The Unexpected | LotR Fanfiction

Chapter 58

           

I had decided I wanted to sleep in my own bed, near my parents, and not in the palace. To visit with mother and father.

I ate dinner with them. Talked about my journey, leaving some things out. Answered their questions, only to become unresponsive to others.

It wouldn't go back to the way it was before. When the world hadn't taken my innocence and blissful ignorance away from me. In between the words and the bites of soup, I wanted to scream. To blame the world for changing what was once perfect. But I kept my outcries in.

For it wasn't the world that had done this, rather the evil that resides in it.

While spooning mouthfuls of nostalgic soup in, I came to a realization: I would never be able to love the world. For the world contains all sorts of evil. But I could love the good. I could mourn for all the goodness that was lost, for the goodness that is suffering, and for the goodness that will be destroyed.

But the Valar—Eru—would preserve most of the goodness. Using people like Aragorn.

Like me.

And maybe... maybe I could live with that.

*********

Legolas was silent before he continued quietly. "You did tell them you'll be leaving?"

I nodded slowly. "They... got quiet." The quietness had been so thick I could've cut it with a knife.

"And... they wanted to know where I'll be headed." Oh, the silence then could've strangled a chatterbox.

Our footsteps bounced off the walls, accompanied by others who traversed the corridors. "I could speak to them, if you'd like."

"Yes," I breathed. "That'd be wonderful."

Legolas's hand brushed mine as we walked, the small touch as loud as thunder, as igniting as a bomb. I sucked in a breath, wishing to just reach out and grab his hand. The wish was so strong I didn't think I could breathe. But Legolas shifted away.

I need to tell him.

But the door we had been travelling to appeared and the guard positioned in front swiftly opened the gateway.

Legolas stopped, letting me enter first. I did, but with a quiet 'thank you' to the overly fancified armored guard. I guess Thranduil's sense of fashion extends to his palace soldiers.

It was a garden—a small one, with a large hedge acting like a fence. Hand-planted flowers lined the bottom of the hedge, with wild-flowers galore spread sporadically throughout the rest of the small clearing. A fancy-looking table, big enough for a small conference, sat nestled in the grass, matching chairs as accessories. A weeping tree watched over the table, long leafy tendrils reaching down.

Under that tree, seated at the engraved oval table, was the King. No kingly robe sat on his shoulders, but a dark silver uniform, very well-tailored, adorned his body. Instead of a crown of wood and leaves, there was a silver circlet. Small and had no jewels but was twisted elegantly enough to fit a king.

I immediately—instinctively—bowed, fist over heart.

"Father," Legolas greeted with the bow of the head.

The King stood and instantly my palms began sweating, I tucked a few white strands behind my ear. He's a giant light switch. For my nerves.

The intense urge to inspect Thranduil's shoes, instead of his face pulled my eyes downward as if connected to a string. But—I forced myself to gaze into his eyes. A terrifying thing.