Brightest Stars | Love of Royals: Book I

XXIII: Beneath You

Thranduil may have assured me that there is nothing to worry about, but I can still feel the panic beginning to seep into the very fibres of my being. I should not be afraid, since I have the most skilled warrior in the kingdom protecting me. However, despite this, the coming of the orcs has managed to instill terror in my heart: an overwhelming fear for Thranduil, a good deal of fear for other elves such as Gelya and her family, and even a small amount for myself. What if Thranduil cannot protect me? What if this effort is all in vain?

I change into some spare guard's clothing in Thranduil's private armoury.  It feels almost unnatural to be clad in a tight, full-body tunic after weeks of wearing nothing but floaty dresses, and the similarities between my outfit and Tauriel's are unnerving in their own way.  How I, a Star, could ever walk in the garb of the Woodland Guard is utterly beyond me—and yet, here I am.

'You can come in now,' I call expectantly, unable to banish the smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.

Fully armoured and wearing an even more noticeable smirk, Thranduil enters gracefully and proceeds to inspect my outfit.  'You would make a fine guard,' he says with a nod of satisfaction, before standing back to admire me from farther away.

I take this moment to admire him, the paragon of majesty, as he towers above me in his gleaming silver armour embossed with swirling patterns; his hair, pristine and platinum as ever, is complemented by an elegant circlet sat atop his forehead, the white gem in the centre of it glimmering in the light of the lamps.

'Hannon-lë.  Are you ready to ride?' I ask playfully, hoping for an equally cheery response.  However, Thranduil's eyes seem to darken, as if a memory has sprung up from under the surface of his mind.  He drops eye contact with me, his brows lowering slightly, as if in... shame. 'Meleth nín?' I reach out to touch his gloved hand, 'Thranduil? What is it?'

'Nothing, Elena,' he says dismissively, turning away.

'Tell me... please,' I beg, refusing to let him go. 'No more secrets.'

'No, it's—it's my fault.'

'What's your fault? You know you can tell me anything.'

Thranduil takes a deep breath, and wraps both my hands in his. His expression seems pained, as if speaking would bring him agony. Nevertheless, he begins. 'You're right. You need to know the truth now, or it will be too late. It's my fault you were wounded, my fault you were bedridden for days. I threw you off my elk while you were asleep.'

He did it? He did it? He rendered me completely helpless, sentenced me to weeks of suffering, made me a target for assault... did he choose that for me? Did he really sink so low as to inflict that kind of harm on me?

Numb with disbelief, I pull my hands from his and let them hand limply by my sides. I force the words out, watching Thranduil's face crumple. 'That... that was you? On purpose?'

The pain is now clear in his voice too, which cracks slightly as he speaks. 'Yes, but it was before I knew you, before I fell in love with you—'

I cut across him sharply, feeling the anger beginning to bubble over the edge. 'You know what, I'll go out on my own horse, seeing as last time I rode with you I was almost paralysed.'

'Don't be a fool. It's too dangerous,' Thranduil says firmly.

'What would you have me do?' I retort, 'stay here like a little child? I am going to help the guards, no matter what.'