Setting: The night Thranduil discovers Clara's past, and the ensuing panic.

12. Secrets

Fear.

It is the sickness in all of us that drives us to either stand in faith, or crumble in weakness. An often insignificant emotion that niggles at the back of ones mind, growing, becoming stronger, more suspicious, until it strikes and decimates its victim with all its cruel and torturous venom.

As a warrior, I was taught to control fear, to take it and smother it under layers of self-discipline, instinct, and mindfulness. As a Prince, I was taught that fear was something to be acknowledged or even employed as a tactic - as a superior, a certain level of fear has to come from your subordinates. But also the acknowledgment of fear in yourself and others around a political table, this was useful to unearth undesirable behaviour or confirm suspicions.

Therefore, my exposure to my own fears was often difficult and complex. I soon came to the conclusion that a warrior cannot rule a nation, or be a parent, or friend, or lover without the presence of fear. So, I had to conclude that fear was something that would attempt to rule me and I would just have to learn to battle it.

I vividly remember times when I thought fear was about to win. The first time I felt it's crippling shame was when I stood on the threshold of my father's rooms. One more step and I was going to have to face the sea of questions or disgusted looks. Bregeth was gone, and her public departure left a sting in my chest. Not that our bond (if one could even call it that) was specifically painful to detach, on the contrary it was much too easy. It was the painful admission that I had failed, and that somehow I would be held accountable by both my peers and some higher power. I feared for my own pride, but I was most frightened of the future.

How would my son cope...how would my father? What torturous rumours would they attempt to destroy my character with? What pain would I cause in the wake of this scandal? Would I be damned forever for this? Was I wrong? Should I have fought harder? How was I supposed to be a King without a Queen to provide the stability of heirs? Was I even worthy of such a title?

Yes, I will admit to feeling physically ill with fear for the first several years of my life without Bregeth. Not because I missed her, no I was probably relieved, but because loneliness is a disabling and all-consuming fear.

I muddled through it of course. I survived the scandal, and I survived the pains of parenthood too. I firmly believed if I could survive Legolas' bedtime tantrums alone then I could survive just about any hellish torment created by Morgoth. It would appear I might have foreshadowed my own fate.

The incident with the dragon was the only time I felt I would perish with fear. I would never admit to another soul, not even my father, but I cannot even speak of the memories without being gripped with a shadow of the fear of that moment of oblivion.

My memories are so cloudy and fragmented from that day. I do not recall the mess of misguided decisions I must have made that led me to that stand-off. I only remember rage. My own hot-blooded wrath against Morgoth's abomination. That savage excitement that comes from spilling blood is glorious. I became drunk on the sadistic pleasure as an ignorant and undefeated warrior. I would kill that dragon. I would be the one to claim victory, to stand before fearful nobility as a lesser elf with scandal and disappointment attached to his name, and they would kneel before me in their gratitude. They would know that my fire was unquenchable and my reach was powerful...that I was worthy of legends.

What mindless stupidity!

To stand before a fire-drake is to place a noose around your own neck. The earth lay ablaze around me, the screams of death echoed in my ears, and the ground shook beneath my feet. The dragon approached and my courage fled. The fire in my spirit was nothing but a dull flicker in comparison to the fire within the dragon. A cruel, destructive, all-consuming, blaze that erased life...my life.

I had fought the creature, futilely of course, for my attempts were only to tire it. My blade would not pierce his scales, my strength would not overpower his, and my fire would be extinguished in the gleaming ferocity of his one exhale. I would die here, I would die of stupidity and ignorance and the speakers of legends would laugh at the mention of my name, or hang their heads in pity and shame. The reckless elf who destroyed himself in pursuit of glory - did he not see the glory before him? A proud father, the love of an incredible nation, a glorious and enchanted home, and a son. A little boy, with all the hopes and dreams and desires of his ancestors concealed in his little spirit...why could I never see the glory and the treasure in that? Why was that never enough?

Before the fire consumed me I felt the oppression of guilt, and fear seized me. I could not leave my son, my glory and all my triumph was in him, and I would live to tell him that! I would live to see him be better than I, and I would love him and treasure him above all others. I'd build him a home, give him safety, and somewhere he would be proud to claim he was from. He would know me, and he would know the real me...not the scandal left behind by legends of an unfit Prince. He would be proud to call me Adar...but then the flames consumed me.

I lay in the arms of death for so long. I just held on to the memory my son, for that was all I had to live for. I had to go home, I had to show him how sorry I was, and I had to make it better. There was many a long hour where death was so close it was suffocating me. I could comprehend nothing but pain as my ravaged flesh knitted itself back together in a grotesque and monstrous shape. The light and strength of my people is strong, immortal, it heals all hurts so the flesh can continue on bound to this decaying world. So I lived, my feä continuing on in the shell of a monster...a reminder of my sins.

But the grace of Illúvatar spared me the pain of my new flesh. I was the child of an enchantress, an elleth who had blessed gifts for creating beauty. I could restore the memory of my flesh, I could grow something beautiful from the horrendous scars of my body. The world would only ever see what I needed them to see, and my son would be proud...but could I live with such a lonely lie?

I don't think I could have. I think I would have eventually succumbed to the hatred of myself. The monster would show through the beautiful perfection, and they would all know I was broken...not right...malformed. I would only ever be half of anything, and I had resigned myself to that miserable acceptance...until she showed up.

All glittering, hopeful, light, and clumsy peculiarity. I fell in love with how she saw the cracks in my facade and deemed them pointless. Clara was more interested in how I should be conducting myself with Legolas, like she knew what I desired more than anything, and she would help me fill in the gaps. She lifted me out of my self-loathing and insecurity so I could get over myself and see the treasures before my own eyes again. She taught me how to live, and not just exist but truly live with hope and expectation.

I still hid behind my mask. I was frightened that if she really saw how I could never heal that she would be repulsed. It may have been a silly notion but I wanted her to desire me as I desired her. I knew that while she continued to believe I was physically healing, then she would continue to touch me in a longing way. I craved that, it was healing in itself, but if she knew it was all a spell would she stop? I would not blame her if she did, I am certain I would too if the tables were reversed. I would want to know how truly broken my lover was, and if we could truly be a bonded pair with such hidden disfigurement? Nonsensical questions of course, I was perfectly able to fulfil those duties although maybe not as energetically as before, but I could still love her. I could still give her the children she desired, or at least I hoped I could. Still, just because I was willing didn't necessarily mean that she would be so excited about the prospect...and that's what I feared.

I should have known better!

The moment she stormed into the apartments I had been assigned to in Imladris my heart fell to the pit of my stomach. The fear was crippling. She would not leave me, the panic and worry in her voice was almost unbearable. I felt wretched for keeping her in the dark, for assuming the worst of Lord Elrond - a decent and noble elf - before she would assume the worst in me.

The panic in her eyes, the shook in her voice, when she discovered my hateful secret. The monster was unmasked and what a pathetic creature he was. Yet, she sought to defend me, attempted to rationalise my lies and disprove them, and when that didn't work she accepted it.

Acceptance.

I do not think people realise the value of such an action. Everyone seems to construe it as a sense of belonging - being accepted as part of the community. No, that is honestly just a sense of belonging, and we all feel displaced at some point in our lives. Acceptance is harder, acceptance is tough and heavy, it is weighed down with truths that are often uncomfortable and appalling, but when actioned it is defining and, in this instance, healing. She accepted the broken mess, the monster under my skin, and she kissed it.

The tenderness was unravelling, and the fear fled from it like how light chases away the darkness. I had won, I had defeated fear, but my weapon was her. All the love and acceptance that she willingly lavishes on me without consideration of herself is truly the only way I could have overcome my fear. I wasn't broken anymore, I was almost whole, and the desire in my heart was replaced with something deeper...faith.

That faith gave me certainty that no matter what happened she was my true mate. I was forgiven, my past was forgotten, and by the grace of Eru Illuvatar I could live again, with her, the right way. I had never been more thankful in my all my years, and never more blessed...nothing would take this from me.

Or...at least that is what I believed.

xXx

"You were a mortal girl?" I murmur, my voice something above an almost silent lament.

She nods, and I feel the blood drain from my veins. I suddenly feel sick, a dragging feeling in my gut that speaks of panic...maybe even fear? What is she?

"I need to ask Clara, and just be honest, how old are you?" I ask the question with my eyes squeezed shut. I honestly don't want to know, but my conscience drives me.

"Um...twenty six I guess, verging on twenty seven?" She cringes in answer, two beautiful pink blotches appearing on her tear stained cheeks as she admits it out loud. I feel like I've been hit by a sledgehammer, and my stomach lurches...I think I am going to be sick!

For the briefest second I observe her, all crumpled pitifully on the floor, sniffling like a terrified child...but she is a child? I recoil from the thought and all the horrendous, guilty, shameful, memories that come flooding in along with it. She is so young, I cannot comprehend what that means? For a mortal she is a woman...she looks like a woman...but to us she is barely alive? But what matters - what truly matters - is what she is to me? I know by the way she stares pleadingly at me, begging me not to draw judgment on her like she did for me...the fear is crippling.

"Oh you are just a little girl," I muffle a cry into my palms, unsure exactly how I should react? I don't know what this makes me? A fool or a brute in the eyes of my people? I don't even know if I care? I breathe out, and suddenly feel a little reassured that considering her age her oddities are completely understandable. "This would explain much about your behaviour," I chuckle sadly, and watch her grimace at my comment.

"I am not a little girl, I just have not lived as long as you." Clara rightly reminds me, and suddenly I feel very foolish indeed.

She is not a child, she is a young woman who was - according to her tale - horrifically killed in an accident and brought to a strange place completely beyond her comprehension. I can't even begin to understand her terror, or her courage. The bravery she has shown in the face of complete and irreversible change - it is inspiring. I am almost thrilled that she no longer is tied to the fragility of mortal life.

"But now you will," I answer, managing to fully turn to look her in the eye since this whole sorry affair started. "And this fills me with joy, that you will live, for I cannot fathom a world without you."

"Can you forgive me?" The question tumbles from her lips with so much hope that it throws me again. I do not know how to answer that, I do not even know how to react to any of this? It is insanity, she should not be here, she should not exist! Why could she not tell me? Why did she tell him?

The realisation hits me. My problem is not what she is, it is what she has let happen, and the horrible truth is I do not even think she meant it but it still hurts. The hidden truth has successfully managed to prove to half the elven race that, yet again, I am incompetent, irrational, foolish, and incapable of not causing a scandal. I should have not let my heart rule my head, I should have ignored this incessant curiosity I have over captivating things...idealist fool!

"In time, yes," I answer her because she has waited long enough. "I need a little time, only a little...can you give me that?"

"Yes," she replies, but the tremor and sadness in her voice almost causes me to waver. I really cannot hold her gaze, it is too brutal to watch "But what is a little amount of time?"

"Let's just get through tomorrow and the journey home," I answer reflexively, because I am struggling to decide how to react. My emotions are flying off in far too many directions. My wrath and hatred directed entirely at Echanar, that vicious little brute has been waiting an opportunity to prove to the aristocracy that it was I, and not his cousin, that was to blame for the fall of their family name.

"And Legolas?" Clara's question momentarily distracts me, for I selfishly had not thought that far ahead, "How will we proceed for his sake?"

"As normal," I say with a shrug. "You are, and always will be a mother figure to him. I will not make him suffer because of my inability to come to terms with this."

"But you will come to terms with it?" The hurt in her eyes is staggering, and I know that presently I cannot give her that promise...I am not sure how or what I am going to do?

"I want to Clara but right now I cannot answer that." I hate myself even before the words had left my tongue. I hate myself so much so that I leave the room before she destroys me. I cannot watch the devastation consume her, I am to much of a coward to stay here and watch her cry because of my inability to meet her estimations of my character...her far too generous estimations.

xXx

I am admittedly prone to dramatic outbursts, and after I paced excessively in circles until I was so wound up that I was trembling, I went on a little mission of my own. A highly stupid mission that in hindsight was regrettable.

After lighting on an unsuspecting guard and devouring them with a slew of hateful threats, I managed to intimidate him into divulging were the lord Glorfindel would be residing. To my delight it appeared he was dealing with Echanar, and I could quite happily trample two upstarts in one go, especially with my entirely directionless fury.

I practically took the door off its hinges, entering into some kind of council chamber which I had forced the young and startled guard to direct me to. I did not stop to ask questions as I zeroed in on Echanar's weaselly form at the far side of the room, his face suddenly paling as I launch for him...and I almost had the satisfaction of feeling him choke under my hands...almost.

"You hateful scum!" I roar and wrestle with the two bodies that are now forcefully dragging me backwards. "Dishonourable coward! How dare you...I should break your jaw to prevent you from spreading your poisonous lies!"

Echanar scrambles behind a free desk and makes to lift it to put it between us, and I practically cackle in deranged amusement. A desk is not going to save him, I will break the desk over his pretty little head and then we'll see who can make suggestive sneers in the morning...vile rodent!

"Thranduil...please...I know this is a shock to you but please try and think rationally," the golden haired figure of that eccentric elf lord enters my line of vision, prohibiting me from glaring menacingly at my victim.

"Rationally?" I spit and struggle with the two guards who fight to restrain me. "How would you suggest I remain rational when everyone seems to know more than I? And this excuse for a noble lord has taken it upon himself to enlighten anyone who did not...including myself. Tell me Glorfindel...how should I act?"

"You should remember that it was not just your name tarnished here today, but the elleth you claim to love also," he warns me in a low and threatening voice, and I snarl disapprovingly. I hate his words, his logical and sensitive words, and I hate most that the truth in his statement stings like acid in my reeling spirit.

"Why you?" I find myself choking angrily on my question, I am not sure I want to know the answer but somehow I do not think I will recover until I ask it. "Why did she trust you over me?"

"She did not trust me," Glorfindel answers in a soft tone laced with regret. "I made a few assessments of her character and Clara admitted to me her truth, but I believe she did so out of fear, fear that she would be disregarded, or worse, mistreated as some kind of lunatic."

"You should have kept away," I growl, but it is less menacing and more weak than I intended. "You should have left her alone, you meddling eccentric...do you know what you have done?"

"Clara and I are not so different," he says with a weighted voice, and my heart drops in my chest. Yes, I know I am not worthy of her and I have been cruelly reminded as such.

"So, this was another scheme to punish me?" I rip through the words with wild coarseness. "I tell you the truth Glorfindel, I am weary of bleeding for Noldor wars and sacrificing myself and my people time and time to aid your kin. Clara's home is in Greenwood, those that love her are in Greenwood, she does not need to be dragged into some war game because she is similar to you...leave us alone!"

"Peace Thranduil, this feeling of betrayal was planted in your head by Echanar...not I nor my kin," He continues and gestures to the weasel cowering in the corner. "I do not want anything from Clara, none of us do, she is as free to make her decisions as you are. She loves you, and I believe she is frightened that her truth would be too much for you to believe."

"I want him punished!" I hiss, ignoring Glorfindel's plea as I shrug out of the grip of both guards. "I do not speak of his cousin in such degrading words, and I do not shame her, although it speaks volumes of she and her kin when they do not stretch such grace to me."

"You shame her, and us, by showing up here with a bride as young as an elfling," Echanar snaps viciously and I go rigid. My jaw tightening as I refuse to acknowledge his comment.

"Someone gag this idiot," Glorfindel groans as he runs a hand through his hair. "I swear my patience for his misinformed rambling is running thin."

"But surely it is plain how ill-equipped the elleth is," Echanar continues like the loud mouthed imbecile he is. "She is bizarre, a lunatic, ranting of another world and returning from death."

"Silence!" Glorfindel orders, surprising me by the sudden fierceness in his voice. "You know not of what or who you defame with such thoughtless words. Dare you question Eru Illúvatar...do you dare question my judgement when I say she is speaking the truth?"

Echanar falls silent, eventually realising his insult and dropping his case. However, I'm not really above letting someone have the last word over me.

"Bregeth - your cousin - betrayed and shamed me, my king, and my whole Kingdom, when she was caught in the arms of a Lindon merchant whilst our infant son was abandoned out of her selfish needs." I speak evenly and in a flat tone, my eyes gradually moving over Echanar before they meet his hardened gaze. "It was her choice to leave, and therefore my life, and the life of our son, is of no consequence or interest to you! You forget your place, Echanar, your kin forfeit the right to address royalty!"

"Thranduil, you need to leave," Glorfindel quietly interjects, his gaze softened and understanding...it grinds me. "You are above this misunderstanding, as is Clara, now leave and take rest...I will seek to end this."

Clenching my jaw, I give a curt nod before exiting the room and storming straight into both our host and my rather irate father...oh Valar I have not the patience for his opinion either.

"You were right I was wrong, no need to lecture me," I gripe as I pass he and Elrond, pausing briefly to glare daggers at our host.

"Thranduil, my deepest apologies for the upset caused," Elrond murmurs apologetically, "be assured I will deal with this harshly."

"Yes, well it's all a little late," I snipe and carry on my way. "Or maybe it was a good thing," I shout as I round a corner, "best to air all secrets before I make another shameful mistake...eh Ada?"

"Oh for the love of all that is holy!" Adar growls in exasperation, and I hear him mumble some sort of apology to our host and then the sound of his brisk and aggravated footsteps as he follows me.

"What are you going to do Thranduil...run as usual...push out anything that has the remote chance of causing you heartache?" Adar calls after me as I take an unexpected left towards the gardens. I pause momentarily, flinching at his comment.

"Are you not pleased Ada?" I query as I tilt my head his direction. "Are you not delighted that your misgivings over my betrothed have been justified?"

"I am not pleased about anything that tears my child apart," he practically roars. "Grow up Thranduil! Grow up and take responsibility for your decisions. You fell in love with that elleth, you chose to ignore all the warnings, and you brought her here! Now you deal with the consequences. Forgive her or forget her, the choice is yours, but she is under the protection of my rule and I must keep her safe...she is innocent as far as this is concerned."

"Then you believe her tale?" I ask in shock, for I was actually expecting a gloating lecture.

"I did not say that," Adar reminds me with a stern look. "But I do know that Glorfindel is not to be trifled with, nor is Elrond, you are lucky they are as understanding as they are." My father crosses his arms huffily and glowers into the night before speaking again. "Elrond considers Glorfindel's guidance on the matters of spirituality and the Valar as absolute, as do many elves. Your Naneth had the same influence over our people. I cannot disregard Glorfindel's insistence that Clara is telling the truth...as far fetched as it seems."

"What am I supposed to believe?" I mutter at the ground, my head beginning to swim with too many questions. "I am uncertain as to how I am supposed to proceed as a Prince should?"

"Yes, well, ion nin, you long abandoned the ability to act without involving your heart. Reason no longer rules you, and that will always be your greatest weakness," Adar barks gruffly as he turns on his heel, and I stare after him in a mixture of resentment and regret. He pauses just before he disappears into the shadows and sighs deeply. "It is also a strength to know your own heart, and I have no doubt you will use it to guide you with Clara. But I swear Thranduil...if you pull another stunt like this again...I will personally revoke your right to rule. You cannot continue with this destructive behaviour, not with a child of your own, and not while you carry the pride of my name...is that understood?"

"Yes," I answer weakly and fall into step behind him like a chastised elfling.

"Get a handle on that stubborn temper, ion, it's going to work against you," Adar grumbles before gently setting a hand on my shoulder, making me flinch. "And rest," he continues grimly, "take a little time and clear your mind, you do not have to figure everything out at once...it will be easier when we are home."

I can't argue with him, mostly because he is right, and I am weary. Very weary. I cannot tell which is more upsetting; the fact that Clara kept her life hidden from me, or the fact it was played out like a spectacle for all to draw judgement. Presently I just feel embarrassed and guilty for falling into the temper tantrum Echanar so eagerly expected from me. Adar is very much correct, I do need to grow-up, this silly victimised mentality is going to stand in the way of any future contentment that I wish to make for myself. I just wish I could will my mind to let go and forgive her, but right now I only feel like a foolish elf that allowed himself to get carried away with a daydream.