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I can’t wait to read the whole story!

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 6 - Tomorrow you'll know

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

sixth chapter synopsis: It was a difficult choice, but Aerin made it for you. Now with nothing holding you back, you already had the answer Thranduil longed for: yes. Now your only concern is the anxiety about the reunion. [7K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug.

glossary: Vendë: Maiden┆Rae, dimwë. Tolo, govano ven: Smile, sad girl. Come, meet us!┆Maenwë: Clever girl

Few things are eternal in this life. Lands can disappear after earthquakes, seas dry up with the seasons, stone fortresses are invaded and conquered. Not even the star that lights up the day, so far away since the prime of its creation, is a certainty. There is no way of knowing whether it will stay there tomorrow.

Certainly you are not an exception. Your face has changed, your body has changed, your mind has changed. Your hair continues to grow, your clothes continues to wear out, your skin continues to collect scars. Things keep changing. Now your mouth speaks a new language, just as your mind carries the weight of friendly words, and your body knows the excruciating pain of near death.

And your endless gratitude reached its limits.

In the silence of the dawn, you knew exactly where to step on the flooring so it would not wake anyone. You crossed the room, stepping on your toes where the wood was older, and held the doorknob. Slowly, carefully, you locked the door. Part of your anguish permeated the wood.

You closed your eyes and tried to ease your mind. You do not know how long it took, but you were able of creating a thick layer of ice on it. How does someone who freezes a river find it difficult to do something like that? Still, although eternity is a completely impossible target to hit, your ice will be capable of lasting a few hours.

It will be enough.

It was easy to pack. But to see everything you knew, all those things that for so long were part of your life, and just leave them behind… You do not have time to waste. Not with those you can not carry, or with people you do not want near you.

You folded your clothes carefully, you do not want them to wrinkle during your journey, and approached your table. You knelt down and fingered the underside of the wood, removing the letter you had glued there. The last letter. You tucked the only letter that survived between the pages of your most beloved book.

It seemed right to put the two together.

Ready to leave, you opened the window and sat on the frame. For the last time you looked at the place that for fourteen months had been your home. “Goodbye”, you whispered. “Thank you.” And you meant it.

Without ever looking back, without any regrets, you sneaked out of the inn to never come back.

But despise your anger, despise your spite and grief over the things you lost, you left something behind. Something that proved that even your certainty was not enough to freeze your heart. That even all that pain you carry is not enough to make you forget about everything. You left two letters behind. One addressed to Gandalf. The other for Aerin.

It was a goodbye. Or something close to it.

To wander in the early hours of the morning was strange. The cold fog made it difficult to see the path, but you already knew it. You had crossed it so many times, but never you felt so lonely doing it. Not even your memories accompanied you. All you had was your handbag and yourself.

And still, you did not looked back. Not even once.

The sun showed signs that it had not decided to disappear when you arrived at the village. It was still very dark, so many stars were visible in the infinite sky, but the heat made the fog rise. Seeing lamps being lit, bakers waking up, you understood that what you felt was not a clinging loneliness.

It was fear.

Was it from the dark and what could be hidden between the trees? Or maybe it was about Aerin noticing what you did. It is easy to run away and leave a letter behind, but to face her? Perhaps you feared arriving safely at Luthien’s house. Because if that happens, it means that all you can do now is to wait.

The sun set so the moon could shone in its place, and all you did was watch the fire turning your letters into ashes. There you where, motionless, staring at the remains of your treasures. She did not need to do such a vile thing. To burn them before your eyes. Aerin was cruel. She chose to be. So you made your own choice without thinking about her. Once in a long, long time you did something for you.

You chose the unknown future. You chose incertitude. You chose a life of joys, peace, harmonica. You chose a life of sadness, wars, losses. You chose boredom. You chose heroism. You chose evil. Parsimony and excess, eternal nature and imminent death, painful truth and necessary lies. You chose a life where you will be afraid forever and evermore.

You chose tomorrow and whatever it has for you.

That night after the fireplace ceased you came back to Luthien’s house and asked her to send a letter for you. And the letter she send was marked with tears and written in a hurry. It was made of lies. It said you were spending the last few days at Luthien’s house because of the bite. It was also made of omissions. It said nothing about what had just happened to you. And it was the truest, more honest letter you ever wrote.

Because it started with a yes.

Even though fear hurts you soul, you have never felt so determined to live. Any fear is better than a life of imposed limits. You prefer a million butterflies in you stomach than a withered certainty. Infinite looks nice and all, but you want more than just that.

And Thranduil offered you so much more than that.

Does he knows that he did that? That he gave the possibility of learning more about you powers, about the nature around you, and also the chance of a fresh start. Thranduil gave the unmissable chance to discover the world beyond the valley. But Thranduil also changed old certainties.

You were so sure you would never see him again. Now the only thing separating you from him is the path ahead. Is time. There it is. The true reason behind your fear. Knowing that you will see Thranduil again, and it means he will also see you.

He lingered with you. The way Thranduil hides his harshness on his politeness. Or the way he never, not even once, treated you like you were lesser than him even though he is a king. And his accent, so hard and projected, different than anything you have ever heard. His handwriting showed you the care and effort he put onto making his soul clear for you. Thranduil, despise anything he may think about himself, is so kind.

Does he miss you as much as you miss him? Does Thranduil knows that even if he could not help you with your powers, if his realm had nothing to add in your life, if you had nothing to gain with that: it would still be worth it? Does he imagine that seeing him again is enough for you?

Does he feel the same way about you?

Absorbed in your own memories, you did not even notice that Luthien was waiting for you on the stairs of her house. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Everything I have”, you showed the handbag you carried.

“Does that have space for more?”

You nodded, and Luthien entered her house without closing the door. You waited outside, glaring at the sunrise. The sky was golden. There were pink clouds, orange lines in the sky, but everything was golden. After such a dark dawn, you could not help but feel hopeful for the daylight.

“I will miss you”, you dealt with the elephant in the room as soon as you heard Luthien returning. “I need you to know this. Because I really will.”

Luthien gave you two different ointments. One was greenish, very liquid, and the other was almost transparent. As you held them, Luthien caressed your hands. “If everything works out for you I will never see you again”, Luthien whispered. “I need you to know that I am counting on it.”

The hug you gave her almost crushed Luthien’s ribs. You could not care less. She helped you wrap the jars and put them with the rest of your things. And until the carriage arrived, you talked as if it would not be the last time.

You did not know what the carriage looks like, you had only saw three or five during your life, but just a look at the one approaching was enough for you to be sure it was the one Thranduil warned you about.

It was a double-decker carriage, drawn by four horses, and the charioteer who drove it wore clothes as beautiful as the two guards sitting beside him. The red paint covered the cabin perfectly, the curtains hiding what was inside it. Above it, the Woodland banner roared.

“Until never again”, said Luthien.

The charioteer took your handbag. You felt a little bit guilty that he leave his post to help you with something so tiny. The man opened the cabin’s door, and gesture for you to enter it. Both the guards greeted you.

You approached, and he extend his hand for you to get on. For the first and only time that morning, you looked back. You had tears begging to roll down your face, but you smiled anyways. “I hope so.”

And the moment the door closed, you could only wonder if your choice was the right one. You already have the answer for the question, and is such a simple one: maybe tomorrow you will know. And everyday for the rest of your life the answer will be the same: maybe tomorrow you will know.

Now all you have to do is wait.

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If the Elvenking’s Halls staff were forced to vote — and if they were also guaranteed their right to privacy — ninety-eight percent of them would decide that life was easier when Thranduil was away. That equation has a two percent margin of error.

Ancient tapestries telling stories from other eras have been brushed. New chair were ordered from the royal carpenters, tables were sanded in all their details, and every wall was cleaned with warm cloths. For days anywhere someone could walk would have part of the staff working until exhaustion. Until it was perfect.

And the Elvenking was never satisfied.

Thranduil made a point of personally analyzing each room, and his criticisms were cruelly honest. In the moment he finally said that it was perfect, the praise was already accompanied by a new order. Tidy up the stables, brush the horses, check the library’s organization. Royal painters were invited to spend the next few months at the Halls, just as the best singers will be part of the dinners and dances.

No part of the Halls were left untouched. Not even the Elvenking’s chamber.

The curtains were washed, the table organized, candlesticks replaced with new, more polished ones. But what really mattered was not his chamber, but who lives on it. Thranduil took measurements for new robs to be sewn, new jewels were cast into rings, his hair was brushed to perfection.

What changed the entire staff’s opinion was the Elvenking’s concerned proving to be millions times stronger when it came to that empty chamber. Who lives for so long find easy to interpret those signs. When Thranduil could not sleep because he needed to chose whether the bed sheet should be golden or navy blue, it was easy to come to a conclusion.

The Elvenking was reduced to a man in love.

And even that he made it everyone’s problem, it was a good change. It made the Elvenking become obsessed with every minor detail, but it also made him younger. It made him want something new than to just endure. And Greenwood seemed to blossom with its king.

Tuor followed the carpenters carrying furniture to the once empty chambers, dodging workers trying to gather dust and maids removing curtains. That room was busier than a war trenches, but the dark-haired knight continued until he was at his king’s side. Tuor watched him instruct where the cabinets should be placed, warn about the room needing to be warm all the time, say that blue is definitely the best choice.

“There are more important matter to discuss, your grace. Things that will last longer than a braided cloth”, Tuor whispered to him. “And it should be golden.”

Thranduil sighed. He knew it was the wrong choice the moment he finish speaking. “Golden it is.” Thranduil hesitated before turning his head towards Tuor, his eyes still glued to the chamber in front of him. “The sun runes were translated?”

Tuor took a step back, indicating that they needed privacy. The king led the way, following the passages of wide halls carved from living trees. The corridors became emptier as they moved away from the chamber, and after a few minutes of silence Thranduil stared at him. Tuor was tall, but he needed to look up to speak to his king.

“How much they know?”

“Everything that matters”, Tuor sighed. “How our watch shifts works, where the wall is weakest, our combat strategies. They even traced spider’s nests. I just do not understand, your grace, why sun runes. They are goblins, orcs, vile creatures. Should not it be moon ones?”

Thranduil crossed his arm. “Tell me: why is the Halls under the ground and not high on it? Would it not be more difficult to attack something you can not reach?”

“In some cases, yes”, replied Tuor. “But this does not mean that our defense will be at a loss. It is impossible to enter without us knowing, and from below we can evacuate the entirety of our realm without arousing suspicion. Even if our enemies were stronger or more numerous than our army, our passages are deeper and safer. Our trees are strong, your grace. And those creatures we fight have not even begun to understand that.”

Thranduil agreed, noticing how quickly Tuor turned his thoughts into words. There is no way for him to be a great ruler if he is not surrounded by great minds. “It means you understand that not everything is as simple as it seems. Think again. Why sun runes?”

Tour hesitated. He opened his mouth, but could not think of anything smart to say. Not when he felt so cornered. Than the realization came. There is a reason for those maps to not be written in a way those monsters could understand. “They are not meant for them.”

“Exactly.” The Elvenking moved towards the council hall. Thranduil already knew the amount of work they would have for the next weeks would be equivalent to the work the Halls’ staff had for the last few days. “Do you understand what that means?”

“What, your grace?”

The doors to the council hall opened. Before Thranduil could enter, he turned to his old friend and gave him a smirk. “It means that our traitor will be easier to find.”

This friendship is old enough for Tuor to be able to understand the things Thranduil chose not to speak out loud. Easier to find? It was just Thranduil’s way of saying it will be easier to kill.

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It was easy to fall asleep in the carriage cabin. The benches were comfortable, there were soft blankets inside them, even the constant movements of rocks and holes on the path turn it into the perfect environment to rest. You had two books with you, but with the movement your eyes ache trying to read it.

You started to spend nights awake and days asleep. It was easy to get lost in your imagination just to realize you were actually dreaming. What made you notice time passing was not the sky, the changes in temperature, or the guard checking every now and then if everything was fine. It was the trees.

Going down the mountain and away from Rivendell, both the climate and the river changed. There was less water for the threes, and also more heat. The light green faded, thick branches thinned, colorful flowers had not yet bloomed. You tend to blur your vision so you can see a smudge of colors.

If you were not sleeping, you were appreciating the view. Not even your fertile imagination could create all those different places. Every idiosyncracy was marked in your memory, and even the most common scenarios meant something to you. It was a reminder that whatever happens from now on is part of your deal with tomorrow.

A few times you placed your head over the window, eyes closed and winds ruffling your hair, stretching your hands as far as you could. It was as if you could uproot one of the distant trees and bring it to you. The guards always ordered you to keep your entire body inside the cabin, but you could not help it.

You could, you just did not want to.

Not when you feel so light, almost as if the right wind could make you fly away.

Your mouth stays shut for most part of your days. The charioteer is kind, and both guards are way to invested on guaranteeing you are safe, but they are away from you. Inside of the cabin, all you can do is hear. The world around you — sometimes, at the middle of the night, you swear you can hear its engines turning —, but also at what the three elves chat about when they think you will not hear.

The charioteer is anxious about his daughter pregnancy. One of the guards, Lhoris, fell in love last spring with a singer. Your heart almost melt inside your chest when you heard him calling her a siren. The other one is more reserved. It took you two days to hear him speaking for more than seven seconds.

There were a few times when they whispered about the Elvenking. About how he spend so long away that some feared that Thranduil went to the Undying Lands. About how he bravely chased monster after monster and never once a elve under his protection fell down. About how Greenwood seemed to blossom after his arrive.

Maybe because you know nothing about kings, maybe because you heard a few things about Mirkwood, but you thought Thranduil’s subjects would fear him. Your opinion changed, but it still surprises you that what you heard was gratitude. Relief. Recognition.

It happened during sunset. They thought you were sleeping, at any other day they would be right. But green leaves just turned into faded brown and you wanted to see it all. Bari, the quiet guard, wondered what made his king chose him to this task. To protect someone so dear to him.

That made you heart fluster. Dear.

You also got interest on the things they do not say out loud.

Like how the two guards follow you closely whenever there is a stop at some village. One day you were bored so just ran from them, and took half a second so they would be right behind you. You try to do this whenever you think they are distracted. They never truly are.

Or how whenever you need something in your handbag the charioteer take extra care so you will not stretch your arms. Your clothes do not show the scar across your shoulder, but you think he was informed to be careful about it. You think Thranduil warned them about it.

Sleep, observe, listen: they all are just ways of stopping you from spending your time thinking about him. Every day makes you a little bit more anxious, because every day that passes get you closer to him. Thranduil, Thranduil, Thranduil. That is not just a name anymore, it is a intricate melody for your mind.

How should you act when you finally see him? The right thing is to bow, you know that, but that feels so wrong. And to hug him… would a king feel offended by that? Perhaps it is too disrespectful for those kind of people. Should you have asked him what was the proper way to behave on court? Or would that too be offensive?

You woke up when the carriage suddenly stopped moving. You had just got on your feet when the charioteer knocked on the door. You fixed your hair before opening it. “Another stop?”

“No, unfortunately no”, Tanyl reached for your hand.

You thanked him as get out of the cabin. All for horses were free from their restraints, and were saddle by the guards. When you walked towards them, sleep being expelled from your body, you saw it. You saw everything.

“Apparently rained in Greenwood last night, and some trees fell and blocked out path. We need to follow the Elf-path on horseback, vendë. We lament for the inconvenience.”

Even if they have burned all your clothes, if it was the end of the world, you would not have cared. What was in front of you, around you, was way more important than anything else. Than anyone else.

It was autumn.

You know it has just begin. The citadel reported the change od seasons a couple of weeks ago. Cold wind has become more common than the warm one, leaves have started to fall, fruits stopped growing. Summer ended, autumn begin, but this… Even someone who only heard what autumn is would recognize it.

This place was autumn itself.

It seemed to be a faded orange, but every other tone revealed itself for those that payed attention. Burgundy leaves, twisted brown branches, greenish swallows. A speck of blue shook the branches, and soon the butterflies separated. Its blue wings became multi-colored with the sunset reflection. Wind made everything feel so alive. Of course plants are living being, you know that, but they seemed to breath. To move in harmony.

Some may only see an orange spot, but they did not pay attention to the singularities of the world around them. To all the beauty, and life, and sweet melodies. Those who can not see its colors are simply unable of perceiving beauty even when its right in front of their noses.

That made you blood boil. Your fists clenched, as if you would start a fight with anyone who dared to say something bad about this realm. And maybe you really would. You have never been on a fight, but for this place you would.

Mirkwood. How dare them? This place does not deserve such a horrendous name. How did those bad rumors made a way into everyone’s mind? Mirk. It is a land invaded by spiders, with enchanted waters and intoxicating air, but it is much more than just that. It is beautiful. Delicate. And it endured for so long.

That word will never escape your mouth anymore. You swear on this. From now on, it is just Greenwood. As it should. As it deserves.

“Do not lament it”, you gave a beaming smile. Without waiting for instructions, you got near the horses. Its been enough time since you rode one. “Are we closer?”

Lhoris guided the group, he knew the Elf-path better than any of them, and made sure that your horse would stay close to his all the time. “A few hours more, and you will be able to rest inside the Elvenking’s Halls.”

Time never took so long to pass. It was a beautiful view, a stunning one, but at every corner you expected to see his palace. To see him. And at every corner all that waited for you was more of the marvelous forest.

Within time you noticed it. The enchantment on the path. Gandalf showed you something similar, and smaller, before. Aerin tended to be mad at you whenever you spend the night reading, and when you told him that… All Gandalf heard was a chance of mischief.

He made it so easily. When you are on you armchair, you are protected. No one can see you, or notice what you are doing. You feel like a child whenever you used it. Like a rebel.

Suddenly your excitement disappeared. You thought about your past as if it was your present.

“Rae, dimwë”, an intricate harmony woke you ip from your thoughts. You looked around, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. “Tolo, govano ven!”

Bari, after seeing how startled you got, rode to you. “They are welcoming us.”

“Oh”, you tried not to sound to surprised. It did not worked. You remember hearing once about how music is important to elves. It is used to spread knowledge, to make people feel better, to play with others feelings. “What did they sang?”

“Smile, sad lady”, Bari recited. “Come, join us.”

You tried to force a smile, and after a feel seconds it felt real. They were welcoming you. Why get sad thinking about tomorrow when you could be thinking about the present? Then it hits you. Welcoming. “Does that mean we are near?”

Tanyl nodded. “Almost there.”

You almost went faster than Lhoris. The only thing that stopped you was the fear of taking the wrong path and ending up in trouble. Your hands sweated against the reins, and the birdsong was replaced by the strong beating of your heart.

The trees were old deep in the forest. So long, bigger than houses. Even your horse took a good few seconds to cross the entire length of one. And they were so high that the sky had already disappeared. As the minutes piled up, the long bridge came into view. It was perhaps older than those trees. And passing over the waterfall, it led to the gates that separate the forest from the Elvenking’s Halls.

So that is a palace. You have seen engravings in books, but nothing would make you understand how tall it would be. Just the entrance, the placid blue windows and the heavy gate that could only be touched by those allowed to do so, was a luxury you never thought possible to witness.

And inside the Envelking’s Halls, you finally understood what Thranduil meant by a birdhouse.

It was as if the trees were born to this. All the bridges, stairs, walls and ceilings: everything was alive. Everything was a plant growing and expanding. The engineered columns, the perfectly sized doors, the constant moat that showed that the great asset of it was not the height of the palace, but its depth.

This place is definitely not worthy of being called a birdhouse, but you can not think of a better way to describe it.

Your traveling companions leave to look after the horses. You followed new guards, who welcomed you by name and instructed you on the path. Your nails were at the brick of penetrating your skin. They opened a door, and inside the room was the first person that was not a guard to welcome you.

And it was not Thranduil.

It was a woman. A beautiful, elegant woman. When her eyes met yours, they seemed to shine like a million stars. She got near you, took your hands between hers, and squeezed them lightly. “It is so nice to finally meet you. Please, call me Lorie.”

Her hands felt so warm on yours. “It is nice to finally be here, Lorie.”

“You must be so tired.” Lorie stood next to you, and you imitated her as she started to walk. Some part of you feared that you would not be treated well, but she quickly made those thoughts evaporate. Lorie took you to a staircase, and climbed it slowly. “Three days, right?”

“Four”, you answered. “I am pretty sure Bari, Lhoris and Tanyl are way more tired than me. All I did was wait.”

“You will not fool me”, her laugh made your smile grew bigger. She had such a alluring way of being. “I saw you. You rode til here, and that I know is so exhausting. Horses see me as the enemy. That is why I am the one welcoming you.”

“What do you mean, Lorie?”

Lorie turned into a corner, and you tried to make yourself pay attention to her face but everything was so beautiful. So different than anything you ever saw. “You deserve to rest. And to bath, and eat. It would not be very polite of a king to welcome a guest that would rather sleep on the floor than to be part of a conversation.”

You licked your lips, and hoped your voice would not changed with his mention. “When will I… see the king?”

Lorie smirked. She guided you to another stair. “At night, during banquet.”

Lost in the immensity of your thoughts, it took a few seconds for you to notice the silence. In an attempt to take the attention away from yourself, you turned to Lorie. “Why are you accompanying me?”

“Our king has granted me the honor of being your lady-in-waiting”, Lorie seemed very happy about this. You did not really know what that meant. “I hope to meet your standards.”

You thought about saying you did not have any, but that sounded a little bit rude. “Do not be so hard on yourself. Thank you for helping me, Lorie.”

At some point she entered a corridor, turned at a crossroads, climbed another staircase. You were too caught up in the conversation to pay attention. The only thing that made you take your focus off Lorie was her stopping walking.

The tall door had elks carved into it. You felt tempted to touch them, but you did not. “Ready?” Lori asked, holding the doorknob.

You nodded. It was the only thing you could do.

Sun reached your eyes. The long balcony allowed you to see the forest from above. The sight moved you. All the colors and sound that accompanied you were even brighter and louder from there. There was a mountain in the distance, the river that led to the waterfall in front of the gates, the immensity of that corner of the world.

The room was large, bigger than any room you had ever been in until today, and so warm. There were candles scattered throughout the room, candelabra decorating each piece of furniture. You followed the lights, circling the room, and slid your finger through one of the shelfs on the wall. They were all books with the common language and Elvish one in it.

A long tapestry telling a ancient story covered the floor, and it broke your heart when you had to step on it to reach the wide bed in the center of the room. If Lorie was not there, you would have jumped on it. Instead, you sat on your bed and caressed the golden bed sheets. “So pretty”, you whispered to yourself.

“Everything is perfect?” Lorie closed the door behind her. She got closer, hands supported at her bottom back. “We can change anything. From the curtains tissue to whatever book you may desire. All you need to do is inform us.”

You hid your smile behind your hand, but it had already reached your eyes. “It will not be necessary.” You took a deep breath. It smelled like pomegranate and cinnamon.

A knock on the door made you get up from the bed. Lorie opened it, you could not see who was on the other side. The person handed her a handbag, and Lorie closed the door one more time.

Lorie placed it on your bed. She walked away and opened the gigantic closet doors on the wall in front of your bed. Carefully, you took out your two books from your handbag. You placed them on a shelf, making sure they would not get wrinkled, and when you turned to you bed you saw Lorie snooping through your things.

“What is your favorite color?” Lorie asked you. “It do not need to be a eternal answer, tell me just about today. What is your favorite color today?”

You thought the change of subject was strange, but you enjoyed the way Lorie worded her question. It was so much easier to find an answer. “Green. Why?”

Lorie nodded towards the closet, and only then did you realize that it was not empty. Good heavens, you could have come without any bags and it would not have been a problem. Maybe the closet do not even have room for the few things you brought. “I thought it would be easier for you to chose.”

“Is all this mine?” Lorie agreed. “All of this?”

Lorie approached, and squeezed your shoulders while you admired everything. It was one thing when Thranduil gave you a dress as a gift. It was something occasional. But this… So much jewelry, gold, chains. Silk, velvet, cotton. All the colors of the rainbow were there, just as those that are not part of it. This is a treasure hidden inside a closet.

“I think green will suit you perfectly”, Lorie whispered. “Let’s get you ready for tonight, shall we?”

Your heart flustered once again.

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Thranduil is usually responsible for making meetings last longer than they were first supposed to. He does not accept leaving one without all the answers he wants. And even when he has them, the Elvenking is not so easily satisfied. You do not reign for so long without being able to gather all the knowledge necessary to make the best decisions.

In a moment as disastrous as this, with the discovery of something moving between the free kingdoms and gathering information for the Enemy, it would be expected that the Elvenking would not stop until he was sure that he had done everything he should.

Watch shifts have already changed, blacksmiths have been informed about the creation of new weapons, fighters will be trained in different, new styles. But that is not all. It is necessary to find a way to stop the spy, to ensure that he is not inside Greenwood, to protect this realm from any harm.

To endure, no matter what.

And still, it was Thranduil who ended the meeting.

As soon as he was informed that the visitor had been taken to his room, Thranduil did not allow the discussions to continue. He gave his advisors no choice. Thranduil just got up and headed to his chambers, not caring about the frustrated grunts and whispered complaints he left behind. It is over, they can mourn it if they so desire.

Thranduil has more to do.

Centuries are mere blinks in an elven’s life. Hundreds of years are nothing more than brief moments for his kin. Still, the few hours that followed from the end of the meeting until banquet never took so long to pass. It had been so long since Thranduil became so aware of the passing of time. Aware of how slow it actually is.

The banquet hall had been built so that moonlight can penetrate the roots of the trees and take a seat at the table. Surrounded by depth, it functioned like and island in the middle of the ocean. All the residents of Elvenking’s Halls who were invited had already arrived, and the musicians played in one of the layers above so the sound can reach the whole hall. Everything was perfectly splendid.

But she has not arrived yet.

“Calm down, your grace”, muttered Tuor. The words were gentle, but the tone mocked Thranduil. “Do you fear that she has run away? It seems a very likely concern to me. A lady with good instincts would make that decision.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I think it is better that you move to the end of the table. Distance makes you more bearable.”

With a dry laugh, Tuor slid his fingers across his glass. “Would you rather be alone with your thoughts?”

Thranduil downed his wine. For Tuor, it served as an answer.

When the doors opened, all the guests stood up. Thranduil should not have done that, a king does not need to get up to welcome someone, but he was still the first to get up.

And the first thing Thranduil saw were your eyes. They had not changed. Weeks passed, the world came between the two of you, and still you have not changed. There were violets in your eyes. They flourished. You flourished.

Thranduil will never forget the first time he saw you. Your dress wrinkled and muddy, lossy hair framed your face with freedom, the lightness of your smile illuminating the inn.

He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Not in all the millennia of his life.

The silk dress adorned your body like running water. So smooth, so liquid. The fabric hung from thin straps, folded over your body, joined your skin as if they were one and the same. It was the color of emeralds, and the belts had diamonds sewn into it. The tail glided over the stairs as you descended it, shining like hundreds of stars.

Thranduil’s opinion remain the same.

With your hands hidden behind your back, you swallowed hard as you felt all the eyes burning into your skin. You blinked a few times, your hands sweating, and looked up at the spot you feared the most. You looked at Thranduil.

His robe was made of noble silver and black brocade, with silver piping and light gray embroidered vines. The burgundy coat was so different from anything you did ever seen him wear. So much stronger, more imposing. More natural.

Thranduil was at home.

But you only noticed the difference on his presentation when you were trying to sleep, turning over in bed with your head preventing you from closing your eyes. Only alone in the middle of the night you stopped to think about that. But at the moment you saw him, with ocean blue eyes deep on your soul, all you did was smile.

And so you bowed.

Thranduil called your name, and his voice gave you goosebumps. You lifted your posture and when you looked at him again, a bros smile occupied Thranduil’ serious face.

“Welcome”, he took a deep breath. Thranduil pointed with an open hand to the armchair on his right. “Join me.”

You bit your tongue. You were afraid that if you started to smile, if you let the happiness of your soul take place on your face, your cheeks would tear. Your next steps were slow, your lugs unable to do anything more than that, but sure until you were next to Thranduil. You almost forgot how tall he was.

One of the servants pulled out the seat for you. Without looking away from him, you sat down. “Hi.”

Thranduil sat on the edge of his armchair, not even noticing how his posture had bent. Conversations resumed for the rest of the table, which meant the two of you had privacy in some way. “How was your travel?”

“Stunning”, your eyes shone. “Greenwood is so beautiful. I must have almost left the Elf-path a few times because I got distracted admiring it.”

Thranduil sighed. “We were not able to clear the path after yesterday’s storm. I am sorry you had to complete the path on horseback.”

“Do not be”, you bit your bottom lip. It felt strange talking to Thranduil when there were so many people around you. It felt wrong that your conversations were not private. That they were not yours. “I loved it. Truly.”

He let out a giggle. “Will your honesty always continue to amaze me?”

“I imagine so”, you replied. “At least I hope so.”

Silence has never been so profound. Thranduil’s eyes seemed to look deep into your soul, and perhaps they really could. It was strange and new, but it did not bother you. Not in any way.

You removed your hands from behind your back, revealing the book you were hiding. Holding it with both hands, you showed it to the Elvenking. “A gift.”

Thranduil would normally have accepted vehemently, but without caring about it. Anyone else would have received an empty thank you. But upon hearing your words, Thranduil felt his heart skip a beat. “You not have to.”

“Maybe”, you answered him, shooking the book lightly. “But I wanted to.”

Thranduil took the book, his fingers brushed against yours. He prolonged the contact for a second, an infinite second, and then he leaned back. He ran his thumb across the leather cover, reading the title in gold. His heart barely let his mind function.

“It is about an exiled soldier. I will not tell you too much about the story, but he is on a journey to prove his innocence and get revenge”, your toes curled under the table. Your happiness was not contained withing your body and was trying to escape wherever he could. “It is my favorite. And I thought maybe, I do not know, maybe you might like it. I did not know what to give a king, and I do not think there is anything you need, so maybe it is not-”

“It is perfect”, Thranduil reassured you. He was not lying. He would not lie to you. “Thank you, maenwë.”

You giggled. “It is been a long time since someone called me that.”

Thranduil remembered the terrible way people got used to not call you by your name. It made him burn with anger for a moment, but he chose to turn it into something more useful. “Was it difficult to say goodbye to Aerin? It is a shame that you had to make this journey alone.”

Your peace of mind was shaken. Lying to him was necessary. You may not have known Thranduil for a long time, but you do not think he would react well to what Aerin did. Or that he felt good letting you travel for so long without anyone to support you. Still, just because it was necessary does not mean it was right. “She is a very busy woman. If I had to wait for her, I would never come here.”

The banquet was served, and for a long time the number od employees walking around the room made it impossible for you both to talk. Your cup was served with wine, your plate had the greatest variety of food, and there were so many different foods that a thousand dinners could be given and there would still be leftovers.

But as soon as the staff left and you started eating, you just waited for a hint that it was acceptable to talk during the mean in that part of the world. The food was magnificent, but that was not the reason why you are here.

“Were you able to rest after your arrival, vendë?” The man next to Thranduil asked. He had a dark, velvet skin, and kind eyes. You have a weak point for things that look delicate.

“This is Tuor, and old friend”, Thranduil introduced him. Looking at Tuor, he hoped the elve could understood to not put him on shame.

“Nice to meet you, Tuor”, you smiled. “And yes, I managed to rest. I did not realize I was so tired until I approached the bed.”

“If I am not mistaken”, Tuor began. “Those chambers have golden sheets, no? Was your sleep comfortable?”

“Yes, they are golden. Very comfortable. As well as beautiful.”

Tuor’s smile made Thranduil roll his eyes. “I am glad about that, maenwë.”

The rest of the night passed with the two of you eating and talking. More talking than eating. Something Tuor was part of the conversation, but mostly not. And you both talked about everything.

You questioned Thranduil about his quest, if he had not been hurt. He would tell you stories of how he hunted the creatures, but only because he noticed that you would like to hear them. You are the kind of person who does not mind hearing disgusting stories over dinner.

And Thranduil asked you about your recovery, if you wanted something to change in your chambers, if you needed anything for that matter. Thranduil heard you talking about anything that you wanted to. He did it gadly.

Over time, the guests left. One by one, the hall shrank. Music continued to play throughout the night. But you did not noticed any of those things. You only paid attention to Thranduil, the raspberry pie stirred on your plate, and the glass of wine that was never emptied.

Thranduil accompanied you to your chambers. That made you feel relieved. If you needed to find your way alone there you would never be seen again. “Now I understand. Birdhouse.” You heard Thranduil sighing. “It is actually a good comparison.”

“You are too kind”, Thranduil stopped walking. You only knew it was the door for your chambers because of the elks carved into the wood. Not, a little bit affected by the wine, you touched it. If feels nice. “Good evening, maenwë.”

So you got the chance to say something you have spent weeks fantasizing about saying. You took a deep breath, jut to make sure it came out exactly how you imagined. With a smile, and a polite bow, you looked at him. “I see you tomorrow.”

And this time it was not a fantasy. It was just a fact.

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mybrainsworldsblog · 7 months

Text

I love this!

CHAPTER 8 - I VOWED NOT TO FIGHT ANYMORE

Synopsis: Thranduil and his wife do not like sharing their forest. But when they investigate, their findings are much worse than what they could ever have imagined. The King and Queen prepare for war.

Word count: 4k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: violence, murder

Additional tags: SMUT

Link to the chapter overview

Always remember Uh-huh, the burning embers I vowed not to fight anymore If we survived the Great War - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

Their measures to keep the forest free from spiders seemed to be working. No one had seen a spider in many months. The forest itself, however, was still decaying, leaves blackening, creating an everlasting darkness and a foul stench throughout most of the forest. The light of the elves seemed to be enough to keep the area around their halls clear of the spreading corruption. Thranduil had learned to control his anger. True to his word, he never threatened his wife again, but he could feel it. He could feel the forest slowly darkening, trying to touch his heart and turn him into something twisted and evil.

While the King and Queen had once taken long walks in the forest regularly and Legolas had been climbing trees before he had learned how to walk, Thranduil now avoided the forest. He rarely left his halls, and when he did, he made sure to be wary of any negative feelings he experienced afterwards. Queen Anarríma took a more scientific approach, her view of their situation was that if she understood it better, she might be able to fix it, or at least slow it. One of the first things she discovered was that Thranduil’s mood seemed to be better if he bathed immediately after coming back from the forest.

Her experiments led her into the darkest corners of the forest, venturing further south. It was there, that she discovered them, huge webs, woven by spiders of unprecedented size. Anarríma kept to the trees on her expeditions, so when she heard the stomping footsteps of several individuals, she quickly crawled up as high as she could while still being able to see the ground clearly. But what she saw made all colour drain from her face. Orcs. A scouting party. She had assumed that all orcs were dead, killed by the armies of the last alliance. Anarríma almost screamed out loud when a huge black mass suddenly descended on the group of five.

The spider was bigger than Thranduil’s elk, with massive fangs and more eyes than any creature should reasonably possess. Could it be that it was Ungoliant herself? It killed the orcs quickly, quietly and efficiently. More spiders appeared, gorging themselves on the flesh of the dead orcs. Anarríma pondered where they might be coming from. What wretched place in the south of their forest could be their home? Dol Guldur. Amon Lanc. The mountain had been abandoned by Oropher, Thranduil’s father. What if the orcs, the spiders, or maybe even worse lived there now?

Thranduil was relieved when his wife came home, but when she immediately ordered a war council, before even taking her armour off, he was worried beyond reason. Their small circle of advisors arrived quickly, and the Queen told them of what she had seen in the forest. Scouting parties were chosen, favouring stealth over numbers, letters were written to Imladris and Lothlorien and Gondor, informing them of the situation and asking if orcs had shown themselves in Celeborn and Galadriel’s realm, or the ruins of Mordor. Queen Anarríma desired to join the scouting party herself, but Thranduil protested vehemently. This time, she saw reason. She had been in the forest for too long and she could feel it affecting her mood already. Countermeasures were in order.

The advisors and soldiers departed in the middle of the night, having received their orders to keep this development a secret. Thranduil reached for his wife’s hand, leading her to the bathroom. One by one, he stripped her of her weapons. He lovingly removed every piece of armour, then her boots, her jacket, her shirt, her pants, her underwear, until she was completely bare. One thing Anarríma loved about her husband was that no matter how often he had seen her naked, he always looked at her as if he saw her for the first time. She lowered herself into the water, fully submerging herself for several minutes. The relief was immediate.

She felt at peace when she finally rose to the surface again, a deep, content sigh leaving her as she looked over at Thranduil, who was sitting at the edge of the pool, already undressed, bottles of shampoo and soaps and a washcloth next to him. She approached him slowly and he lowered himself into the water. “Are you alright?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Ana nodded. She felt so much better already. She straddled his lap as he washed her hair, paying attention to every single strand. The Queen got drowsy as his skilled hands massaged her scalp and slowly lathered up her entire body. Thranduil rinsed her hair thoroughly, letting go of her only to wash himself.

Anarríma smiled contently, lost deeply in her thoughts. “What is it, meleth nin?” Thranduil asked. “When we bathe together, I am always reminded of the first night we spent together, how much simpler things were back then.” Thranduil chuckled as she reminded him of that night. “If you wish, we can re-enact it,” he suggested smugly. The Queen splashed his face with water. “You’re incorrigible.” “That was not a no.” Anarríma giggled and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I believe, my king,” she remarked, “that you carried me to bed that night.” Thranduil leaned in close, making her feel his hot breath on her neck. “I don’t think I have the patience for that tonight.”

Unceremoniously, he set her down on the edge of the pool, draping her long legs over his shoulders as he kissed his way up her thighs. Anarríma exclaimed his name in shock, threading her fingers into his hair, grabbing onto him for support. She could feel him moan against her, reacting to the way she pulled his hair. The torturous pleasure he was subjecting her to seemed different that day, somehow more urgent, more desperate. “I need you,” the King groaned, his head emerging from between her legs to take a quick breath, immediately returning his attention to pleasuring his Queen. “You have me,” she gasped, digging her heels into his back.

“More,” he grunted amidst his ministrations, digging his nails into her hip, holding her in place, easing in two of his long fingers, making the Queen cry out in pleasure. He could tell she was close by the way her thighs were shaking and her back was arching backwards. He ought to leave her like this, he thought, but quickly tossed the thought aside at the feeling of her hands tugging so firmly on his wet hair. “My King,” she moaned, “I am so close, my King.” A final swipe of his tongue against her sensitive clit sent her over the edge, panting and moaning as she let herself fall back onto the floor, overcome with pleasure.

Thranduil emerged from the water, sitting down next to her, his back against the wall. He dragged her onto his lap, lovingly caressing her face, kissing her cheek, murmuring words of praise in her ear as she sank down on his hard cock. She still felt so raw from her first orgasm that it made her whimper. “That’s it, you’re doing so good for me, my darling,” he whispered, the roughness of his hands on her hips a stark contrast to the softness of his voice. The Queen buried her head in the crook of his neck, placing soft kisses all over. Thranduil took control, as always, even when he was not on top, using his strong grip on Anarríma to move her up and down slowly.

They spent what felt like hours, and yet, too short, wrapped in each other’s arms, their joined movements so deliberately slow and so desperate to be close to each other. Their moans grew louder and the King let one of his hands wander between their bodies to increase his wife’s pleasure. He could feel how close she was, how close he was. Thranduil knew that he couldn’t hold back any longer. He began thrusting harder, more quickly, grunting more loudly and when his wife screamed out in ecstasy, he came with a loud moan, pushing her down firmly on his cock, holding her still as he spilled his seed inside her.

Anarríma laid her head on Thranduil’s chest, completely and utterly exhausted from their hours of lovemaking. He had ended up carrying her to bed after all. The sun was already rising, returning them to the reality of their lives and the inevitable threat that lingered outside. “Thranduil?” she whispered. “Hmmm?” came the half-asleep king’s response. “Legolas needs to learn how to fight. To defend himself. It may be necessary before long.” Thranduil sat up with a groan, leaning against the headboard, Ana’s head resting on his thigh. “Ana, I don’t want this,” the King admitted after a pause, his voice quivering just slightly, almost unnoticeable, but she knew him. The Queen sat up slowly, leaning in even closer to her husband, her fingers ghosting over the left side of his face.

“I know.” She sighed deeply “But I’m afraid we don’t have another choice.” Thranduil let his head fall back in despair, knowing that their situation was getting dire. “We will kill them all. I will destroy every single orc there is left and every spider that crosses my path. Our son will never need to fight a day in his life.” He really meant those words, Ana knew it. But could they manage it? She had been thorough in her attempt to destroy the spiders, and all she had done was make it worse. “And if we can’t?” Her voice was unsteady, shaking with a fear instilled into her by centuries of war. Gondolin. Her earliest childhood memories. She did not want Legolas’ life to be so dark. Thranduil sighed deeply. “If we fail, I will train him myself. He will become the best warrior this kingdom has ever seen.”

Reluctantly, the King and Queen rose to face the day. Thranduil went to the throne room, he was holding audiences today. Anarríma went to Legolas, attempting to wake him up. “Nana I don’t wanna be awake!” he protested. The Queen smirked mischievously and let herself fall into her son’s bed dramatically, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re right,” she yawned. Just as she was about to drift off, a knock on the door jerked her awake. “What is it?” she groaned. The door opened, revealing Galion, Thranduil’s butler. “Pardon the intrusion, my Queen. Your Highness. His majesty requested I tell you that it is unfair that you should get to sleep when he has to sit on his uncomfortable throne all day, without even having eaten breakfast.”

Ana sat up. “Thranduil sent you here to wake me up?” “Yes, my Queen.” She grimaced. “Little Leaf,” she addressed her son, “I think Galion would like to have a pillow fight.” Legolas was wide awake all of a sudden, grabbing pillows twice his size and throwing them in the butler’s general direction. The Queen herself also grabbed a pillow, threatening Galion playfully. “Please don’t kill the messenger, my Queen, I beg mercy!” he exclaimed, dramatically sinking to his knees. Anarríma grabbed Legolas and lifted him onto her shoulders. “Let’s go find Ada and bring the poor starving king some breakfast.”

The Queen sneaking into the kitchen in her nightgown to make some breakfast used to be a frequent occasion in the first years she spent in Lasgalen. These days, she rarely did. She and Legolas had a quick breakfast before grabbing the tray set aside for the king and making their way towards the throne room. The guards did a double take when they saw their Queen, dressed in her nightgown, Prince Legolas on her shoulders, the King’s breakfast in her hands. One glance from her and they quickly remembered themselves, opening the doors. “Her Majesty, Queen Anarríma of Lasgalen, Lady of the Woodland Realm and His Highness Crown Prince Legolas.” Ana watched Thranduil’s eyes shoot open when he saw her.

Legolas ran towards his father, climbing his throne at remarkable speed and throwing his arms around Thranduil’s neck. “Ada!” he shouted excitedly. “We brought you breakfast.” “Yes, I can see that, Little Leaf,” Thranduil chuckled, gently ruffling his son’s hair. He took mostly after him with his bright blond hair, it was just a hint darker, shining golden in the sunlight. He got that from Ana. His Queen approached the throne, setting down the tray on a small table to the side before kissing Thranduil on the cheek. It seemed like a sweet gesture, but Thranduil clearly felt that it was meant to say ‘You bastard had Galion wake me up.’

Audiences appeared to go less smoothly that day, many people said. The King seemed somehow distracted and the Queen must have been feeling under the weather, as she was wrapped firmly in King Thranduil’s robes and she was clinging to her husband all morning, as if she would freeze to death if she moved only an inch away from him. The truth was she needed him. Few others knew that she had encountered a band of orcs, and even fewer knew how much it had upset her. Thranduil could feel it. He didn’t say anything but he could tell by the way she was trembling ever so slightly, barely even noticeable if she hadn’t been so close to him. It was at that moment that he decided his Queen should never have to face an orc again for the rest of all eternity.

The scouting party returned late. Ana had been anxious all day. While she had gotten dressed sometime in the morning, she was still wearing one of Thranduil’s robes on top, the hem trailing after her as she was pacing restlessly. They held a council in Thranduil’s study and the King and Queen’s worst fears were confirmed. Dol Guldur, the abandoned remains of Amon Lanc, former home of the Sindarin and Silvan elves, was swarming with orcs. But that wasn’t all. They had brought a prisoner, except it was not an orc, but an elf. “Why is he in chains?” The King demanded to know immediately and the other soldiers reluctantly followed his order. He had been wounded by a being of darkness. A shadow in the shape of a man, they described it.

The Queen approached the restrained soldier cautiously while the others relayed their tale to the king. His skin was grey, she realized horrified. The soldier’s blood had turned from red to black. “I cannot feel his fëa anymore,” she murmured. The elven soldier had turned into something straight out of a nightmare. The soldier who was speaking turned to her instead. “Hiril nin,” he addressed her, fear and despair apparent in his voice, “when the blade struck him, it was only a matter of minutes. We cleaned the wound and bandaged it to the best of our abilities while we made our retreat, but even after the bleeding stopped, we could feel him slip away.”

“Can he understand us?” the Queen wondered out loud, trying to get the soldier to look up at her. When he finally did, she stumbled backwards. Thranduil caught her, steadying her with an arm around the waist. “After his fëa was separated from his body, he transformed,” the soldier continued, “we saw his blood change from red to black, his eyes changed. If I didn’t know who he was, I would not be able to tell anymore.” Orc. That’s what he was now. Not elven. Not anymore. Maybe even dead. Was he in the Halls of Mandos now? Was he still in there somewhere? Was he still immortal? Would he go to the Halls of Mandos if he died? Anarríma’s thoughts were racing. Thranduil did not appear to be in a better condition.

“Bring him to a cell,” Thranduil ordered quietly. “Speak of this to no one. Rest now, all of you. We will reconvene tomorrow.” Ana felt his hand grip her arm hard. Not an act of violence, but one of fear. The King was about to lose his calm demeanor and he was trying to somehow keep it together until the soldiers were gone. The door closed. “How is this possible,” Thranduil whispered. “The shadow, what is it? What does it want from us?” Ana wrestled herself out of Thranduil’s firm grasp, hastening over to his desk. The ink dripped onto the page as she struggled to find the right words. When they came to her, she wrote at lightning speed, her usually elegant handwriting now only legible to people who knew it well enough. She copied the letter, sealing both copies with wax and handing them off to a servant she stopped in the hall.

When she was finished, Thranduil was still standing in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the wall, his eyes darting from side to side, muttering words under his breath. Anarríma walked towards him slowly, approaching him like a startled animal. “Thranduil?” She reached for his arm, gently taking it into her hands and leading him over to the desk, pushing him down into his chair, letting him pull her down with him, landing on his lap. “What did you do?” He motioned towards the remaining evidence of her letter-writing. “I sent a letter to Ada. And to Elrond. They need to know. Maybe they can help.” Thranduil merely nodded before burying his head against Ana’s chest.

“How did this happen, Ana?” he whispered shakily, “did we not do everything we could?” The Queen was stroking his soft hair gently, taken aback by Thranduil’s rare display of sadness over rage. She had expected him to throw glasses against walls, letting them shatter into thousands of pieces, to leave the palace immediately and return hours later, covered in dirt and sweat and blood. This was somehow worse. She felt somehow even more powerless as she felt his tears soak her dress, muffled sobs making their way to her ears. “We have to kill him,” she suddenly found herself saying out loud.

“I know,” came the whispered response. Their situation was hopeless. “It would be cruel to make his family see him like this,” the Queen continued. “He was killed by a spider, somewhere out in the woods. The others never found his body.” Thranduil looked up at her. Rarely had he ever seen his wife look so cold. So determined. “He was killed by a spider. They never found his body,” he agreed. “We can’t wait for Elrond to come and take a look at him. A fëa can’t be brought back. It would be cruel-,” she hesitated. Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. “It would be cruel to prolong his suffering,” he agreed. The King watched in horror as his wife pushed him away and stood up, straightening the long white skirts of her dress.

“Ana you don’t have to-” “Yes, I do.” He stood up, racing after her, but she shut the door in his face, turning the key once, twice, three times. “Ana, open the door,” she winced as his fist connected with the wood, pounding relentlessly. It would not stop him for long. “Please Thranduil,” she pleaded with him. “Please don’t do this to yourself. Stay here, I will come back right after.” She heard him calling after her as she slowly walked down the corridor. The King could scream as loudly as he wanted to, their chambers were soundproof. No one would hear him. He sank to the floor in misery, letting the tears fall freely down his cheeks.

Anarríma was shaking, her heartbeat too fast, her breathing too unnatural. She steadied herself as she made her way into the dungeon, clutching the small bow she had picked up on her way down more tightly. “Dismissed.” The dungeon guards only gave her a nod and left. They knew what she had come to do. They knew that not a word of this could ever leave their mouths. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness as she made her way towards one of the only occupied cells. There were not many prisoners in Lasgalen. Mostly Noldorin elves imprisoned by Thranduil’s father for kinslaying. Those who had fought in the Dagor Dagorlad had been pardoned. The others would face a long eternity behind bars.

The light of a torch illuminated the former elf’s twisted face. Anarríma searched desperately for something familiar, something that would tell her that she was wrong about this. But she found nothing but contempt for her. “I’m sorry I failed you,” she whispered to the prisoner. “You know what I must do. You know there is no other way. I am so sorry.” Ana had hoped to at least see some form of recognition in his eyes. But he didn’t even look scared as she aimed an arrow at his throat. She felt tears sting her eyes as she released the bowstring. He dropped to the floor with a loud thud, dead before he even hit the ground. “Hiro hon hîdh ab 'wanath [may he find peace after death],” she whispered, turning around to return to their quarters.

As she passed Legolas’ chambers she heard muffled sobs. Immediately, she opened the door and found her son in the far corner of his room, wrapped up in a blanket, crying softly. “Little Leaf? What happened?” She approached him slowly, sitting down on the floor next to him. “Nana, you got hurt!” He must have had a nightmare. “I am alright, Little Leaf, it was just a bad dream.” She picked him up gently, carrying him back to his bed. “But I saw it, Nana,” Legolas insisted weakly. “Ada hurt you.” What on Arda had he seen? “Ada did not hurt me, Little Leaf,” she reassured him. ‘But he will if I don’t let him out soon,’ she added silently. “Ada would never hurt me.”

A lie. But a necessary one. She kissed his cheek softly. “Sleep, ion-nin. I love you.” Legolas drifted off slowly. Ana waited until she was certain he would not wake up again and returned to her and Thranduil’s chambers. Thranduil was not banging on the door anymore. He had forced the door open. She peaked inside his study carefully. He was sitting at his desk, writing something down. “Is it done?” He did not look at her. She was glad. “Yes.” Thranduil put down the quill and looked up at her. “I am giving a speech tomorrow. The army needs to be ready. We strike immediately if reinforcement from Imladris and Lothlorien comes. If not, we must do it anyway.”

Anarríma nodded. “I will think up some different strategies, think over some numbers, prepare my armour and weapons.” Thranduil stared her down. “You will not fight. I do not allow it. You must remain here. With our son.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “I assume you will be leading the attack?” He affirmed. “Thranduil, do you not remember the last time you told me to stay-” “Says the person who just locked me in!” He shouted angrily. She stumbled backwards. Thranduil’s outburst had only been a matter of time, but she was still caught off guard. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He huffed a laugh. “Me too.” “I will fight beside you,” she stated plainly, approaching her husband, carefully wiping away the tears on his cheeks. Thranduil leaned into her touch, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her in for a long kiss. “You will fight beside me,” he agreed, “and we will kill them all.”

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