Unspoken ( A Legolas Love Story )

2.2: Broken

Thranduil had now reverted to the broken state he had been recently subjugated to, as he had journeyed towards the Dúnedain. The broken state, that moments before, he had received the sweetest respite from. Thereafter, only to be flung into the pit of rage, where his anger devoured the thing he most held most precious. He was reeling from the sequence of events, that had led him to this point.

The cruel irony of the situation ate at him. If only he had encouraged his son's affections for that wretched Silvan she-elf, how different the present outcome might have been. Never in his darkest dreams, could he have foreseen this occurrence. Legolas had rejected his own immortality, his own happiness and his kingdom. There was no redemption from his choice.

Suddenly, up ahead, several paces in front of the King, a small-hooded figure dropped out of the trees, landing lightly on their feet. It then crouched on one knee, with their head bowed. Thranduil's elven guards and archers were startled, but reacted with speed and in an instant, a dozen arrows were focused on the loan figure. However, the figure held their arms out wide, their empty hands as a gesture of appeasement and their weapons clearly still sheathed on their back.

Thranduil glared at his own soldiers, irritated by their ineptitude and unforgivable lapse of judgement.

"Rise stranger, who are you and how dare you presume seek an audience with a King without formal acknowledgment." He spoke directly to the hooded figure.

The figure rose, and pulled back their hood and looked, unblinking, with her brown eyes into the frozen eyes of the elvenking. Thranduil was taken aback by her boldness. She seemed such a small little thing, that he was almost dismissive of her, but he could see fire in her eyes.

The king paused, as he examined her, then said, as his lip curled back, "I suppose you are 'her'... Or should I say 'it'..."

She had the audacity to smile at him, "Hîr nín* Thranduil, an honor. My name, however, is Aletheîa, a daughter of the Dúnedain, raised by Nerwen, a descendent of Númenor."

She bowed low again. And then she raised her head and looked the King directly in the eye.

"I think you misspoke.  The phrase that escapes you is  Aran-nín*..."  He responded imperiously, the sarcasm laden in his voice.

She looked at him with piercing eyes, "Apologies my Lord, but you are not yet, my King."

"Is THIS how you hope to converse, and do, whatever it is, that you came to do.... What is your purpose?" 

Thranduil paused, as a sardonic smile crept round his lips. "He does not know you are here to advocate for him, I suppose."

She held his gaze. "Indeed, Legolas does not know that I came myself to speak with you." 

The King watched, as she breathed in, and then continued. "My Lord, I am well aware that, I am now the single greatest barrier to any reconciliation, that you might hope to have with your son. I hoped that I might, somehow, give you pause to reconsider your departure."

Thranduil's laugh was scathing. "That was clearly a gross miscalculation on your part".

A supposition then gained clarity in the king's mind. "You... You are the reason he nearly died..." He accused.

Her face told Thranduil everything he needed to know. He was cold and calculated, as he continued. "If you really cared for him, you would walk away. He fears for your life and in so doing, he risks his own."

The anguish was visible in her eyes, but she spoke without wavering. "Perhaps... However, your son is more than capable of making his own choices. When you truly love another, your greatest fear, will always be... losing them.

She was defiant in her gaze, which only served to anger the King in his current state.

"You are both fools to think you can comprehend the sacrifice your chosen path entails." He said, his voice full of scorn.

"I have nothing left to say to say." He gestured to his horse, and together they walked passed the maiden, standing in in front of him, as if she were no longer visible.

As the elvenking passed her, she called out to him.

"Why do you insist on turning away from love?"

He spun on his steed, his face livid with indignation.

"What?!" He spat derisively, "Your 'love'? A monument to tragedy?"

"No, the love of your son," she said resolutely, "He loves you."

Thranduil stopped and gazed at her, stunned and wrestling for his next words.

"If he loved me... he would not choose this." He said, momentarily quietened.

The tiny thing was unbending. "He chooses love and hope, both of which should surpass the duty that you hold in such high esteem."

There is nothing to be gained by further reasoning with it. Thranduil turned away from her yet again with a contemptuous nod, but as he walked away, he said with disdain, "Do not think for a moment, that you ever will provide me with an heir."

"You don't need an heir, you need a son... You have a son." Came the unwavering response.

Her words rang in Thranduil's ears. He was furious with rage, so much so, that it almost overpowered him, as he rode away. But for some reason, the elevenking could not resist, briefly turning several minutes later, to once more look upon the curious little creature, that had captured his only son's heart.

He turned, and he saw her walking away in the distance. He paused, as he then saw his beloved son arrive, only to tenderly scoop the mortal up onto his own horse. Then together, they both turned and rode back in the direction of the Dúnedain village. A final wound across the elevenking's hardening heart, leaving Thranduil  to his own misery and a long lonely ride back the Greenwood.

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*Hîr nín ~ My Lord

*Aran-nín ~ My King

Adieu Thrandy... for now... but we are not done with him! But he needs to brood (its what he is good at) for a bit, before he gets invited back. As always I would love to receive your comments and suggestions!

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Thranduil Artwork: used with  kind permission from the very talented 'the wise snail', please see her other beautiful work on https://wisesnailart.deviantart.com/