The Prince's Pretend Mother

Eighteenth Entry - Disused and Forgotten Road

{Thank you for all the votes last week and in past weeks, NicholeCarroll!}

I dwell with a strangely aching heart

In that vanished abode there far apart

On that disused and forgotten road

When we had been gone for nearly a decade I returned to the Woodland Realm. The guards greeted me with smiles and a nod from each, which I graciously returned. I instructed my belongings to be left in their wagon outside until I knew the nature of Thranduil’s thoughts toward me—I may yet be returning to my old home instead of his.

I let myself into his home and glided as though through my own ghosts—all the other times I had taken this path, walked this hall—to Thranduil’s study. The door was unlocked so I opened it and paused in the doorway, seeing him hunched over figures at his desk, his fair hair falling over his back and down one shoulder. I stood frozen a moment as he managed not to acknowledge my presence, and I felt my insides twisting into their own strange, warm ache.

I had missed him far more than I’d realized. I had loved Thranduil’s strange, distant friendship for centuries, but I had not realized how much the absence of it would sting once I was reminded of what I had left behind.

Then, softly, he spoke. “I tried to separate them for reasons other than their birth.”

“She reminds you of Nelide.”

Momentarily I saw Thranduil’s briefly tightening face drawn in white again, his eyes seeming lined with red just as they had been the day he had placed Legolas in my arms and walked away, unable to look upon the face of the child who had her cheekbones and her predilection for learning all she could. “Yes.”

“And you fear for him. If she were to fall doing what she loves and in which excels, and he were to fall because he loves her.”

“Yes.”

I stepped closer, soundlessly shutting the door behind me, and chose my words with the same care with which we told our children things that might break their hearts but regardless they needed to hear. “Thranduil, you cannot tell me or others that your grief is somehow more sacred than that of others—particularly others who have suffered more. Your pain does not excuse your rising proclivity for causing that of others. You are not special, Thranduil.” I sank into my seat at the corner of his desk, which he had not moved.

His lips twitched once, nearly imperceptibly. “She often told me the same.”

“She is right. Being born to a throne does not mean you are right to it or that it cannot be taken away. You have no right to treat others as though their lives serve you little more than as chess pieces you do not wish to lose. You are not a god.”

I deeply inhaled, gentling further. “With that being said I can understand and can sympathize with your reasoning. I lost three of my family to their love of a fight, their will to protect others. However how much pain would I be causing if I had told my son he could no longer fight, or that he could no longer love until I permitted him to, simply because I feared my past might become his future? Denying him his own loves is just as painful as if he should lose them down the road, and if I should put a turn on it that I believe you will appreciate think of it this way: If you deny Legolas his love now, you are the one who is hurting him. If you let him love Tauriel, and she dies, you will be at rights—though I would not suggest it—of saying ‘I told you so’.”

Thranduil sighed, and I laid my hand carefully over his. “Legolas plans to return home next year. He is bringing Tauriel. He expects her pardon.”

His next sigh was heavier. “And I suppose you shall tell me that without it he will maintain his distance and so, I expect, shall you.”

“I will try to like you again, but yes, I believe he will remain away without it. I cannot guarantee that I will not leave again.”