Chapter 68

The State of His Heart

When Glorfindel and Erynlith were gone from the realm, the Silvan folk thought everything would be back to normal. For them, it was the warrior who spoiled the mood of their Aduial en Meleth and early winter—he who barged in, attacked the guards, challenged and hurt the King. It was his fault and the Silvan folk did not cease their murmuring against him even after a week that he had gone with Erfaron. They would have wanted her to stay—she who had been so enthusiastic to wander into the woods, sing and sing to her heart's content.

The Silvan thought winter would be better without Glorfindel and Erynlith around, but the Elvenking thought otherwise.

One week after their departure, the King remained passive and inconsolable. He had walked in the Halls with a frown on his face, conversed with his counsellors with a bored expression. He was back in his ill-tempered self, sulking in his bedchambers and sometimes on his throne, as though he loathed that Erfaron was gone and he had done nothing to make her stay. He would slump back against the seat, looking lazily at his feet—not enjoying the beauty of this year's winter even for a bit.

"Perhaps he is sick," someone would whisper. "Perhaps his forehead wound has not yet healed, and it ails him."

"Nonsense," another Silvan elf would shoot back, huffing. "It is obvious that he longs to see Erfaron. I have not seen him so lively until she arrived."

"It might be the cold weather. Winter freezes everything here."

"Or the food. I am told he has scarcely eaten since last week."

"Someone needs to speak to him," one of the attendants confided. "He refuses to speak with Lady Celairis. I wonder if some sort of predicament fell between them."

Continuous rumours spread around the underground city, speaking of the submissiveness of the King as of late, worrying that he might be sick and did not tell anyone. Santien herself heard quite a great deal about these foolish rumours; for someone who had known Thranduil since he was a Prince of Greenwood, she knew well that he was only sulking because Erynlith was gone, and that he had no choice but to let her go with the warrior who pummelled him until the fight was interrupted. She figured it was a blow to his pride as well; Thranduil had been one of the best in the realm, hunting and scouting alongside Raithon while he was still a Prince—but as King now he had not hunted or scouted for two thousand years, and it was evident that he was losing his edge.

Another week later, Greenwood became more bustling when a lone Sindarin elf arrived at their gates.

"Welcome back, Captain." Heavily-armoured guards saluted to him as he strode towards the overlapping bridges, shaking snow off his green cloak. "We have missed you for a few months..."

"Indeed," Raithon said, observing the entirety of the palace. He was pleased to know that the Elven-guard did not grow lax while he was away in Lórinand, where the wardens still blamed him for the disappearance of their Lady.

"Would you precede to the barracks and hear the reports?" One of the guards spoke up, and was only answered when the exhausted Captain tossed the heavy cloak towards him.

"I would like to see the King. Where has he locked himself now?" Raithon sauntered on, followed by two guards while the other remained at the gates. He glanced down and saw the frozen river below him.

"Currently, the King does not entertain audience."

"Bad mood again, hm?"

"I do think he is, Captain."

"No matter. I need to speak with him."

Raithon did not have to press information from the guard; he would find the King himself. It was not difficult to do so, considering that his childhood friend had only few places within the palace to lock himself in—his chambers, the library or the infirmary. If Thranduil was in a bad mood, the Captain knew he would not go to the infirmary, where Santien could lecture him until the day waned. He checked the library and found no one, knocked on his chambers and was not answered. Odd. Where could the brooding King be? If he was not in the throne room, which Raithon had already passed, and not in the dining halls and drawing-room, then where could he be?

The sounds of the birds above the domed ceiling made him stop and think.

Porch, of course.

He was greeted by the bright sunlight falling onto his face, the flapping and twittering of white-throated sparrows. He found the King leaning against the edge of the silver railings and looking up at the small winter birds.

"My King," the Captain began, his breath puffing in white smokes in front of his face.

At the sound of his voice the King turned, dressed magnificently in a warm robe of velvet trimmed with fur, his crown of autumn leaves changed into a crown of blue winter berries.

"Ah, Raithon." Thranduil favoured him with a small smile, before returning his attention to the birds. He was not so fond of sparrows before; in his youth, nightingales were always present in the forest. He opened his hand and dropped some of the bread crumbs on the thick railing, and watched in silence as the birds swooped in for a feast. "You've come late."

"Sorry about that. I was kept for a long time in Lórinand."

"Did you see Eryn and the warrior arriving?" One of the sparrows chirped at him, as though requesting for more crumbs. He frowned.

Raithon blinked at the sullenness of his friend's voice. It was evident that he had been melancholy since the departure, but the captain did not expect this much. "Yes, I was there when they arrived."

Cold blue eyes looked up from the birds. "What did she say? Is she happy? Did she like the horse?"

"For one thing," Raithon drawled, thinking of words how to put it, "Erfaron seems very delighted to be back in Lórinand. She was surprised and eager to have Mithrandir in her forest, and I think they spent a whole day sharing stories. The night she arrived, Mithrandir showed some of his best fireworks, and she was very pleased with it."

"I am glad to hear it," Thranduil muttered. "What does she think of the horse I gave her?"

"Oh, do you mean the large horse?" Raithon laughed and wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulder, shaking him a little to give him energy. "She adores that stallion! Every morning she keeps on forcing Haldir and his brothers to ride out with her, even though they have patrolling duties to attend to. Oftentimes Lord Glorfindel rides with her along the rivershore. She sings and coos at the creature so much you would think it is the love of her life."

Finally, the King smiled wholeheartedly. "Did she give it a name?"

Raithon stared up at the morning skies above him, thinking. "Hmm... It was Lord Glorfindel who actually gave the name, and it is not even in Sindarin..."

"What a show-off," Thranduil scoffed, slowly returning to his usual self.

"Not entirely. You should not consider him so ill. I think he named the stallion something like... Vinyë..."

"It is in Quenya," the King recognized at once. "The High Elven-tongue—his native dialect."

"Yes, I do believe so, and Erfaron was very pleased with that name." Raithon stretched his arms, and then rested his chin on the heel of his palm, while regarding his friend with a curious look. "What do you intend to do, now that she's back in Lórinand and with someone else? Would you travel back or stay here?"

Thranduil stopped focusing on the little sparrows and thought for a while. He wanted to return to Lórinand, but his duties keep on hindering him from leaving. He was no fool not to notice that Celairis was purposely engaging him with troubles throughout the whole kingdom, that he had cellars and barracks to oversee, the food and stone production for the guards, and so forth. It would have been simple to disseminate the tasks to each of his counsellors and butlers, but that was what Celairis knew he would do; and that would mean she could read him like an open book. He could not stomach to think that his Chief Counsellor was controlling him with ease.

Celairis.

He had refused to see her for two weeks now; rather, it was her who evaded him. He knew it still had something to do with Erynlith, the very reason why his counsellor was acting so negatively these past few days. He remembered her crying when she found out Erynlith was in the palace, how he so indifferently dismissed her sobbing and let her leave. He felt guilty for that, to make her weep and furious with him—but Erynlith... Damn it. Every time he thought of reconciling with Celairis, he would remember the singing minstrel and suddenly, he would back out from his original plan. What was wrong with him?

All he had to do was apologize to Celairis about what happened. And then what, you stupid? Hope for the best?

Pounding his fist on the frost-covered railing, the King gritted his teeth and then pulled at his hair, desperate to make his mind work.

"Thranduil, are you all right?"

He had forgotten that the captain was still there with him.

"Raithon." Thranduil sighed, smoothing his hair back again. He had not the time to braid his hair, or just did not feel well to braid it himself. He looked long at his friend's face, well-knowing that he could keep secrets more than anyone in the forest. Then, he focused his eyes back on the railing, where few of the little sparrows remained to chirp and hop around. He took a deep breath and whispered, "What if... what if you like someone...?"

There was a brief silence.

It seemed the King had stunned his friend with the question so much that the dark-haired elf was gaping at him.

After a long while, Raithon recovered. "You're not turning into a little girl with a crush, are you?"

"What?!" Thranduil growled and bonked his friend on the head. "Be serious, damn it!"

"Okay, okay. I was only trying to lift up your mood." The poor Captain of the Guards caressed the aching spot on his head, pouting. "You seem so nervous all of a sudden. Is it about Celairis or Erfaron?"

"...Both of them..."

"Hold up. You like both of them?"

"No, you make it sound so childish!" His head was beginning to throb now. He heaved a deep sigh and mustered the most serious face he could, the one that his counsellors would cower to. "I mean, you know I have been with Celairis for the past two thousand years now, but it has never been so official. It was more of a... dalliance..." His cheeks flared up, ashamed to admit something like that. "I know you think I am foolish and sounding so ludicrous, but those times with her were special for me..."

Raithon nodded pensively. "But times with Erfaron are more special?"

"Yes. Exactly." Thranduil groaned. It was hard to elaborate someone's feelings. If he did not confide to his friend, how else would he solve the problem on his own? He was confused and helpless enough as it was. "Something happened during Aduial en Meleth, and I daresay that it made Eryn more special than Celairis..."

"You're being dishonest with yourself, Thranduil," the Captain teased, grinning. "Erfaron has always been more special."

The King grumbled something under his breath. "Fine. She outweighs Celairis over a hundred times. Are you satisfied?"

"You know where your problem starts?" Raithon straightened himself and crossed his arms over his chest. "You worry too much about both of them. You want to make your Lady Counsellor feel valued, and that you are so fearful to hurt her feelings. It is honourable, really. But if you keep on worrying about her and not about Erfaron, you're not making any progress at all. You would keep on stumbling on your own anxiety, while someone else in Lórinand unfortunately has Erfaron's attention day in and night out."

"So...?" He raised an eyebrow.

Oh Valar. Here I thought Kings are supposed to be sharp. It was the Captain's turn to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Don't give me that look!" Thranduil pounded his fists. "I know I have to focus on Eryn but I want to solve things with Celairis first!"

"Good thinking!" Raithon placed both hands on the King's shoulders, and began leading him out of the snow-covered porch. Behind them, the white-throated sparrows hopped and flew into the skies. He walked, digging his heels onto the ground when the pale King attempted to run off. "Come on, Thranduil! You've got to show guts!"

"I can walk by myself! S-Stop pushing me!"

"But you won't get there until someone forces you! Just get in there and tell her that you like Erfaron more!"

"Why doesn't anything sound so serious when you tell it?"

Raithon stopped pushing him and looked stern. "Just go along with it, okay, Thranduil? When you're there, you would know what to say. It's all right to think, but not too much. Speak out your mind."

Thranduil's shoulders slumped. "Wow, that's very comforting, thank you."

A cold wind was blowing out that night, and it made the forest alive with the rustling of branches and leaves. The cloudless sky faded into deep blue, dappled by silver stars and a full moon. Somewhere in the woods, a Warg howled. It was the least of the King's concerns—for now. Tonight he decided to talk to his Chief Counsellor, thus he had Galion summon the dark beauty of his throne room and serve wine for them. He had sent away the guards as well.

Celairis arrived in time for the supposed meeting, clutching at her plum silk gown as she crossed the bridges. She sank into a deep curtsy at the foot of the throne, her ebony hair tumbling down her creamy shoulders. It was indeed a cold night, but it seemed she did not mind. She dressed thoughtfully for the meeting. She knew the King had not been in good spirits since his guests left. She reckoned that he felt lonely and sent for her, like he often did long ago.

"You wanted to see me, my Lord?"

Her King was sitting languidly on top of his throne, one leg crossed over the other, a wine cup held in his right hand. His outer robe was sprawled on his other arm and fell like a scarlet waterfall to the dais, almost at her feet. She straightened herself when the King gestured his free hand.

"I wanted to speak with you," he returned.

"About what?"

He swallowed another gulp of wine, set the glass on the tray, and went down from his throne, leaving the scarlet robe on the seat. With hands behind his back, he assessed the look on his counsellor's face; he could tell that she was confident of herself, looking directly into his eyes like that and pursing her lips into the smallest of smiles. In a distant dream he remembered thinking about pledging himself to this beautiful Silvan maiden—she who had helped him run his kingdom for the past thousand years, kept him company, made him smile and laugh. He owed her greatly for all these things that he did not know where to begin or how to thank her.

Tonight, however, Thranduil was distraught to make her feel worse.

"Celairis," he whispered and saw how her eyes gleamed upon hearing her name. He cleared his throat to regain both of their composure. "I cannot thank you enough for everything that you've done for the kingdom."

She smiled and nodded. "It is an honour to serve you, my Lord."

"And—" He took a sharp breath, deciding his next words. "You are a wonderful counsellor and companion. I could never ask for someone else, or dare have you replaced by another." Damn, that sounded wrong.

"I am not worthy of that much praise," she insisted, tilting her head to the side. Her King was acting queerly tonight, she observed.

"Yes, you are," he answered firmly, which made his counsellor laugh. "You are worthy of a thousand more praises, though I should think some of them would not come from me any longer."

The twinkle in her bright blue eyes dimmed.

"What do you mean?" She asked a little breathless, and her face was paler. She dared to step forward, so that her face was an arm's length away from the King's, to see his unsure and tense expression. In the silence that followed her heart raced in her chest, beating so loudly in her ears. What does he mean?

"We have discussed matters about Erynlith before..."

She clapped her hand to her mouth, gasping. "No."

Brazenly, he looked into her tear-filled eyes. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but found out that he could not, that he was as breathless as she was. He felt guilty to confess his feelings to her, how it turned from adoration to simple praise now. His feelings were not as strong as it had been two thousand years ago, when he was still attempting to forget about Erynlith. Now that she was back, and he had once again felt what it was like falling for her again, he remembered why he loved her than Celairis.

"Please... my King..." She began to sob, hot tears falling on her cheeks. "Please..."

"Celairis—"

"You do not intend chasing after her, do you?"

His brows knitted together, his lips curling into a small frown. He disliked the term chase, for it sounded like Erynlith no more than a prize to be won. He had no words how to put it, but chase was definitely not in the list.

"Forgive me, for all our years together that I am putting aside," he replied carefully, feeling more and more miserable as she broke down into tears, burying her face with her hands. He stepped forward, hesitating and unknowing. What must I do? How do you stop them from crying?

In his well-nigh five thousand years of living in Arda, Thranduil never figured how to stop maidens from crying.

"But I have come into a conclusion," he continued. "I-I am aware that I spent some of those years courting you, giving you the dresses and jewels that you liked, and... I am glad to have made you happy throughout those years and—"

"Why her?" Celairis managed to question despite her tears. "Why does she always charm you and the others?"

He blinked, a little confused. Why, indeed? Was it because of the natural kindness that came along with her? Was it her usual vibrant self that seemed to balance well with his usually volatile temper? He did not know. Did people need rational reason to love someone?

"She's... the one I have always... wanted," the King whispered to himself, as though the realization dawned to him too late. "Ever since we reunited, she has become the best part of my days. I think about what we could do and talk about, or how I could catch her attention. It sounds silly, but it is her quirks that make me want to be better for her..."

Am I making sense? Am I making a damned sense?

"You love her, because she is different from you? How does it work that way?"

Thranduil looked into her eyes, feeling more confident. "We all have rooms for improvement when we are in love."

"What about me? What about us?" She cried harder, feeling her heart shattering into a million pieces. She could not bear that the King she loved all her life was choosing someone else. "How could you choose her when she abandoned you long ago, when you needed her the most? I was there for you, Thranduil!"

"Yes, but that it was not the only basis of my choice!"

She cringed at his shout. Bowing her head, she let her tears fall again. "I worked hard for you..."

"And I thank you sincerely for that."

Finally, the King closed the distance between them. His arms reached out for her, to soothe her, and the sobbing counsellor collapsed in his arms. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, letting her lean against him and weep her heart out. He ignored the tears soaking his robe; he dared not to mind that. In all honesty, he felt sorry for her; she did not deserve to be rejected like this. Perhaps someday, she would meet someone who would love her as much as she loved her Elvenking.

"I hope this does not discourage you from living and working in Greenwood," he whispered in her ear.

Celairis pressed herself closer to him. She was painfully aware that this might be the last time she could get intimate with him.

"Not at all, my King."

Thranduil smiled against her flower-scented hair, and closed his eyes. "Thank you, mellon nín."

Next Chapter: Lórinand is in need of a ruler, but Erynlith refuses the offer. What could Gandalf do to help?

Author's Notes: Ah, it has been quite a while! Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! It seems this chapter captures the mood of the day. Thranduil finally comes in terms with his feelings for both Celairis and Erynlith. Moreover, he has finally made a choice after two thousand years. Elves really have all the time in the world, don't they?

Either way, I am glad to be back once more! Also, please checkout a bonus story entitled Forever Young, which features toddler Eryn's misadventures with big brother Erestor! :)

*Xxdarkrose18 - Hey, I missed you! Don't worry, I ship them, too!

*NightlyRowenTree - Clueless Erynlith is everything. It makes her hilariously unpredictable. #TeamGlorfindel here