Baptized in Blood and Flame

Chapter 9: Doriath

This is less a chapter, and more a collection of short scenes, but it covers a long period of time and gives some backstory.

First Age: 11

Calambar hated ice.

He had had lost of time to ponder deep thoughts whilst crossing the Helcaraxë, but that was the only one that stuck. He hated it. That damned ice, the wretched cold that had taken his mother, that had almost taken his baby brother, that was the visual, physical, proof of how they had abandoned their kin of Aman.

It was ice that the creatures in his nightmares breathed. It was snow that was the form of his regret and shame. It was cold that ran its clawed hand down his spine as it stole sleep from him.

The rest of the Noldor had chosen to settle north, to be closer to the enemy and their gems. But Calambar, Liantassë, and their father had decided to lead a small party south to Doriath.

They were through with the wars of the Noldor.

At first, only a small group had gone, to plead pardon to Thingol. By the grace of the Valar, he had accepted, on the condition that any who wished to seek a home in Doriath must forswear the Noldor, and join completely with the Sindar.

For Calambar, it was a gift.

He took his Sindarin name and wore it as a badge of pride. Vigorous Spring, they called him. His brother, once Liantassë, was named Glorious Day. Their father bore the name of Tall Beech-Tree. More than any other of the Noldor refugees, Calambar welcomed the shunning of Noldor culture, doing his best do put from his mind the sight of the trees and the language of his people.

Calambar hated ice, but the Sindar had warmth to spare

•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•

First Age: 13

Those who had been in the first parlay caravan had returned seemingly taken by the beauty of Luthien, waxing poetic about ice-blue eyes and flowing black hair. But Calambar-Thranduil, he was Thranduil now. Thranduil could only find beauty in one sight, which he saw mere days after the King had accepted him.

Thranduil had been wandering the forest, still not quite adjusted to living inside Menegroth, still preferring the trees to the stone, still a little bit homesick. He had just taken rest under a wisteria vine when he heard singing.

A carefree song, so happy that it lifted his downtrodden soul. Without realizing what he was doing, almost as if drawn by some strange, invisible hand, he followed the voice.

He recognized her instantly: Arvuin, daughter of Thingol. As she saw him, she slowed her words, holding out her hand and smiling as he tentatively joined in the chorus. She took his hands in her own, pulling him into a dance as they kept singing.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, astonished. He smiled as he felt it; the scar across his cheek from the trek across the ice had vanished, a small part of his fëa healed just from sharing a song with her.

"Elenathiel," He murmured, taking her hand again and twirling her around. He couldn't help but call her that, in the absence of the moon that night the stars had decided to wreathe their light into her hair.

"Thranduil," She acknowledged, a lovely smile gracing her lips, speaking with such a genuine, slightly humorous voice that he didn't even question how she knew his name.