The Prince's Pretend Mother

Epilogue - Again at Your Beginnings

And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

 And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

 To serve your turn long after they are gone, 

 And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

*

 We were having a quiet supper one early fall evening, the light floating through the high windows gold through the dimming green leaves, when Thranduil parted our silence with words we had somehow never expected. "I intend to bring Nelide home."

I froze and stared at him, eyes wide with shock. Nelide had been gone for so long—not even present in spoken word—that I, being the awful person that I am, often forgot that she still lay graveless and restless on the poisoned soil of our enemies, far from home.

Legolas laid his silverware lightly across his plate and slid it aside. I pushed mine to the side as well as he settled his elbows on the table's edge. "We do not know the current situation of Gundabad. It may yet be populated."

"I am aware."

I spoke. "I will go."

"You will not," Thranduil shortly replied, and Legolas, more gently, said, "You cannot. It isn't safe, Inladris."

"I know you are not going alone, with only each other for protection," I calmly responded. "There will be plenty enough warriors to defend one small person."

"No." Thranduil wouldn't even grace me with a look but I saw the fine points to his stare.

I leaned toward him over the table. "Unless Gundabad is utterly overrun with orcs I will come regardless of what you wish. Warriors can protect your body, but they will not comfort either of you. You do not even know if anything remains. The gods may have taken matters into their own spirits."

Legolas had turned cogitative. "It may be for the best if she goes, Father." His father glowered at him. "I can look after affairs here and you will have someone with you who will not take offense if you are in an abrasive mood."

"You are not so sensitive yourself," Thranduil reminded him with a slight twist of his lips.

"Neither am I as capable of adjusting your mien if needed, as needed," he returned, to which Thranduil only snorted. "I can see Mother when you bring her home."

I laid my hand over Thranduil's where it rested on the table. "Do you wish so strongly to do this alone?"

Finally he met my gaze, his own having softened into something far more weary than frustration. "Loneliness is all that I fear," he softly said, and I understood, and squeezed his hand.

"As we do not know the state of the place at the moment I know you will be bringing a strength of our own people. I will be well protected, and if you insist upon my retreat should the situation prove unstable, I will do so."

He shook his head. "That you most certainly will not do, as we all know. You are far too stubborn for your own wellbeing."

I lifted a single brow in his direction, and he sighed, knowing the same could apply to all of us. "Thranduil. I understand why you may not wish for the presence of one who is not a part of your family while you recover the woman to whom you pledged your future. But even if that future has been lost, please allow me to protect the one you yet have left. You are reckless when you despair. You do not always remember those who still need you in their lives."