The Prince's Pretend Mother

Eighth Entry - Go it Sole Alone

The moral is, it hardly need be shown,

All those who try to go it sole alone,

Too proud to be beholden for relief,

Are absolutely sure to come to grief.

*

My rooms had been restored to their former neatness, so I did not need to avoid any more glass fragments as I let myself in and sagged into the middle of my mattress without bothering to remove my clothes. Linwea was quietly overjoyed to see me returned as well, but when I asked her the next morning to find me something black to wear she hesitated.

I went to my wardrobe myself to look. There was nothing. The chests had been picked over too. My lips pursed, finally I allowed her to lace me into a deep blue gown and marched as gracefully as I could to Thranduil's rooms and did as I had never done before and let myself into his rooms, fully intending to steal him from his sleep since I had risen hours before I usually did.

Thranduil touched each of his eyes, having fallen asleep in his clothes as well, and didn't bother sitting up. "Inladris. To what do I owe your ire?"

"You have taken my mourning clothes."

"Yes I have."

"Give them back to me at once."

"Black is not your color."

"And how shall I mourn for my brother if I cannot wear it?" I demanded.

He sat up, finally portraying an interest in our debate. "By wearing vibrant colors. Your brother did not approve of despair, and would not like to see you wallowing in it."

"I cannot simply put away my grief for losing the last member of my family!" I shouted at him.

"Last night you seemed to be doing fairly well."

"Last night-"

Thranduil stood. "Last night you seemed to have come to a conclusion that upon waking this morning you seem to have lost. Your brother's greatest fear was that he would leave you the last member of your house but he also knew you would mourn for him while he was still alive if he gave up the work that he loved. Do not realize his fears by contaminating the rest of your hopefully very long life with grief." His eyes flicked back and forth between mine. "Let Firven live through you by living with the vitality he so praised you for. Let him watch from­­­ the Halls of Mandos and see that his sister has not died with him."

I blinked, watching him through eyes that had blurred. Thranduil could turn the meaning of anything, adjust any situation to fit his needs or to convince who he must. My lips trembled around a smile I wasn't sure my face could hold and my voice broke as I said, "You are in the right profession, Thranduil."

Thranduil gave a condescending smile that I knew the truths of, and placed a hand on my shoulder to pull me into an embrace, stroking my now-smoothed hair. "I do the best that I can."

"Mmhm. If black isn't my color than what would you say is?"

"Hmm. Blue. Not this dark one you're wearing today, a few shades lighter."

"Cobalt then."

"Fine, give it a name. And that strange pink you wore a few weeks ago."

"The one I wore when Firven died."

"Yes that one."

"I burned that one."

"I'll have another one made," he drawled.

"You will not."

"Tell me why."

I eased out of his arms and stuck my nose in the air. "Because my compliance with your enforced dress code will not be bought. I can commission my own dresses."