Brightest Stars | Love of Royals: Book I

XXIX: The King's Star

Not once did I imagine the sight that greets me when Thranduil leads me into the throne room this morning.  Not once did I think this could even be possible, what with everything that fought to stop me completing my task.

But there it is.  After three weeks of construction, during which the Woodland Realm regained most of its former beauty and Thranduil and I enjoyed a sensational courtship, it is ready.  He has been in the most ecstatic state I have ever seen him in—and it clearly came as a shock to many, including Legolas, who makes a point out of it almost every day. Thranduil, joyful? And smiling? The way some elves react to his euphoria, you would think he was dancing naked around his halls. Now that would be a show.

Understandably, I have been in an equal if not greater bubble of elation ever since the day of his proposal. Meeting after meeting has trundled by since then, except with much more energy considering how our happiness has been (quite literally) contagious. Many other elves are becoming more jubilant by the hour, and much to the annoyance of his father and brother, even Avadhil has been behaving a little less obnoxiously. It is not a great deal of improvement on his part, but if it irks Tavalon and Avalor enough for it to be entertaining, then I am glad of it.

Thranduil has been covering my eyes with his hands whilst ushering me carefully into the throne room. When he finally removes them, I see what I have been yearning to see for more days than I care to count.

It could almost be made of pure starlight. Entwined intricately with Thranduil's throne of majestic antlers and elegant branches is a new throne, with a seat to the left of his and the embellishments equally as vast. A throne for me, shimmering an almost iridescent silver-white, and made of interlacing strands of gleaming metal that could have been mined from the Stars themselves. And in a parallel with Thranduil's throne being fashioned like an elk, with its earthy colours and ornate woodland designs, mine is shaped like a roaring flame—a white fire—and is adorned with a seemingly infinite amount of star-shaped jewels and minuscule pearlescent orbs like the ones on Mîrceleb. The combination of the two thrones is utterly striking to behold, surrounded by an ethereal glow where the warm light of the enormous chamber and the colours of Thranduil's throne are constantly reflected by the gems on my own. It's more than a space by his side—it's one half of the centre of all power in the court of the Woodland Realm. One half for him, and the other for me.

My eyes are suddenly drawn away from the spectacle before me as my fiancé encloses my hand in his, and they rest upon his expression of unadulterated adoration. 'It's perfect. Absolutely perfect...' I breathe, a smile spreading across my face.

'It's yours, Elena. Come and take your place beside me.' Thranduil tugs at my hand, snapping me out of my entrancement.

'I would be honoured,' I reply softly. A tightness rising in my chest, I let Thranduil lead me across the platform and up the steps, running my hand along the cold metal of my throne upon reaching it. He nudges me gently to sit down.

And suddenly everything seems to fall into place.  As I seat myself among that dazzling display of starlight and flame, the entire world shifts.  It's as though the throne was waiting for me, like I was meant to be here, like I... belong here.

Thranduil certainly belongs here.  After releasing my hand, he sits to my right in his signature posture, that strange yet beautiful fusion of relaxed and regal simultaneously, crossing his legs and picking up the sceptre that had been stood against the side of the throne.  I cross my ankles neatly, knowing full well I could never pull off such a look as he does, but feeling oddly confident in myself to look my own way.  It is what Thranduil would say to me if I brought it up: you do not want to look like me—you want to look like you.