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You click the door open, but dare not open it fully. A second later and the door shakes nastily as something smashes against it. With a deep breath you tighten your grip on the door and push it all the way open.
“Thranduil!” you yelp as a seven hundred year old vase flies into the wall next to your head. The white and blue china tinkles to the floor, not half a foot from you.
You turn wide, somewhat fearful eyes on your husband. Had he been in his right mind he would have come rushing over, apologising until the words he spoke merged into a single sound. Yet he wasn’t in his right mind. Not even slightly. Instead he turned, picked up a book from his bedside table and threw it into a wall that you weren’t stood by.
“Thranduil, please!”
Your husband continues to ignore you. His anger is thickening the air and his face is turning redder than an apple.
“Meleth nîn, please just take a breath.” You take a tentative step towards him, then another and another until you’re stood behind him.
“Vára Casar!” Thranduil spits. He ceases his destructive throwing but his hands clench into tight fists at his side. “Pia norta orco meldo!”
“No, Eldameldor.”
Thranduil laughs harshly, turning to face you so rapidly that his hair nearly whips you across the face. “Why doesn’t this concern you? Do you forget his lineage?”
You sigh as Thranduil pushes past you, slamming the door. “I do not forget his lineage. You forget that we all lost to the dwarves, not just you. But Legolas is my youngest son. He is my alca. If he says he has found a life partner in Gimli then so be it. I may not be happy about it, but there is little to do.”
“But the dwarf is-“
“Of a very stubborn family. Perhaps you forget how is father, his uncle and his cousins behaved when you threw them in the dungeon. Tell me, what do you think Gimli will do if you forbid him to see Legolas? Sit down and accept that?” you laugh humorously. You remember all too well the earful that Gloin had given you nearly a century ago. “More to the point, do you think Legolas will take that?”
“But Legolas is my son!”
“Legolas is your fourth son, not your first and not your heir.” You approach Thranduil again, this time taking his hands in yours. “Alyan and Locien will give you grandchildren through their wives, Erulassë and Mirima.”
“Legolas-“
“Is as happy with Gimli as Authion is with his books. Would you stop Authion from visiting the archives?”
Thranduil’s bottom jaw clenches but he remains silent for a few moments. “I don’t know where he gets his stubbornness from.”
When you laugh this time it is out of sheer disbelief. “From the two of us! Or do you forget how our parents almost forbid us to marry? I should think Legolas will listen to you as much as you did your father.”
“I fear that you are right.”
“Fear nothing.” You smile, lifting on to your toes to kiss his cheek. “Legolas has chosen to love Gimli and Gimli has chosen to love Legolas. Be happy for them.”
Thranduil unclenches his fists and shrugs them from your hands to wrap his arms around your waist. He pulls you close and tucks your head under his chin. “Gi melin, ninya indis.”