Für Claudia

Ich dien – To Serve the Kingdom

by faust

1

The Messenger

Thranduil has retired to his private chambers by the time the scout returns to the stronghold. It is late at night already; and even though a king's work is never done and Thranduil is everything but lax in his performance of duty, he has more than his kingdom to look after, more concerns, more obligations. And he has been negligent of this particular responsibility long enough anyhow. First the confounded dwarves, then the new darkness… He has wasted too much precious time already in negotiating, interrogating, punishing, being irate and erratic, when he should have been caring and warm and predictable.

He sighs when notified of the long awaited arrival and, because this is a matter that admits no delay, orders the messenger be brought to his rooms. Under normal circumstances he would not receive soldiers in his solar, for here only the family is allowed, and a few very close friends or selected attendants: Galion (who is both butler and friend—still, and despite the fact that the dwarves would not have escaped without Galion's disastrous love for wine), the chambermaid, the healer. But this is no normal circumstance and Thranduil truly wishes to stay here right now and waste no more time, and so he pulls a regal robe over his nightdress and welcomes the exhausted member of the palace guard with a curt nod.

"My Lord," he is greeted with a deep bow.

He waves his hand impatiently. As much as he values courtly ceremony and proper formality, tonight he prefers this conversation to be quick and to the point. He can be down-to-earth—if he so wishes.

"Speak." He does not tap his foot. The messenger appears uncomfortable enough as it is. Thranduil does raise an eyebrow, though. And then it strikes him: the messenger is ill at ease. One does not need five millennia of experience to know that this does not indicate favourable news. He steadies himself, finds a better-rooted stand. His voice is firm. "Were you able to locate Prince Legolas and Captain Tauriel?"

"We…no…yes…"

Now the king does tap his foot. Once, twice, three times. A fourth time with emphasis. He drops his voice an octave, albeit—with more effort than he prefers—refrains from an undignified growl. "Were you?"

"Captain Tauriel left the palace, and apparently the prince followed her."

That much Thranduil had already discerned. There had been a reason, after all, for sending out scouts—against his own orders that no one were to leave or enter the stronghold. He is ready to explode at any second, but—as Thranduil is very well aware—his legendary temper is much more intimidating if visibly constrained; the quiet before the storm usually more effective than the gale unleashed. And the guard is really trying his patience.

"And pray tell," Thranduil says oh-so-softly, raising his eyebrow to ultimate altitude, "where are they headed?"

The guard seems to shrink into himself. Does he tremble? "It appears, my Lord, that they went to Laketown."

Another single tap of the foot, and the guard looks into his king's face. A slight tilt of Thranduil's head prompts him to continue his report—although haltingly and with obvious discomfort.

It soon becomes apparent why he is so uneasy: Legolas and Tauriel apparently have found the dwarves in Laketown, or at least some of the group. Thranduil's interest flares up mildly at that news, but soon dies down again. The dwarves are not that important. A mere annoyance. And they cannot be stopped in whatever they are about to do now anyway.

Thranduil is much more alarmed by the report of a goblin attack on the unprepared and almost helpless town. It does not surprise him to hear that Legolas and Tauriel have taken it upon themselves to defend the town—he is both horrified and proud of the aspect of his son and the captain of his guard fighting against a whole band of yrch all on their own. The horror soon outweighs the proudness, however, when he hears that Tauriel abandoned the battle as soon as the goblins had been driven out of the house that accommodates the dwarves and that she left Legolas to pursue the fight on his own.

The guard cannot say why she did that, only that she stayed with the dwarves while Legolas went after the fleeing goblins.

"Mayhap she was injured?" the king suggests—the only explanation he can think of.

The guard averts his gaze again. "No, my Lord. It does not appear so. She was seen later…whole and hale."

"And Legolas?"

The guard shakes his head. "We do not know. No one has seen him after—"

And that is the moment Thranduil decides to unleash the storm. During the tale he has gone from angry to enraged to exceedingly enraged. He is livid. "Where is he?" he thunders. "Have you not searched for your prince?"

"Sire…my Lord, we tried, but there was no trace. We did not know what to do..." The guard recedes, carefully, one, two steps. He looks apologetically at his king, then his gaze shifts slightly to the left and over Thranduil's shoulder, his eyes growing wide.

"We will have to search for him. He is in danger, I feel that," it comes from the door behind Thranduil's back; the soft voice easily drowning out the roaring inside his mind.

He fleetingly registers the guard's low bow and stammered "my Lady" before he turns around, calm floating him already and his tightly composed features relaxing into the face that is familiar only to her.

"You are awake," he states the obvious, amazed.

She smiles as she tilts her head and opens her arms in a mockery of a bow; but the jest lasts only for a short moment, then she is serious again. "I was restless," she says. "Something distressed me, tore at me. I could not fathom…could not…and then I heard you, and I knew."

"Yet you should not be up."

"I am well enough."

"The healers say…" He trails off as he sees her eyes narrow.

He is the King of the Woodland realm, the ruler of the Silvan elves, a Sindar royal, powerful leader and redoubtable warlord—but he knows better than to argue with his wife. Determination has replaced the tiredness of late in Eryniel's face, a decisiveness that tells him opposition is futile.

Eryniel nods to the guard. "You may depart," she says in her melodic voice, and smiles faintly as he gives her a look of pure relief and gratitude and makes a hasty retreat.

She waits until he has left the room, then takes Thranduil's hand and pulls him very close. "We have to search for Legolas," she repeats her initial words. "I fear for him. He is in great peril."

Thranduil closes his eyes. Eryniel confirms his deepest worry: Legolas is a formidable warrior, one of the finest in the realm, but he fights alone against a horde of yrch and this might be beyond even his skills. He feels anger rising at the thought that his son has put his life in hazard so recklessly, that his captain has let him—and fear. Raw, naked fear for his only child's life. Eryniel would know if Legolas were safe: mother and child share a deep bond, and the connection between Eryniel and Legolas has always had an almost magic quality. But Eryniel is frightened for her son, and that terrifies Thranduil.

He would wish her to be wrong this one time, not only for Legolas's sake but also because—

"I have to search for him," Eryniel says the inevitable. "I will be able to find him."

"You cannot do that. It is too dangerous. It is too much." He tries, even though he knows his words will not make her change her mind.

And, of course, she shakes her head. "No, it is not too much. It is what I must do."

"But it will cost you." He does not add too much or more than I will be able to cope with.

She hears it anyway. She has always heard what he did not say. "Then it will cost me. It does not matter, you know that."

"You cannot go. You are needed here." By me, but he does not say that either.

"No, I am not. You are needed here, my King. You have a kingdom to rule, and people to guide and protect. I have to go and find my child. Our child. To bring him back to safety."

It is no use discussing it any more. Eryniel is every bit as stubborn as Thranduil, her fast resolve only better hidden under a layer of soft, golden gentleness. This well-disguised strength had been only one of the many contradictions in the beautiful elleth that had made Thranduil fall in love and want to spend eternity with her at his side all those millennia ago. Ever since he has cherished and accursed that trait: he never stands a chance against her determination. So he confines himself to negotiate the hows and whens of her mission, and they finally agree that the queen will leave the stronghold at sunrise the next morning, accompanied by a party of six trusted warriors.

"I will find him," Eryniel says as he leads her back to her bed to get her as much rest as possible before the morn. "I will bring him back, I promise."

He understands the pledge is made not only for his sake.

Sindarin, just in case...

orch/pl. yrch = orc = goblin

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.