Chapter Text
Prince Legolas Thranduilion was perhaps the best archer Mirkwood had to boast about. Though he hated to carry his title around he was the manifestation of every meaning the word ‘prince’ had to offer. Due to his Sindar father Legolas was tall for a Silvan and his hair was long and golden unlike his Silvan kin. Yet he adorned his locks with their braids and despite all his similarities to the Sindar Legolas knew himself to be a pure Woodelf. He was lean and climbed the trees with ease of a squirrel and his sharp blue eyes caught every movement in the woods like a panther.
There was a time when the forest was a mystery to him; when he had been an elfling under the protection of his father. Yet now he knew every inch of his home, every rock in the river, every leaf on the trees. He knew every danger and every beauty. People said that there had been a time when the forest had been more beautiful. A time when it was still called Greenwood among the men. And when sometimes Legolas caught his father gazing into the woods he would catch a glimpse of something like the pain of a long lost memory flash in his eyes. These days the forest was called Greenwood only in official documents and that was the authority of the Elvenking that had stopped the world from permanently renaming it to Mirkwood.
But Legolas would not brood over a lost past he did not even remember. To him the forest was still beautiful and even though his father had thought him to show wrath to whomever dared call it Mirkwood, truthfully Legolas saw no difference for in his heart the Prince knew his home to be Greenwood and that was all that mattered. And now that he was standing on a huge rock near the pool bellow the waterfall Legolas could hardly think how anyone could think of Greenwood as anything but beautiful.
Legolas had some kind of an attachment to the waterfall. From the first time he discovered it in his childhood his father banned him from coming here. The Prince was not normally a disobedient child but he would not listen to this single order. He kept coming back to this place. The waterfall called to him. A strange feeling welled up in his chest whenever he was there; like he had lost something here but could not remember.
But at that moment Legolas was not thinking about those things and though the feeling was still there, the Prince was consumed with the scene before him.
An elleth was in the pool; bathing. Her chestnut hair was soaked and plastered to her pale skin. Legolas watched her from behind a tree and could not blame her for bathing in the pool since the weather suddenly seemed really hot. After a long while of watching, the Prince spotted her discarded clothing beside a basket full of herbs gathered from the forest. He decided to make himself known and walked away from the tree intentionally stepping on a twig and snapping it.
The elleth gasped and turned, making the water splash rather clumsily. Her green eyes widened when she spotted him. The surprise on her face immediately turned to anger when she recognized him.
“Legolas…!” she gritted her teeth as she swam towards the bank.
“Sarab…” the Prince smiled as he watched her with amusement trying to reach for her clothes without showing her nakedness. When her efforts proved unsuccessful she sank back in the water with a sigh.
“Would you be kind and pass me my garment my Prince?” she asked politely blinking up at him with wet lashes.
Legolas knew too well than to believe her antics. He merely smirked and crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t believe you can dress inside the water…” he pointed out. “You’ll ruin the garment.”
Sarab rolled her eyes, knowing very well that the Prince was enjoying himself. They gazed at each other for a while, indulging in a silent match of glaring. “I’m not going to walk out naked!” she announced at last.
“Why not?” Legolas asked. “I’ve seen you naked countless times.”
The elleth blushed. “That’s different!” she pointed out.
“Care to say how so?” Legolas chuckled. “We make love and then you shy away from me like this! It doesn’t make sense!”
Sarab said nothing but just reddened further. To anyone her antics would have looked stupid but to Legolas they were adorable. At last he took pity on her and turned his back so that he could no longer see her. He heard the water splash and then he could tell the sound of her wet feet padding towards her clothes fast.
“Alright you can turn now!” she said at last, breathless.
Legolas did. She was no more decent but at least she wasn’t naked anymore. But the garment was wet from the water dripping from her hair and body and was giving the prince a nice view of the lumps of her beautiful body. “You’re beautiful…” Legolas whispered his thoughts.
Sarab smiled. “That doesn’t make you less cruel for sneaking up on me.”
“I had to check that you were actually gathering herbs for the apothecary…” Legolas teased pointing at the basket.
“So you don’t trust me…” the elleth said raising one eyebrow.
“I had a good point since you were bathing instead of working.” Legolas said as he walked closer to her. “Not to mention naked in a pool where anyone could come and watch you like I did.”
He circled his arm around her waist possessively and pulled her flushed against him. A little gasp left her lips. Her soaked body made his tunic wet. She looked up at him from under long lashed. “Are you jealous?” she purred.
“Should I be?” the Prince asked.
The teasing suddenly left Sarab’ eyes and a solemn look settled on her expression. “No.” she answered and gently wriggled out of Legolas’ grasp.
“What’s wrong?” the Prince asked, surprised at the sudden change of mood.
“You should not be jealous because this…this thing that we have between us, it’s not serious.” Sarab said as she started gathering up her things.
“Who says it’s not serious?” Legolas asked still shocked from the abrupt change of mood.
Sarab looked up sharply. “If it was you would have already talked to your father about us…” she said.
“Sarab…” Legolas started but the elleth interrupted him.
“I know Legolas…” she said. “I know it’s hard to tell him. Because you’re the Prince and the future of this realm…and I’m merely a servant in your father’s palace.”
“You’re a great healer…” Legolas defended. “And my father knows it.”
“I was a great healer in Southernwood…” she corrected. “I refuged to the Stronghold and now I am nothing more than a servant.”
“My father will place you in the position you deserve once he’s assured of your loyalty…” the Prince explained.
Sarab gave him a knowing but sad smile. “We both know he will never do that…” she said. “No matter what I do for him I will always be the niece of Siavash, and while he still leads the rebels there you’re the King will never trust me.”
Legolas frowned. He knew how complicated the situation was and Sarab was a smart elleth, not one to be easily tricked with nice words and empty promises. Since Legolas could remember Siavash had been the King’s sworn enemy. The history was clear. He was the leader of rebellion in Southernwood that had caused many to die at the time and the Elvenking to vent his anger upon them; denying them any kind of money, food or aid. Now after centuries their new generations questioned the choices of their leaders and some found their way out of the isolated village. Those who managed to get out took the hard and dangerous road towards the Stronghold in hopes that the Elvenking would show them mercy and would allow them asylum in his palace. Among these folk had been Sarab, Sivash’s own kin.
“My father will see his mistake eventually…” Legolas said firmly. “I will make him see.”
Sarab frowned and approached the Prince. She cupped his face in her hand and gazed in his eyes. “Never question the word of your father…” she told him. “Don’t ever weaken your position in his eyes because of me.”
Legolas could name thousands of reasons for why he had fallen in love with this elleth, but perhaps the most important one was her selflessness. In his position as the Prince he always had to be alert for people who sought his attention for reasons other than himself. Some wanted power or wealth and others wanted to get closer to the King by using him. Sarab was none of these. Legolas had tried day and night for a long time for her to allow him this courtship and he was not about to lose his chance because Thranduil was too blind to see the goodness in her. The Prince could not resist leaning down and kissing his girl. Sarab smiled in the kiss but responded by opening her lips for him. He took the invitation and delved inside her hot cavern with his tongue and relished in her honey like taste.
But all did not last long when by a sound of an awkward cough the pair jumped apart. Legolas looked around like a mad bull to kill anyone who had dared to invade their privacy so shamelessly only to find Kyan standing in his guard uniform a few feet away. The blasted Captain seemed completely unapologetic of the private scene that had been going on before him as he gazed at the pair dryly.
“My Prince!” he acknowledge briefly. “Mistress Sarab.”
Legolas only pressed his lips together to avoid cursing this elf whom he loved like his brother while Sarab who had taken the color of tomatoes gave the ellon a clumsy courtesy. “Captain Kyan.” She whispered shyly.
Kyan did not even spare her a glance as he had his eyes on the Prince and Legolas could tell that under that cool, relaxed surface he was very angry. “I’ve been looking for you since morning!” he said. “Your father has been asking for you.”
And now Legolas knew why Kyan was angry. He hated when he was placed between father and son and this happened to him very often. Legolas opened his mouth to answer but Kyan interrupted him in that cold rude way of his. “You must come back now…the King wanted you to be present at an important meeting.” he said flatly. “He is losing his temper!”
Legolas rolled his eyes. No matter how much he tried to show his father that wanted nothing to do with his kingly duties it seemed that the Elvenking did not wish to understand. The Prince looked around praying that the forest would give him some excuse to ditch this blasted meeting. As if the Valar heard him his eyes fell on Sarab who was still standing right beside him. He opened his mouth but again Kyan interrupted him.
“Surely Mistress Sarab can find her way back to the Stronghold.” Kyan raised his eyebrows and looked at the elleth for confirmation.
Sarab who had no idea Legolas was using her as an excuse and thought herself a burden rushed to side with the Captain. “Oh…Yes…yes…of course.”
Kyan smiled at her warmly and looked back at the Prince with that annoying brown gaze. Sometimes Legolas wanted to punch him in the face.
***
“I will not pay homage to a greedy dwarf Girion!” Thranduil hissed and shot the king of Dale with a look that would have burned a lesser man to ashes.
But this man was not weak of heart and that was one of the reasons Thranduil had found some form of a friend in him. At first when the village of men had formed at the foot of the mountain the King of elves had not been optimistic about their presence. They littered the ground and abused what the earth had to give while they cut the trees with no mind for the nature. Then the village prospered into the city of Dale and with it Thranduil’s misgivings. More and more he closed the doors of his land and protected his borders from the outside world. But life in the forest was not as easy as it once was. The Wood-elves could not produce all the things they needed themselves and while their forest was rich with herbs, fruits and crops and the Silvan made the best and the most beautiful fabric for clothing, they were dependent for wheat, wine and weapons and needed to import them. However their usual trade that had mostly been with Lorien was now often subject to attacks by orcs and spiders and rarely these days the consignments arrived to their intended destination safely making it almost impossible to trade anything with their southern kin because of the huge cost of its security.
It was in such a state that this particular man; Girion, calling himself King of Dale had sent a letter to Thranduil by a raven. Not to mention how the Elvenking had been extremely offended by the method of the delivery when the black bird had flown inside his study and scared the shit out of him. He demanded the letter to be burned unread and the raven to be beheaded. It was his nephew, or the closest thing he had to a nephew, Kyan who had spoken some sense into him that sending ravens instead of messengers was the modern way of sending messages these days and was in fact very practical and efficient while it had many advantages compared to the old way of sending messengers and that Thranduil had nothing to be offended about. Much to his son’s and nephew’s amusement the Elvenking had ordered them both to leave the study and had not talked to them for days but after all the King had to admit to himself that perhaps closing his borders so strictly had not been a good idea. He did not like being late on what went on around him like the old men of human villages who spent their time playing stupid board games until death called their names. Death had shown that he was not going to call Thranduil’s name soon so begrudgingly the Elvenking had opened the letter of the so called king of Dale who had asked for an audience to negotiate trades.
It had taken some persuasion from Galdor but at last Thranduil had agreed. With his invitation the King of Dale had lost no time to travel to the forest. With Girion’s arrival the Elvenking tried his hardest to find some fault with the man. Yet although he was young, Girion was wise. He was calloused by the bitter winters of Dale but he possessed warm eyes that reflected a kind heart. Girion was the noblest of men and for the first time in his long long life Thranduil found himself taken by one from the race of men.
They formed a close friendship. Girion even dared to invite the King of elves to visit Dale which was more than any man could boast about. When the Elvenking finally went to Dale it had been centuries since he had stepped out of his boarders. He learned that although Middle-Earth was still much under the influence of elves yet the world now belonged to men as their offsprings ran after each other happily and roamed the world. Thranduil preferred handing the world to the race of men than to dwarves who were at the same time settling inside the mountain north of the forest.
As the King walked in the buzzing market of Dale and the excited men and women who had never seen an elf much less their king tried to serve him and his companions, the shadow of the Lonely Mountain was constantly above them. No one was aware of the depth of Thranduil’s connection with the nature. The elves thought it was only with the forest, the men knew nothing about it. But Thranduil knew it was much deeper than this. Although it had no outside manifestation Thranduil could feel the pain of the mountain as the dwarves carved its skin to reach its flesh and dig out its gems and precious stones to satiate their own greed. He could hear the wails of the mountain. Thranduil hated the Dwarves.
A colony of them gathered inside the mountain and started building a city there. They said it was a masterpiece of dwarven architecture; Thranduil could not care less. But the colony turned to a large community and then to the amount of gold they dug from the mountain they were considered a rich nation. They crowned a king; his name was Thror. Thranduil had followed the story of his father who used to live in the Grey Mountains. He and his brothers died facing the dragons. With the gold the son was gathering the Elvenking saw no better destiny for him.
But just as it was predictable gold could not buy them food and soon the Dwarf King started contacting his neighbors, inviting them to negotiate trades and consider alliances. Girion had accepted and much to the Elvenking’s disappointment he had established firm economic ties with the mountain. Thranduil had accused him of being deceived by wealth but in the end the elf could not blame the mortal. New alliances were formed on gold not on friendship.
Thranduil however postponed his travel to Erebor until it was either a visit or a war. He went to the Lonely Mountain with a group of ten fully armed sentries if only to show Thror he did not trust him. And he even did not stay the night. The Dwarf King had been offended but said nothing. It was not in his interest to say anything since in that short stay Thranduil had agreed to sign a letter of agreement that none of their nations would attack each other until both kings lived. It was a relief for Thror who felt threatened by the mysterious elves some of whom still remembered Doriath. At the time Thror did not feel the confidence to ask the Elvenking for more.
After that Thranduil never visited Erebor again and though the mountain was visible from the window of his study, standing tall and proud, he chose not to look at it, preferring to ignore that the descendants of the creatures who had snatched his childhood away from him so brutally were living so close to him.
It was almost 40 years later when the news of the Arkenstone came. The huge gem that the Dwarves called the heart of the mountain. Thror had took it from the hands of the poor nameless miner who had found it and claimed it for himself, taking it as a sign from the Gods. He announced that his right to rule was divine and given to him by the skies and that all should pay homage to him. By now he had enough military power to want such a thing and threaten those who dared to disobey. But Thranduil was not one to bow to a stone. He was a King when Thror’s great great grandfather was not even conceived.
“Whatever past you have with them has to be forgotten my Lord…” Girion sighed. “They are rich and they are powerful…messing around with them isn’t a good idea.”
“I won’t bow to half-man who thinks he rules the world…” Thranduil hissed as he raised from his seat. He walked to the small table and poured himself a glass of wine. Galdor who had been silent through the whole conversation watched him warily yet said nothing. “They can have all the gold in the world it won’t buy them my respect.”
“Gold speaks first these days.” Girion sighed and rolled his eyes. “Whoever has it, has the power.”
Thranduil gazed back at the man sharply. “So you believe Thror has the right to ask such nonsense?”
Girion sighed again and rubbed his eyes. He rose from his seat and walked to the Elvenking’s side who was still glaring daggers at him. “No…” he said softly. “All I’m saying is that he is a powerful neighbor and it’s wiser for you to compromise with him.”
“I understand that in your world gold brings power…” Thranduil said. “But in mine, wisdom does…I tell you now that Thror has none of it. And this power of his which is built on riches of this mountain will not last long.” He then shook his head. “I will not pay homage to such a lie.”
“He’ll consider it a disrespect…” Girion said warningly. “Thror will wage war against you.”
“I do not fear an army of racket head dwarves…” the King smirked. “They’ll be crippled by vertigo before they advance a mile in my forest.”
Girion had nothing to say to that. Thranduil turned away from him. “But I understand that you need to deal with them for the sake of your people…” the Elvenking said as he gazed at the lonely mountain from his window. “I won’t hold it against you.”
The King of Dale nodded. There was no changing the mind of the elf king it seemed. “I’ll head home then…better to use all the sunlight I can.” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality as always.”
Thranduil bowed his head and watched the man’s broad back retreat and leave the study. After that silence ruled in the room for a few seconds as the King felt Galdor’s gaze on his person.
“What!?” at last he asked.
“I think he’s right!” the Steward said.
“You think that I should pay tribute to a mad dwarf!?” Thranduil asked disbelievingly. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I think it’s wiser!” Galdor shrugged.
“Oh! Perhaps I should kiss his feet too!” Thranduil said voice raising as he threw his arms in the air. “Or no that’s not good enough…perhaps I should suck his cock!”
The sound of an awkward cough made them both jump as they were made aware of Kyan’s presence in the room.
“Kyan!” Galdor barked angrily at the captain who was trying to hide his laughter and doing a poor job. “Why don’t you learn to knock?”
“I’m sorry but the door was open adar…” the younger one said.
To that neither the King not Galdor had anything to say which made it harder for Kyan to hold his laughter. The image of Thranduil sucking a dwarf’s cock would not leave his mind and he knew the other two were thinking about the exact same thing. The Elvenking’s glare however was too piercing to ignore.
“I’ve found the Prince my King…” he finally remembered why he had come.
“Finally…” Thranduil hissed as he downed his wine and waved for Kyan to call Legolas.
Kyan nodded and opened the door wider for Legolas to enter. The Prince reluctantly walked inside. he looked like a child that awaited scolding. Galdor rose and bowed to him to which he smiled but his father did not turn from the view of the window and kept his back upon his son.
“Look who decided to finally grace us with his presence.” The King said.
“Forgive me…” Legolas said as he grimaced behind his father’s back. “I did not know you had asked for me.”
At Last Thranduil turned to look at his son. “Did not know, or did not wish to come?” he asked sharply.
To that Legolas had nothing to say. He merely lowered his gaze and knew better than to answer. Galdor was kind enough to save him from the awkward moment.
“I think we should leave…” the Steward told Thranduil. He bowed to the king which he did not acknowledge and walked out, kyan did the same and closed the door behind him after shooting a sympathetic look towards Legolas.
Legolas was melting under the king’s gaze but he dared not move. He did not need to look into the older elf’s eyes to know the anger that was there, that was always there. No matter what he did it seemed that it was never enough to erase the disappointment from his father’s gaze. So alas Legolas had given up. But it did not mean that he did not fear the King’s wrath. To him his father was like the trees of the forest; breathtakingly beautiful yet dangerously old.
“Where were you?” The King asked in a calm tone.
Legolas looked up at him. The Sindar was watching his son from above yet another glass of spicy wine. His aquamarine, calculating gaze bore such sharpness that it scared the younger. Legolas sometimes found himself wondering; what had those eyes witnessed through the centuries? What had they seen?
“I went for hunting around the woods…” the Prince said. “Had I known you’d wished to see me I would have stayed inside.”
Thranduil drank his wine and placed his glass on the table. “You have just returned from a week of border patrol one would think you must be tired of hunting…” he said casually.
“You know I love the woods…” Legolas said as he smiled, almost relived that the King had believed his lie about his whereabouts and that the conversation was flowing so easily.
“I also know you love that servant girl…” the Elvenking said flatly shattering his son’s hopes.
Legolas opened his mouth to object but his father interrupted him. “And don’t tell me that you were not with her beside the waterfall…” he said. To that the Prince closed his mouth and blushed. He hated how his father knew literary everything. Sometimes he suspected the King had placed spies for him. The Elvenking walked closer to him, so close that Legolas could smell the spice of wine on his mouth. The Prince feared a legendary outburst of anger but it did not come. “Your lies insult my intelligence…” the King said instead.
A few moments of tension passed before Thranduil turned away from his son. He walked back to the window again. The bitterness between them was almost tangible in the air.
“I told you I do not wish for you to see her…” the King said, gazing out of the window.
“You say as if matters of the heart can be controlled.” Legolas replied making his father turn sternly to look at him with his cold gaze.
“Do not tell me you are so naïve to let a refugee from the south capture your heart…” Thranduil said.
“And if I am…?” Legolas challenged.
Thranduil did not answer for a few seconds. His eyes searched his son’s as if he sought the truth and unfound secrets in those blue orbs. But Legolas was not hiding anything and he thought the piercing gaze of his father to search for things that were on the surface and easy for him to grasp.
“You are a prince…” the King said at last. “You must choose someone from your own station and class.”
“She is not as lowly as you think she is…” the Prince protested. “She’s great healer and was born in a noble family.”
“Do not call Siavash noble!” the King suddenly shouted which startled Legolas. A tense silence settled between them during which the father and son glared at each other. Clearly the subject of the Southernwood was still sensitive for the Elvenking.
“Sarab might be his niece, but she has cut all ties with Siavash…” the Prince started to explain cautiously as if his father was an angry tiger that would attack any second. “She refuged to you, swore her fealty to you…she even accepted to be humbled and lain low only to remain here and not be sent back to her uncle.”
“Had I known she would snake her way into your bed I would have sent her back to where she came!” Thranduil hissed bitterly. His words about the girl Legolas loved stabbed the younger in the heart. His father knew nothing about Sarab. Only the fact that she was Siavash’s niece. This was enough for the Elvenking to consider the elleth his sworn enemy. Legolas could swear if it was not for his reputation the King would not have accepted Sarab’s asylum to the Stronghold. He had after all done it with much reluctance and had degraded the young elleth drastically. But Sarab had accepted all the terms only if she could stay.
“You say it as if I have no will of my own…” the Prince voiced the bitterness of his heart.
“Well it seems like it!” the father said. “If your food was not tested every day I would have thought she had used some sort of a love potion on you!”
“You speak as if she’s a nasty witch…” Legolas said sadly. “You don’t even know her.”
“I do not have to know her to understand that this is wrong…His uncle is my sworn enemy. For Valar’s sake he tried to kill me a hundred times.” the King said heatedly. “Why can’t you see Legolas, by getting close to you she’s trying to get close to me, to hurt me.”
“So you mean that no one can love me…” the Prince shot back. “Like always, everything is about you!”
Thranduil opened his mouth to say something but closed it immediately fearing that his words would only worsen the situation. He sighed and ran his hands over his face. His son was young and he could not make him see.
“You are the son of a king Legolas…” he said at last, feeling sorry that he had to lay such a burden upon his son. “Love is an unreachable dream for people such as us.”
Those words tasted like a bitter medicine to Legolas. He did not like how his father viewed the world. Legolas still had hope that there was good in everyone and that he only needed to see it and bring it out. But his father never thought like him. Thranduil was paranoid. He always thought everyone wanted to hurt him or his kingdom. Legolas did not wish to live like that. There was however a very sensitive place on the King’s nerves that Legolas did not so often dare to tap.
“I thought you loved my mother…” he said testing the waters.
Thranduil looked up at him with his icy eyes. The mention of the late Queen was enough to shake his demeanor though in took much perception to see it. The corner of his eye twitched and his pupils delated as if they were seeing a long lost memory. For long moments Thranduil gawked at his son without a word as if he was calculating whether to answer him or to backhand him in the face for even mentioning his mother. After all the king never spoke of his Queen.
“Well look where it got me…” he whispered at last.
The ice and regret in his father’s tone sent shivers down Legolas’ spine. Thranduil had no denied that he had loved his wife. But he looked tired and for the first time Legolas thought he saw the traces of loneliness on his father. To the King’s words he had nothing to say for they were unmercifully true.
Thranduil sighed. He circled the desk to stand before his son. Legolas could smell the scent of spring on him. The King’s aquamarine orbs found his and they were not cold like before.
“This world is a cruel place…” he whispered. “I do not wish for you to learn this the hard way.”
“I believe you had asked me here for a reason…” Legolas said wishing to change the subject.
“Yes…” the King nodded, being snapped back to the moment. “I wished for you to be here while I was talking to Girion…but you chose to disregard my summons.”
“You usually have your meetings alone with him…” Legolas said ignoring his father’s comment. “What had changed this time?”
“As the crown Prince I merely wished for you to be present and give your king counsel…” Thranduil said flatly. “Which was false hope obviously…I’ve made my decision alone on the matter, as always.”
Legolas watched his father turn away from him. The King slowly went back to the pitcher and refilled his glass of wine. Thranduil’s daytime drinking was something his son was not fond of. But the Prince knew better than to say anything about it when his father was angry with him. If he wanted to be honest, Legolas could not care less about not being present at the meeting. He knew they were boring and full of sharp stinging words that were exchanged between the two rulers. Legolas did not like hollow friendships such as these.
“So I may leave now?” the Prince asked after a while.
Thranduil did not answer him for a moment but then waved a dismissive hand at his son without turning from the view of the window. Legolas internally sighed in relief as he gave a bow to his father’s back; something he had learned from very early age and turned to leave. His hand had barely touched the handle when the King called him.
“Ion-nin…”
The Prince froze for a moment before turning. Since he had reached his adulthood, the King rarely called him that. He gazed at his father. The Sindar still had his back towards his son, peering at the forest from his window. The afternoon sun created a halo around his golden head. To Legolas his father looked like the paintings of the Golds in the old history books. His waterfall of golden hair gave him an ethereal air. Legolas remembered a time when he still dared to run his fingers in those locks. He remembered their unbelievable softness and the sweet smile that graced Thranduil’s lips when he tugged on them playfully as a child. But long years had passed and now when Legolas looked at his father he rarely saw his happy father but a lonesome king.
“End your affair with Siavash’s niece…” the Elvenking said flatly. “I do not wish to separate you by force but it does not mean I will not.”
Legolas flinched. The King was being heartless with his judgement and cruel with his words. It burned the Prince to the core. But what was killing him was that he had no power to stand against his will. Legolas loved Sarab. He was sure of that, but was love going to be enough to stand against the Elvenking himself. The Prince forced back a broken sigh and left the study.
***
“Look adar a baby bird…” Legolas shrieked as he released his father’s hand and ran towards what he had seen at the roots of a massive tree.
The young Prince ran as fast as his small feet could carry him until he reached the foot of the tree and saw for himself that indeed a baby bird was there between the grasses. The small thing still had no feathers and its body was covered with coarse hair. It made little shrieks which was why Legolas had found it in the first place.
The Prince cupped his little hands and lifted the bird, holding the creature close to his chest as the animal squeaked. The boy then looked up at his father who was gazing at the scene with a light smile.
“Adar, can I keep him?” Legolas asked, his heart fluttering in his chest from the notion of keeping the bird for himself. The excitement running through his veins.
“Of course you can, but I’m not sure the little one wants to come with you…” his father said as he gently kneeled in front of him to become eyelevel with his son. “You see, she is probably lost and I’m pretty sure she misses her mother…”
When Legolas gawked at him with a puzzled expression the father continued. “Would you not miss me if someone were to take you away for himself!?”
Suddenly Legolas felt sick with himself. Guilt surged through his small body and he hated himself for wanting to separate the bird from her mother. Unknowingly tears formed in his eyes from the childish cruelty that he had been about to do. His father chuckled lightly and pulled him in his tight embrace.
“Now now my leaf, let’s find her naneth and take her home…” he said his voice rumbling pleasantly in his chest on his son’s ear as he rose to his feet lifting the Prince and holding the child on his hip. “Her nest must not be far away.”
The Elvenking looked up, craning his long pale neck to peer up between the dense leaves of his forest to find the nest as his son watched. Legolas liked how the morning light and the shadows of the leaves played on his father’s skin.
“Ah look there it is…” Thranduil pointed at a branch. Legolas looked up to where he was showing. Far up on the massive tree there was a nest from where the baby bird had probably fallen from. “Shall we put her back?” to that Legolas nodded enthusiastically.
If it were any other arms holding him Legolas would have been terrified, but this was the embrace of his father and these were the safest arms in the world and he was pretty sure the tree they were climbing was his father’s friend. So the Prince sat firm but content as the Elvenking climbed the branches with only one arm to assist him. When they reached the thick branch that housed the nest, Thranduil allowed his son to place the bird back in her nest discovering that there were three other brothers and sisters inside. The mother bird arrived just in time to feed her children.
After watching the birds for a while Legolas felt his father’s arms tighten on his waist again as he lifted the Prince. “Want to see something exciting?” the older elf asked. Legolas nodded and clutched on his father’s tunic as the Elvenking climbed the branches higher and higher, until it was too scary to look down. So Legolas pressed his face to his father’s chest and closed his eyes waiting for him to come to a halt.
It was after a short while when he felt his father’s long and tender fingers caressing his hair. “Look…” he urged. The Prince reluctantly raised his head from the safe refuge of his father’s chest and slowly turned to see what the older elf wanted him to see and his breath caught in his throat.
As far as his eyes could see, there were trees under their feet stretching to the horizon. In was autumn so the leaves were red and orange like a carpet in contrast to the blue sky above. The weather was clear and Legolas could see white mountains in the distance and a lonely one closer. He could even see a lake.
“All this…” Thranduil whispered in his small ear as he pointed towards the edge of the forest. “Is our Kingdom.” He pointed at the whiteness the Prince could see on the horizon. “Those are the Misty Mountains, and beyond them lies Imladris. Lord Elrond lives there and is one of my closest friends.” He then pointed at the lonesome mountain on the north. “And that is the Lonely Mountain.” He said kissing his son’s cheek tenderly. “When you are older I will take you to all of these places and show them to you.”
“It’s beautiful…” was all Legolas could say with his limited childish vocabulary.
The cool autumn breeze danced in his golden hair as he shifted in his father’s embrace to get a better glimpse at the south. As the land stretched towards the south it seemed to grow darker.
“Adar what is there…?” Legolas asked pointing at the south. “Do elves live there?”
He could feel his father’s hesitance. The Prince even felt Thranduil’s hand tense on his body.
“Yes some still live there…” he answered at last. “But they are not good people…”
Legolas did not understand but nodded none the less. “And that dark place…” he pointed at the area that was almost black from above.
No answer came from his father. The silence stretched so much that the Prince turned to look at his father’s expression. The King had his eyes on the darkness. He clutched on his son harder. “That was once my home…” he said.
“Legolas…”
The Prince was snapped back to reality even though the voice calling him was the gentlest of all. He raised his head from where he was resting his brow on his knees, hunched in a familiar fossa of the wall. He had meant to go back to Sarab but after the talk with the King he had no heart to do so. What had he to say to her anyway?
The voice that had called him worriedly was his aunt’s. But that was just a label. In reality Aleth was the mother of both him and Kyan even though biologically she had given birth to neither of them. The Princess was a powerful elleth and Legolas admired her. She was tall with a straight back and though her gaze could be as piercing as her brothers if she willed it to be, her look held a warmth that Legolas had long lost in his father’s icy gaze.
She was concerned about him. Legolas could tell it from her eyes which were very similar to her brothers. But the Prince could not tell what he had let out to make her feel this way.
“Why are you hiding here?” she asked.
Right. Perhaps hiding himself in that desolated corridor where he used to hide as a child was reason enough for Aleth to fret over him.
“I needed some time alone…” he said, his voice hoarse from lack of use.
The Princess’s eyes scanned him up and down. Legolas felt extremely exposed in that moment but tried to hide his sadness from his aunt’s eyes.
“This is about that girl isn’t it?” she asked at last. Clearly the Prince had failed in his attempts in concealing his inner turmoil.
“Perhaps it’s better to say it’s more about my father wanting to separate us…” he corrected, voice no more than a whisper.
Aleth looked at him sympathetically. “You argued again…” she guessed.
“He wants me to tell her off just because she’s from Southernwood…” Legolas defended. “Should I not argue with such a stupid logic?”
“He has a point in there Legolas…” Aleth tried to reason softly.
“So you agree with him!?” the Prince’s eyes went wide with disbelief and disappointment.
“No I don’t, because I’ve known Sarab since she came to the Stronghold…” Aleth raised her hand to stop Legolas from interrupting her again. “All I’m saying is that you should place yourself in your father’s shoes; see the things from his perspective.”
“That’s what I’m doing all the time…” Legolas said bitterly. “Why can’t he do that for once?”
Aleth rolled her eyes. She knew arguments between fathers and sons were normal happenings but the Princess had seen such disputes escalate to dangerous levels. She had seen the rift that small arguments had created between her father and Thranduil. She did not want her brother to go the same way. Legolas looked utterly and helplessly in love and although the Princess had not approved of his choice at first she had settled her grievances aside because of the love she had for her nephew and because she truly did believe that Sarab had returned to their side. In such a situation Legolas needed his father to stand behind him not against him and Aleth would make Thranduil see that.
“I’ll talk to Thranduil…” she said softly putting a tender hand on Legolas’ shoulder.
The Prince looked up at her with huge blue eyes. It painfully reminded Aleth of his mother. “What will you say?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet…” the Princess shrugged. “But I’ll try to make him understand and give the elleth a chance…”
It seemed that for now it had appeased the Prince because a soft smile graced his lips. “Thank you…” he whispered.
“Go now…” Aleth said patting his face. “Kyan has been looking for you again.”
The Prince nodded and hopped off from where he was sitting. Instead of a bow that was the protocol he gave the Princess and brief hug and ran off for the training grounds where he knew he would find Kyan probably extremely frustrated from wasting a whole day looking for Legolas.
***
The Elvenking sat on his throne of antlers high above the others; far and unreachable. His held his head high and his back straight and for the rarest of occasions he was glad for the feeling of alienation his demeanor made. He barely looked at the group who were gathering at foot of the throne but he did not need to gaze at them to smell the stench that they were scattering in the huge chamber.
Another group of asylum seekers from Southernwood was what they had expected when winter had given its place to spring. But they had not prepared for such a large number and so many young elves among them. It seemed that Siavash was losing his supporters among the youth.
His guards had hoarded at least 50 inside. They stocked closely to each other and though the weather was not cold, they shivered. They wore rags and they smelled liked the foulest of swamps. Clearly they had not had the luxury of baths and fresh clothing for elves were naturally careful with their hygiene and would not willingly neglect their cleanness.
But what wrecked the King’s heart was the state of the children. They were many and they were all malnourished. All sobbed from thirst and hunger and exhaustion. It shattered Thranduil’s mask of indifference. Children had no fault in the war between him and Siavash. They did not deserve to see this hardship.
“Take the children to the guest chambers…” he ordered. “Bring them food and water and let the maids bathe them.”
Immediately a number of guards approached the group. Thranduil had not predicted the reaction of the group when they clutched hard on their kids and formed a protective circle around them. They feared that they were going to be separated from their children and they would not have that, not in exchange with all the food in the world. The chaos was getting out of hand when a young elleth fought her way out of the crowd and stood tall in front of the throne.
“We’ve left our lives behind and come here to seek safety and ask for the Elvenking’s mercy and this is what we find?” she cried powerfully directly at the King forcing the hall into silence. “This is your mercy? To hoard us like animals and separate us from our children?”
Two guards marched to take down the elleth but froze when the King held up his hand for them to halt. The sentries who were trying to take the children away stopped as well and waited their King’s command. The Elvenking however had eyes for the elleth.
She was an average Silvan in height and built but the way she held herself showed that she had a history in leading people around. Her chestnut hair was tied back in a single simple braid down her back and her pale body was covered with a garment that was probably once green. The dress was torn at the edges revealing her injured shins and torn leather shoes. Her face was covered in mud and sweat but her green eyes stood out sharply.
Thranduil’s heart skipped a bit when he saw her eyes. Those green orbs were so similar to Morey’s even though the chestnut hair and her face had nothing to do with him or the dead elleth he had once bed. Still the King dared to hope and his breath came short when he asked.
“Who are you?” his voice echoed in the halls.
“My name is Sarab…” the elleth said with confidence. “I’ve escaped the territory of Siavash with these people. We seek a better and safer life…if you’ll give that to us, we are willing to swear to you as our king.”
Thranduil raised once skeptical eyebrow. “I am already your king…” he said. “The land you lived in is mine!”
“Owning a land does not make its people yours…!” Sarab said sharply but not impolitely.
Some of the guards made gestures to attack the impudent elleth but again Thranduil motioned for them to stand still. He liked this girl. She said the words that she thought was right without thinking who she was offending. That was courage he did not see much in the time when everyone wore a mask of false pleasantries.
“Is that so…?” the Elvenking smirked, enjoying the little banter. “So you and your companions wish to become my subjects…am I correct Mistress Sarab?”
“Yes…” she said flatly. The others looked at the King and their female leader hopefully. “But if that means you’ll separate us from our children then we want nothing from you. Order your men to release us and we will leave the forest and seek our destiny elsewhere.”
At that Thranduil smiled. This elleth was truly a lioness and he admired her courage. Not many dared to talk to him like that. “Do you believe I am such a monster?” the King asked with a fond smile. “You get me wrong Mistress Sarab, I only sought to take the children elsewhere so that they would be fed and tended to faster. Children are precious to me, they should never be witness to such hardship. Here under my protection, no one will separate you from your children.”
He could practically hear the sigh of relief that left the group. But the elleth was still looking at him doubtfully.
“I give you my word…” Thranduil said. “I allow the mothers to go with the children, as gesture of good will.”
The still doubtful elleth was somewhat appeased as she nodded. This time the group allowed the sentries to approach. The guards led the mothers and children out and already Thranduil felt slightly better knowing the children would at least be fed. He turned towards the elleth again.
“I accept you in my territory and you may stay here.” He told her. “Yet under circumstances.”
“I’m listening…” she narrowed her green eyes.
“Many among my subjects consider your people betrayers even when you pledge yourselves to me as your king.” The King explained. “I order that any asylum seeker stays in the royal section of the stronghold for 10 years and serves as a servant of the palace before starting a new life in the city. This gives us the opportunity to sift out those who are not with us at heart…if this condition is alright with you, you may stay and if not, you may take food and any provisions you need and continue your journey from here to wherever you wish to go.”
Sarab furrowed her brow as she thought. “There are some among us who are literate. Some of us are skilled warriors, we even have healers and herbalists among us…10 years is a lot of time to waste as servants in your palace.” She complained.
“You’ve already wasted more than this by staying in Southernwood…” the Elvenking said. “Still the choice is yours…no one will stop you if you choose to leave.”
The elleth thought for a few seconds. She turned and glanced at the elves who were still standing behind her. They looked back at her with tiered hopeful eyes. She smiled at them and then turned back at the King. “We accept…”
“Then welcome…” Thranduil gave them a rare smile. He glanced at Galdor who was standing at his left. He need not say anything for the Steward to understand what he wanted. The Silvan ordered the guards to lead the group the guest chambers and prepare baths and food for them.
As the group were leaving the hall, Sarab approached the throne. The guards at the sides tensed but Thranduil waved them off. His heart was pounding against his chest. He anticipated a secret that this elleth was about to reveal. Could it be that this girl was his lost daughter?
Sarab licked her dried lips as she looked up at him. “For myself I need something else as well…” she said.
“What can you ask more?” the King raised his eyebrows.
“Protection…” she announced. “I need you to protect me from Siavash himself.”
Thranduil frowned. “Siavash has never tried to hurt those who run away from Southernwood. He’s too occupied with his own problems to try that.”
The elleth shook her head indicating that there was something the King did not know.
“He will not hurt me…but he might try to take me back” she said. “You see…Siavash is my uncle.”
Thranduil hated the fact that her secret was not the one he wanted to hear.
Thranduil sat back on his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was getting dark but so consumed he had been in his work that the King had not realized it. He was tiered but still there were many mattes that needed his attention; mostly paper work and reports he had to read. His conversation with Girion nagged on his mind and his argument with Legolas practically screamed in his conscious.
If Thranduil was going to categorize he would never put Legolas among the children who were labeled bad. In fact Thranduil himself had been a much worse son for his parents. For his father the Sindar had been a true nightmare, bending the rules of Oropher in every way he saw possible. To be honest Legolas was none of those. He was rather irresponsible when it came to the matters of state and the King would have preferred to receive more help and support from his son; to know that should he resign or wish to not rule anymore the Prince would not back away. But Legolas never gave him such reassurances. He almost never showed presence in the council meetings unless Thranduil directly ordered him to. The Prince preferred to spend his time in the field and as much as the Elvenking was thankful for that, it scared him as well for it placed his son in more danger. But as a whole the King considered Legolas a good child. He was well-mannered and most of the time he was obedient. Except for this one matter; Sarab. The name of the elleth made a shiver run down Thranduil’s spine. At first when meeting the girl she had found spirit in her. She was nothing like her traitor uncle and the King was even considering to allow her a position in the royal healing wing. But not more than a few years after her arrival she formed an affair with Legolas. At first Thranduil had not taken it seriously. But he should have known better.
Unlike him Legolas was not a philanderer. He tended to spend his free time on the training fields or with friends. The Prince was not even much of a drinker comparing to his father. So he had fallen prey easily to the antics of Sarab who came from a blurry background and who knew how many past lovers. Thranduil had been made aware of this situation late and no matter how much he tried to talk his son out of it he failed. The King feared that the elleth still had ties with her past and with her uncle who still ruled the rebels of the South. He feared that Sarab would try to hurt his son. A soft knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts that were getting out of hand. He bid the person enter.
An elleth slipped past the door and closed it behind her. She had a uniform of maids on and had a long candle in hand. Thranduil had seen her around and knew she had been with one of the groups of the refugees from the south who worked in the palace now but the King did not know her name. The blonde elleth curtsied clumsily which Thranduil disregarded completely and then she started lighting the many candles in the room.
As the elleth went around the study doing her job the King tried to focus on the papers in front of him again which prove to be a hard task with the thoughts going around his mind. Then he felt the elleth approach his desk to light the candles there. She leaned her hips on the edge and bent a little too much to reach her intent. Thranduil was not daft. He knew too well what she was doing. It was an attempt he had observed among elleths and ellons alike since he had been widowed; a desperate try to gain his attention on particular places on their bodies.
Thranduil chose to disregard her attempts and ignore the fact that she was standing a little too close for it to be considered proper. He focused on the papers in front of him. Though he had become stonehearted after his wife, his body was not resistant to physical temptations and it had its own reactions.
After Leuthil he started physical intimacy pretty soon, and rather madly he had to admit. He took anyone who was willing and fucked anyone who asked for it wherever it was as long as it was not his chamber; not his bed. Many dared to talk behind his back. They accused him of not loving the Queen, of being shallow…and of being cruel of heart. But they did not know. They were the same people who lead him into allowing his wife to be sentenced to death and forced him to help her escape which ended up in her death. He wanted to forget, if only for a moment, that he was alone. He had returned to the ways of his youth, when he still had not fallen in love with her, when his only problem in life had been sex, wine and the cold war with his father. He tried to pretend that she never existed in his life. That he never lived through the brilliant centuries with her. That he was not widowed with no body to mourn on. It was easier that way. It allowed him to carry on, keep his head high and his back straight and face the world with the arrogance that had become his reputation.
The elleth could no longer pretend that she was lighting the candles on the desk and had to back away from him. Still the King did not raise his head from his work as she moved away a few short steps. He preferred to give her a chance to leave. Thranduil did not care who he fucked, but he preferred them to be willing and not have second thoughts in the process. He never forced them and always allowed them to leave whenever they wanted. His subjects were not his slaves even if some preferred to be, like this Southern girl who was so desperate for his attention.
“My King…” her husky voice reached him in an inviting whisper. “Is there anything…else…you might need?”
At the sweet mention of ‘else’ Thranduil looked up at her at last. Somewhere in the middle of the process she had shed one loop of her sleeve off her shoulder, revealing her creamy skin underneath. To the King it made a rather ridiculous picture of her in that uniform that was anything but seductive. But she was trying her best as she tilted her head and showed the expanse of her long neck.
Thranduil’s eyes roamed down her body, observing her in a manner that a merchant would examine a horse. He wondered how it made the girl feel and if that look offended her. She was beautiful like all the she-elves of his land. And though Thranduil preferred brunettes he could not deny her attractiveness, nor the well shape of her body. A long time he merely observed her with a flat expression under which the elleth blushed and assumed herself not wanted. At last the King raised a dark thick eyebrow. “Are you offering?” he asked as if negotiating a boring deal.
The elleth’s eyes grew wide with disbelief for she had thought of her chances lost by then.
“Yes…” she gasped.
Thranduil placed his quill down and stood up with grace. The elleth watched his movements like a doe would watch a lion that would soon hunt her. But to the Sindar she was not a prey. She had come here with her own will and had asked for this. He walked to her slowly. At some point she could no longer hold his intense gaze and dropped her eyes. When he reached her he placed a finger on her chin. She anticipated a kiss and tried to crane her neck for it but Thranduil never kissed these random lovers. He considered a kiss such an intimate and sacred act that had to only be shared among those who truly loved each other. It should not be tainted like this. He gently tilted her head and started placing open mouthed kisses on her neck. She immediately started moaning. A little too much for his liking but the King did not care. He could tell the elleth was young for she melted in his arms like vax with nothing but stimulating her neck. He turned her around so fast that she made a yelp.
“You are not a virgin are you?” he asked, breathing in her ear as he shoved her skirt up and slipped his large hand between her thighs.
“No my lord…” she moaned.
“Good…” was all he said as he slipped two digits inside her making her cry out from the suddenness of the intrusion. He started caressing her insides and stimulating her clit with his thumb while at the same time he massaged and squeezed her rather small breasts with his other hand. Her voice became louder and louder within each moment telling Thranduil of the pleasure she was having. In truth he did not care if she was enjoying it. After Leuthil he did not even care if his random lovers enjoyed the act of not. For him what mattered was that it would not be painful for them, that he would not hurt them and that they would also reach climax if possible.
The elleth gasped when all of a sudden Thranduil removed his hand from her insides. He did not give her time to think as he shoved her forward to desk and pushed her torso down upon it so that her ass was towards him and completely in his accesses. She let out a strangled sob, from anticipation or perhaps from the awkwardness of the position but did nothing to fight him.
“You can leave now if you want to…” the King said, his breath becoming labored as his own arousal grew.
The elleth did not answer only shook her blonde head, indicating that she did not wish to leave. That was enough for Thranduil. He opened the ties of his breaches and allowed his cock to be free. He was heavy and huge with want as he shoved himself inside her hot core with no hesitation. She screamed as Thranduil’s cock was thrusted all the way inside her. The elleth was tight and it took Thranduil’s breath away. He rested inside her unmoving for a few seconds allowing her to adjust but more so to allow himself to adapt to the tightness and the warmth of her.
He started thrusting inside her after that. With each thrust her moans escalated until it became unrestrained screams. He no longer cared as he shoved himself wildly inside her, pretending that it was what he wanted. It was not half the things he wanted. He wanted his own love, he wanted to hold her for hours, talk to her…look at her…touch her. Sex would be a privilege but he could do without it if it was his own love. This was animalistic. It was hardly even enjoyable. And this poor girl was only a puppet to feed up his physical need for this hour. He did not even know her name… Who knew who she was? Or who she was thinking of when he was fucking her like the mortal men fucked the courtesans.
“Did those traitors fuck you like this in Southernwood?” he hissed as he trusted in her even harder pressing his fingers in the cheeks of her bottom.
To his cruel words she only moaned wantonly and if they caused sadness she did not show it.
The elleth reached climax before him if her deafening screams were any indication. He fucked her for a few more minutes. It felt like thrusting his cock in a piece of lifeless meat. He pulled out of her and spilled his seed on the insides of her thighs. Most of these random girls came to him with hopes of becoming pregnant from his seed. That was a never come true dream, for Thranduil wanted no more children. Children had to be fruits of love not perversions.
When he released her firm hold on her waist she almost collapsed to the floor. Thranduil did nothing to straighten her. She balanced herself with her arms on the desk. The King was still panting as he adjusted his breeches. The elleth had no strength to gather herself. She gazed at him with glassy eyes as if she was begging him for something or perhaps she was seeing someone else in him. He did not care.
The King poured himself some wine and collapsed on the chair. The guilt and the bitterness replaced the enjoyment that was not there in the first place. He opened a drawer and took out a bag made of fabric. The coins inside jingled when they were moved. He did not know how many they were or if they were gold or silver. But he knew that he did not need them and that this elleth did desperately.
He threw it on the desk towards her with no words. She looked at the bag with surprise. Clearly she had nor expected this but then grabbed it greedily, placing it inside the breast of her garment. It disgusted Thranduil. All of it.
“Leave…” he spat the order in a whisper and did not watch as the nameless blonde hurried out of his study like many others, like he was some kind of a monster that could not be tolerated. They hadn’t even seen his face without the elvish magic that held it together.
Disgust surged through his body and after a few moments Thranduil could not tolerate his own being. He walked to the wash basin and started washing his hands that still smelled like the unknown elleth. To him the scent was nauseating. He rubbed the soup around in his hands and allowed the foam between his long fingers. It took a lot of time and a huge amount of water for him to be satisfied with his cleanness. He had to wait until night to have a bath and wash the filth of the act away completely. For now he had to do with this.
Thranduil was drinking his fifth glass of wine when Galdor entered after a knock. He bowed his head slightly and closed the door behind him. The Steward’s gaze went to the glass that Thranduil emptied. The King awaited a comment that did not come. Galdor had given up on resolving his excess drinking long ago. Thranduil knew he was getting worse within every day. It took him more and more wine to get drunk and the feeling was not even enjoyable anymore. But he did not believe the Steward had any place to worry when there were many more important matters at hand; like the affair his son was having.
“Are your men still watching that girl…?” he asked before Galdor could say anything. “Sarab.”
Galdor was taken aback by the question but then he fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes they are…” he said calmly.
“…and?” the King asked standing from his chair.
“And nothing Thranduil!” Galdor exclaimed frustrated. “The poor elleth does nothing except her duties.”
Thranduil frowned. “What about the raven house?” he asked. “Has she sent any letters recently?”
“She has sent no letter as she had not sent any letter for the years she has lived here! She has no one.” Galdor explained. “Why don’t you understand that she’s not a threat?”
“Then why has she started an affair with Legolas?” Thranduil argued.
“For your information my King it was your son who started the affair!” Galdor shot back. “And why do you think something twisted is at hand? Why can’t it be only love?”
“Because something twisted is always at hand!” Thranduil growled. “I will not lose my son like the others!”
“You will definitely lose him if you keep chaining him up!” Galdor said firmly.
The King opened his mouth but found no words to say so he closed it and looked away like sulking child. Galdor stepped closer to his king and lifelong friend. He hated to see the Sindar like this. The years of enduring conspiracies and losing loved ones made him cling on the only thing he had left but Thranduil needed to understand that clinging too hard would tear everything apart.
“You will not lose him…” Galdor said. To that the King turned and looked at him though still with a sulking expression that most would find bitter and intimidating but the Steward found vulnerable and somewhat adorable. “I’ll look after him, as I always have…don’t worry.”
It took a few seconds for the traces of worry to leave the king’s expression but at last he sighed and nodded in defeat.
“Now I have news that might interest you…” the Steward said in a more joyful manner. “It’s about Erebor!”
The name of the mountain made Thranduil’s face twist as if he had been made to drink a bitter poison.
“Nothing in that blasted mountain interests me!” he said.
“So you don’t want to hear what our dwarf spy has sent to us by his little pigeons?” Galdor said in a funny tone as he took out a rather narrow and long piece of paper out of his tunic and unrolled it between his fingers.
“I still can’t believe you managed to convince dwarves to spy for us!” the King chuckled as he leaned his rear on the desk and folded his arms.
“Consider it my special talents!” Galdor said smugly. He then turned serious again. “The Dwarf talks about strange riches in the mountain. I thought it might interest you.”
“Let the dwarves amass all the gold in the world…” Thranduil snapped. “I want nothing to do with them!”
“I was not talking about the gold!” Galdor defended.
“And I don’t care if they have found the most precious stone in the world, be it the heart of the mountain or the Earth itself…” the King said. “I still don’t want anything to do with them!”
“I was not taking about the Arkenstone!” Galdor said in an infuriating calm manner.
Thranduil pressed his lips together and swallowed back a stinging reply. “Pray tell what you are taking about Lord Steward!”
“As you know our spy works in the personal vaults of Thror…He believes that he had found a strange piece there that you might want to know about.” the Steward explained. Then with a smirk Galdor unrolled the long dirty parchment and started reading the very small letters that had been written behind each other like a train of ants. “…the number of the jewelries and the riches in the vaults are getting out of hand so I was assigned to make a list of them for the king. Inside the royal vaults I found an old chest with elvish letters engraved on its old wooden surface. The matter stimulated my curiosity since in Erebor we never had dealings with elves of any kind and so the existence of such a chest of elvish made was strange. I investigated and at last understood that the chest was brought to the mountain when the king and his companions traveled here from the Grey Mountains. Since I had to enlist the contents of the chest they opened it for me. Inside there was at least five handfuls of very small white gems, but of a color and alight I had never seen before…” Galdor looked up at Thranduil who had a deep frown on his face. “It even gets more interesting…” he said before continuing. “…also there was a necklace inside this small chest. This necklace I believe is elvish made. The design and the manner of the craft is not made by the hands of the dwarves. What also caught my attention was that this piece of jewelry has probably been broken, since I saw traces of mending on its chain that were certainly different from the original pattern and were most definitely done by my kin…”
Galdor finished reading and bended the paper between his fingers. He looked up at Thranduil but the King’s mind was not there. He had travelled back thousands of years ago to one afternoon when the serenity of Menegroth turned to a living hell; when flames consumed Doriath. He remembered that necklace on a pale long neck. That neck belong to the elleth Thranduil loved just as much as he loved his mother. That accursed day from behind a tapestry that had allowed him to hide as a little child Thranduil had watched this Queen get raped and killed by the hands of the dwarves whose descendants wanted him to pay homage to them. He had watched their coarse hands tear that necklace from her neck.
Thranduil blinked up at the Steward who was watching him with a look of concern. Galdor had called him a few times but he had not heard. “I was right, was I not?” he asked in tender tone. “You know this necklace.” It was a statement.
Thranduil swallowed. He had thought the necklace lost. Some said it was dropped into the sea. Some said it was destroyed. But the description was accurate and so similar that it shook the core of his soul.
“I think it’s the Silmaril…” he whispered to Galdor whose eyes reflected his own twisted feelings.