in a common way. He knew her to be quite young, less than a thousand years of age, but she appeared much older to his eyes. He could not say which of her features caused him to think so, but there was something reminiscent of Elrond in the hue of her skin and the faint lines visible at the corners of her eyes.

Imperfect was the word that came to mind as he studied her face.

Thranduil's gaze swept the whole of the room. There were a pair of desks housed inside and the grander of the two was currently vacant. "I have come to speak with Prince Maglor, if he is not otherwise occupied."

"He is at a meeting," she said, "but he should return any minute now. Would you care to wait or leave him a message?"

Thranduil surmised that Maglor would indeed be along shortly, else his scribe would not have asked him to wait, and he had not come all this way to be deterred by a mild inconvenience. "If you think it will not be too long, I will wait."

She gestured to the seat opposite the larger desk. "You may sit there, if you like. Can I offer you a drink, King Thranduil?"

Her question confirmed Thranduil's earlier suspicion that he had been recognized. "Prince Thranduil, now," he corrected her.

She nodded. "Of course."

"How is it you know me?" Thranduil asked, for he was not a common visitor to these halls, and he knew they had never met before this day.

She smiled. "From a portrait in Lord Elrond's library."

He should have known. The Lord of Imladris was nothing if not thorough. Thranduil had little doubt that somewhere in Elrond's vast library sat a chronicle of his life and the history of Greenwood laid out for anyone to read. At the very least, it contained his portrait. Her statement confirmed it, and it confirmed something else which Thranduil had known from the moment he first stepped through the door.

"So, you are the famous one."

The elleth became visibly flustered by his statement. "Pardon?"

"You are Eruanna, are you not? His muse."

Thranduil gestured to the empty chair belonging to Maglor and noted his descriptor made her even more uncomfortable.

"I am his scribe," she replied, "and I suppose, also, his biographer."

"So modest," Thranduil countered. "You inspired him to confess his sins to all of Aman. I was there. I heard the song."

Her attention shifted to the empty chair for a moment, before returning to him. There was a sharpness to her gaze that had not been there before. Thranduil had seen that look previously in Caladhel's eyes and Beleth's, too. It warned him that he had crossed some invisible line.

"If you have come in regard to the land allocation for your new residence, then you need not wait for Prince Maglor. I can help you with it now."

And there it was, she wanted him gone. Has she made this offer to protect Maglor from me? It seemed to Thranduil that she did so. The notion was at once terribly sweet – and ironic.

"I see. You do all the work, and he takes all the credit?"

"We share the work," she replied.

Thranduil did not doubt her, but he suspected she was more fit to carry out the duties of this office than Maglor – a poet, turned warrior, turned wanderer. It was Thranduil's understanding that she had apprenticed with Lord Erestor, Elrond's high counselor. If that was true, then she could handle the work of this office easily, without Maglor's aid.

Thranduil could tell his extended silence was beginning to wear on her. He gleaned a hint of impatience behind her eyes, but there was no need for him to stoke her frustration any longer. The wait was over.

"I am not here about land allocations," said Thranduil.

"Then why have you come?" she asked, pointedly.

"I am curious, myself," Maglor added.

Eruanna visibly startled at the sound of his voice, but Thranduil had heard him walking down the hall. Maglor stood in the doorway now, his gaze moving from Thranduil to Eruanna and back again.

Thranduil had seen Maglor before, but only from afar. He had not realized before now how tall the Fëanorion was in relation to his kin. The Noldor were, as a race, known for their greater height, but somehow Maglor had appeared smaller on the stage and in Thranduil's mind.

"Prince Maglor, may I introduce you to Prince Thranduil of Greenwood," Eruanna said upon recovering from her surprise. Thranduil suspected this was not the first time in her life she had been startled by the sudden appearance of a light-footed elf.

The ellyn exchanged customary nods.

"I am pleased to meet you," Maglor said. "I hope you have not been waiting long."

"Not long at all."

Maglor gestured to the seat opposite his desk. "Please sit. Would you care for a drink?"

"Your scribe was about to pour me one," Thranduil said.

Maglor held up two fingers indicating for Eruanna to pour him one as well. She went to the sideboard and pulled two glasses from the cabinet.

"She should pour herself a glass as well," said Thranduil.

Eruanna looked back at him, unsure she had heard him rightly. Maglor appeared likewise confused by his suggestion.

"She is your storyteller, is she not?" Thranduil asked him.

"That and more," Maglor replied.

"Then she should join us. Perhaps there is a story in it for her."

Maglor considered his words for a moment before he turned to Eruanna and nodded his assent. She pulled a third glass from the cupboard and filled each with wine. She handed the first to Thranduil, the second to Maglor and then returned to her desk with her own.

Thranduil gave the wine a swirl and sampled its bouquet before taking a sip. His gaze returned to Maglor who was watching him intently. Thranduil chuckled, despite himself, and took the seat that was previously offered to him.

Maglor followed suit, taking his own. "May I ask what you find amusing?"

Thranduil considered the question a moment before he answered, "There is much said of you, Prince Maglor, but I did not expect you to be so tall or to have such excellent taste in wine."

Maglor smiled mildly. "I am glad I have managed to retain some of my mystery," he said. "As for my height, I suppose it goes unremarked because I seem smaller in the shadow of my kin."

Thranduil nodded. He agreed that was the most likely explanation.

"What can I do for you today, Prince Thranduil?" Maglor asked.

Thranduil noted the care with which Maglor asked this question. He hid his unease rather well, as one who had long practice. Seeing his own discomfort reflected by the ellon sitting across from him made Thranduil feel strangely better about this entire endeavor. "You can answer a question for me, if you will."

Maglor nodded slowly. "I can try."

Thranduil continued to swirl the wine in his glass, only now he did so to give his mind time to order his thoughts, not for the sake of aeration. "I am not without fault," he began. "There are those who suffered or met untimely ends due to my actions – or inaction."

"I imagine every king who reigned in Middle-earth can say the same," Maglor replied.

"Maybe so," Thranduil conceded before falling silent again.

The silence extended overlong, and Maglor ended it with a question. "You want to know how to ask their forgiveness?"

Thranduil considered Maglor's question and then slowly shook his head. "Not precisely. I want to know how you managed to convince them your repentance was sincere."

"I was not aware I had," said Maglor.

Thranduil was surprised he said so, and did his best to gauge the sincerity of Maglor's claim. Even after all this time, he was not the best judge of deception. Still, it seemed to him that Maglor spoke truthfully, so Thranduil offered up his own experience as proof.

"I have kin who, not long ago, would have spilled your blood without a moment's pause. Their desire for vengeance has diminished since they heard your lament."

Maglor exhaled deeply at this news and it was his turn to study his drink. He, too, took the time to swirl the liquid around the side of the glass before taking a sip. "I have haunted the memories of too many elves," he said at last. "I had hoped my words would help some of them begin to heal."

"It seems you have succeeded in that task."

Maglor lifted his gaze from his cup to meet Thranduil's eyes. "But you come to ask me the how of it. I am afraid I have no answer to share."

"I do," Eruanna interjected.

Maglor and Thranduil turned their attention simultaneously to Eruanna. They wore similar expressions of mingled surprise and curiosity. Both princes had forgotten her presence the moment their conversation began. Thranduil, for his part, found this realization strange, for he was ever aware of the proximity of others. It was, if nothing else, a habit of defense due to his diminished sight on his left-hand side. It was not like him to so casually forget another's presence, and he had not done so, as one might expect, because he marked her as no great threat. On the contrary, he considered her a greater threat to his person than the ellon sitting across from him.

"If you have some insight to offer," said Thranduil, "I would gladly hear it."

"He was honest," Eruanna said. "He told the people the truth, as he saw it, things they themselves would fear to confess. He did not make excuses for his actions, but he did explain how he came to walk that path. It was a path that others might have trod in his place, and they knew it in their hearts. It is easy to hate what you do not understand. It is harder when you can see pieces of yourself reflected in another's life."

The two princes were silent as they contemplated Eruanna's words. In time, Thranduil returned his attention to Maglor. "Such wisdom," he said. "I see why you are so fond of her."

Thranduil took another sip of his wine before he spoke again. "Did Eruanna ever tell you that she was born in my realm? That her grandfather Haldor was a friend, a warrior and lord of my house?"

"She has mentioned it in passing," Maglor said.

Thranduil nodded. "Have you met my wife?"

Maglor was unsure how the two questions were related, but he answered after a moment's pause. "I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Caladhel when she came to council as a member of Finrod's house. She is quite formidable, more so than one might guess at first glance."

A bark of laughter escaped Thranduil before he could hold it back and the light of humor shone from his eyes. "You have no idea," he said. But the mirth that possessed his features in that moment faded quickly as his thoughts turned to a darker tale. "She died … on a journey to visit Elrond's house. She was captured by orcs and took her own life rather than be used as a tool to destroy me."

Maglor knew the lady in question had been reborn, but he was not aware of the circumstances surrounding her death. This news fitted his impression of Caladhel well. "Formidable, indeed," he said.

"I learned later that men had brought word to Elrond of orc activity in the north," Thranduil continued, "but he did not share this news with us. There had been no sign of orcs in our stretch of the mountains for a thousand years and the whispers of men were unreliable. Except that time, the danger was real."

Thranduil finished what was left of the wine and set the glass down carefully on Maglor's desk. He leaned back in his chair; his eyes focused somewhere in the distant past. "It is difficult even now to describe what it was I felt when I learned this news. That Elrond knew of the danger and dismissed it out of hand. That his arrogance cost me Caladhel and almost cost the life of my son. Rage … fury … hate … they are such small words, insufficient to encompass the tumult born inside of me.

I could have killed him.

Even worse, I could have killed the ones he loved most and left him to suffer their loss. I dreamed of it, more than once. I dreamed of his sons' deaths, of Celebrían's. I even dreamed of Arwen's death, whom I loved most of Caladhel's kin. I dreamed of cracking her skull and watching Elrond weep over her corpse."

Thranduil drew a long, shaky breath and exhaled the same. The guilt he felt when Celebrían sailed and later when he learned of Arwen's fate weighed heavily upon his heart even now. He knew these events to be unrelated to his anger, but still he feared some part of his will had been stamped in the unfolding of the world. The only thing that prevented those fears from consuming him was that he knew with certainty that he possessed no power to order the course of history. If he had, he would never have lost Caladhel.

"Such dark desires, at least, I was able to restrain.

Instead of lashing out, I chose instead to withdraw. I retreated into my kingdom and left the other realms to fend for themselves. But my anger at Elrond spread beyond my own heart. It permeated my wood, infected my people. It was no surprise, really. My people lost their queen when I lost my wife. We all wanted someone to blame."

Here Thranduil's gaze returned to the now and he fixed his eyes upon Maglor's. "That was the kingdom into which Eruanna was born. A place where the half-elven were not merely unwelcome, but despised. She was still a child when some of my wardens began mistreating her, this despite their duty to keep her safe. When Haldor realized he could not protect her from her own people, he took her to live with Elrond. He thought she would be safer in Imladris with the half-elven, and he was right. She was safer there. I demoted the wardens for their actions, but I could have done more. I chose not to. I wanted her gone from my land and Haldor knew it, so he took her away.

I chose to hold a grudge against a child – a child born a thousand years after my wife's death. It was petty and spiteful, unbecoming of a king, and of all my past transgressions, it is the one that shames me most of all."

Here he fell silent and waited for whatever judgement Maglor was willing to serve in response to his tale. Maglor's gaze fell to his glass and remained there at length. For some reason, Thranduil was surprised the Fëanorion took so much time to consider his words. When Maglor's gaze rose, it moved first past Thranduil, to Eruanna, who remained seated at her desk. His gaze lingered upon her a moment, and then he smiled, before returning his attention to Thranduil's face.

"I think Lord Elrond would say your mistake was a blessing upon his house, as would Lord Erestor."

"Perhaps they would at that," Thranduil said. He turned then in his seat to address Eruanna, who had remained silent throughout the whole of his tale. "And what does the elleth who fled my kingdom say?"

Thranduil was rather surprised to find no enmity in her eyes when he met them, no hint of anger or resentment. Indeed, the expression she fixed upon him was more akin to pity with a hint of something else. She was clearly attempting to puzzle something out, something she had never considered before now.

As her mind cleared her eyes grew sharper and she held Thranduil's gaze as easily as she had when he first walked through the door. There was no trace of uncertainly in her voice when she spoke. "I do not regret the path my life has taken. I cannot say what would have been, had I remained in Greenwood, or if your kingdom had been more welcoming. Perhaps I would have eventually departed for Imladris to dwell with the half-elven, even if no ill had befallen me. I think I might have, if only out of curiosity."

Thranduil considered her response carefully. He agreed it possible that she was destined to join Elrond's house and that the events of her childhood were merely one of many alternate paths that would lead her there. There was no way of knowing now, for the past could not be undone.

"I cannot change the past," said Thranduil, "but I do wish for you to know that I would if I possessed the power. I would ensure you peace and welcome beneath my trees, as I do now, from this moment onward. You are welcome in my house – whenever it is finished, that is."

Eruanna accepted his apology with a nod of her head and his invitation with an expression of lightly suppressed laughter.

"Have I said something to amuse you?" Thranduil asked, surprised as he was by the unanticipated spark of laughter in her eyes.

Eruanna shook her head as she recalled a conversation long past between herself, Celebrían, and the lady's cousin on the day they first met. "No, it is only … Lady Caladhel extended an invitation to me some years ago."

Thranduil should have known his wife would be one step ahead of him. "Of course, she has," he said, "but now you have one from me as well."

"Thank you," Eruanna said.

"I do not presume to deserve your forgiveness," Thranduil added, "though I do hope to earn it one day. Today, I offer you the story that led to my regret. You may do with it what you will."

Eruanna accepted his offering with a nod of her head, and after, Thranduil returned his attention to the prince seated opposite him.

Maglor, having come to realize that neither he nor land allocations were the reason Thranduil had come to call, offered the ellon an easy escape. "Was there anything else I can help you with today, Prince Thranduil?"

Thranduil considered the matter briefly, before gesturing to the glass of wine in Maglor's hand. "Only one more thing. Will you tell me from whom you procured this most excellent wine?"

~Fin~

A/N: I got a lot of shit about my portrayal of the elves of Greenwood when I first wrote Peredhel. I hope the events of Skin Deep cleared up my feelings on that topic. If not, here is a little added bonus from Thranduil's POV to explain why Greenwood wasn't so welcoming by the latter third age.