Bard of Laketown

Part Forty-Two

PART FORTY-TWO

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Of everyone in Middle-earth, why must it be him? But he knows something about Bard. I can feel it.

My boat drifts closer and closer, until I can see tall, willowy silhouettes through the tinted windows.

When I am close enough, I jump onto the side of the grand boat, and land softly on the deck. Almost immediately, three Elvish guards run up to me and draw their silver blades.

I throw back the hood of my cloak and stare them down. "Areya of Mirkwood, here to see the king."

Their gazes don't turn from my face. I draw myself up to my full height and harden my eyes.

They still do not move. I hear quiet footsteps behind me, and the familiar voice of the king. "Leave us now." Chills run down my spine.

The guards walk off without another word, and Thranduil turns me to face him.

"Decided to come back, did we?" he whispers in my ear.

"Yes, but not for the reason you might think."

"What might that reason be?"

"You want me to accept your proposal."

He tilts his head. His eyes are different shades of blue, like a river, the sky, an icy glacier.

"Yes. But tell me, Areya, why did you come? There must be something you want from me." He reaches his hand up to touch my cheek, but I slap it away.

His eyes widen for a slight moment, but then he sighs. "Come, then."

He turns around and begins walking towards a flight of smooth wooden stairs.

At the bottom, we take a turn to the left, then continue down a well-lit hall. He pushes open a silvery door, then steps inside. I follow him. It is clear that these are his rooms, with silver and gold chandeliers, wall hangings, and even leaves and vines entwining around the walls.

He motions for me to sit down on a soft white armchair. I hesitate, then sink down into it's welcoming seat.

Thranduil hands me a glass of wine, which I take. It is not bitter, but sweet, and I drink a few small sips before setting it down on the table in front of me.

The king sits opposite me, looking at his fingers. It is clear I have upset him, and I feel the smallest twinge of guilt in my stomach. The air grows heavy and uncomfortable. I stare at the door, wishing I was anywhere but here.

"You were hoping to see Legolas, I suppose?" His voice breaks the silence, and I turn to look at him.

"In all truths, my king, no. And if you think I am in love with your son, you are wrong. I love him, yes, but as a sister loves a brother."

"Oh." It is strange seeing him like this, so uncomfortable, that I almost laugh. "Then please tell me, why are you here?" His slender fingers tap out a pattern on his knees.

"I am here to ask for your help."

His eyebrows raise ever so slightly. "Oh? How can I be of service to you?"

If only I knew where to begin. "There is a man, a citizen of Esgaroth."

Thranduil exhales loudly. "He is the one who you love."

I avoid the question. "He is gone. Disappeared. And I need to know... Do you know where he is?"

There is no reply. Only silence. I stand up and walk over to the king, and whisper in his ear. "Where is he, Thranduil?"

He turns to look at me, his cheeks redder than usual. "I-" he stops.

"Tell me, my king." I say in a sing-song voice.

He stands up suddenly and motions for the door. "I think you should leave."

Faster than he can react, I pull my knife from inside my boot and point it at his milky white throat. "Don't make me kill you." I try to sound threatening, but my voice shakes and my hand is trembling.

Whatever I tell myself, I cannot kill Thranduil.