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Nimble fingers weaved silver platinum, tugging softly here or gently moving it into place. Her fingertips skimmed the waterfall of spun silk that caught the first rays of the sun spilling through the canopy of the trees and in through the open widow. When she carefully wrapped one strand about the tie and tucked it gently into place, she allowed the thin plait to slide from her finger. Without looking away from the elf’s hair before her, she collected the mithril plated comb lying on the richly colored spread that covered the bed she sat on.
“It seems longer still…” Her words came as but a whisper on the still morning air as she gathered the soft hair just above the other ear. The sound of her voice caused him to move, the spell of silence shattered as he tipped his head back to peer up at her with luminous blue eyes. Not for the first time, she bit into her lower lip and stilled the flutter in her chest it always caused when he looked at her. One of the dark brows rose just a bit at her in question. “It feels like each year that passes, your hair gets longer.”
A low, but gentle hum left him as his lashes lowered to the feeling of her fingers trailing over the tip of his ear. “Does that bother you?”
Thranduil Oropherion commanded a room just by standing in it. Even if he only stood as prince over Greenwood, he held something stronger in the line of his back and the rich tone of his voice that Oropher created in time. Thranduil showed it naturally from the moment he started to come of age. To her… it felt more a distraction to the elf she slowly grew to know so well. No one really peered past that elegantly placed mask of perfection that Oropher demanded of his son. “No, meleth nin… it does not.” She allowed her finger to coil in a strand lightly. “In fact, it gives me more to play with.”
The Woodland prince allowed a quirk of a smile to pull at the corner of his lips before angling his head to give her an easier time to finish the second braid. “I still do not know why I let you do this.” Braiding, for all of their talents in the art, took time. Time that Thranduil never liked to spare for any reason. Yet when they woke up in the morning, he would sit on the floor before her and let her do as she pleased.
“Hm… Why indeed?” Laughter colored her voice as she quickly wove the precious hair into another plait just above his ear. “It keeps it out of your way when you work for one. And perhaps…”
“Perhaps I know you enjoy it?” Thranduil interjected lightly, knowing she would prod at him for hours if he let her. And it only made a brilliant smile pull at her lips and lighten her eyes. Her fingers started to tie off the braid as she kissed the top of his head.
“You spoil me.” Another strand pulled about to over the tie and be tugged into place.
“It pleases me.” His voice sounded off like the rumble of a kitten purring as she gathered the silver gold on top to plait more of the hair along the middle. She changed the style to something simple and elegant, the entire style proving similar each day. Her signature. She poured the depth of love into each curl of his hair being put into place. He let her do this. Braid his hair when he preferred to not bother with such things. Many might say it proper of a husband to give such a small thing to his wife, but Thranduil did it for her. Because it was her heart’s desire for that quiet moment with him each day.
As she wound the soft hair to cover the tie again, she let it drop into the sea of hair once more. The weight made it fall heavier, and bounce softly off the rising swell of her stomach. His heir one day. Their child. The feeling swept through her and before her husband could move away, her arms wrapped about his neck and her face pressed into his hair. One strong hand rose and curled gently over her forearm before he carefully turned in her embrace. Both of his hands found her waist and she felt lighter as he lifted her off the bed and into his arms. “Amin mella lle, Thranduil…”
His hand slid under her chin and lifted it slowly to look into her eyes. Luminous blue searched her face, trying to find in her own gray eyes what could have her so emotional so suddenly. A line of worry creased the perfect smoothness of his brow and she had to lift a hand to smooth it out with the pad of her thumb. “A'maelamin… what troubles you?”
“Nothing, meleth nin… I think our child makes me think too deeply at times.” She laughed, a small musical sound that caused the barest twitch at the corner of his lips. “Do not worry.”
“I will always worry. For both of you.” Large hands cupped her face as he tipped it down and pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. “And when our child arrives, perhaps he or she will one day let you braid their hair in my place?”
“Never. Even if I braid our child’s hair daily, I would never let you out of your promise to allow me.” Grinning all the more, she ended up in musical laughter as he pointedly looked to the ceiling and sighed in such a resigned fashion.
“If my lady insists, then I am bound to comply.”
“She does. And you are.”
Thranduil looked at her, a flicker of laughter in his eyes that he did not let out. No, he did not do such things often though she wished he did. But he did lean in, their noses brushed against each other as he whispered his love back to her. She did not even realize her fingers curling a slender plait between them as their lips met.
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“Ada…” His voice took on a whining tone that he could not quite hold back. Promises of archery lessons and picking out his first bow rambled through his head and made it impossibly hard to sit still. How could his father make him sit still when the excitement made him want to pull apart at the seams? “Do we have to braid it today?”
Legolas tried to tip his head back to look at his father, but the king lightly realigned his head so he could finish his work. The elfling huffed in irritation, even if his father’s fingers stayed so tender in his hair. If he be honest with himself, he knew he liked it when the King of the Woodland Realm made it a point to do this each morning. Even if Thranduil had to chase him and grab him from a mid-run as Legolas attempted to make a break for it. No matter how he tried, he ended up in the elder’s lap looking irritated as his father braided his hair. “You said we could go pick a bow, ada… does this not waste time?”
“I assure you, Legolas, if a bow is taken before you get there, I can have it made again.” Thranduil’s deep voice rumbled against him and yet again the king made him sit up straight for him to keep working.
Huffing, he pulled at the finished braid on one side and glared at it. “You never braid your hair…”
Where the young prince thought it often, he never allowed the words to leave his lips. But then, he never felt this impatient before. An impatience he instantly regretted as his father’s hands still in his hair. A long silence passed them by as the Elven Kings fingers quaked ever so slightly in his hair. Legolas felt something sink like a rock in his chest as his father finished the braid slower this time, tied it off and let him go. The style was not complete. In fact, his head felt wrong without the simple but elegant braid that usually crowned the top of his head.
Turning his head, he watched his father’s hands rest on the bed and strong fingers tightening sharply in the bed covers. Regret shot throw his heart like an arrow the moment he dared to look up into Thranduil’s face. The elven king had his head turned to the side, his normally bright eyes darkened and cold in a way he could not explain. The elders spoke of grief and pain in their kind, a depth of which even they could not survive. Some whispered about his mother only to stop when they caught sight of him.
All his young mind could fathom was that his father hurt deeply in that moment. The pain pulled at his lips causing a deep frown and took the light of eldar eternity from the king’s eyes. Legolas’ brow furrowed as he suddenly moved, desperate to right the wrong which he had created. “Amin hiraetha, ada… Please do not stop.”
Small hands caught in the front of the elaborate silver robe and for a moment, Legolas thought his father might push him away. Instead, he reached out and tangled his hand softly in his golden blonde hair that was a shade darker than his father’s. “If it upsets you that much, I will not make you endure it.”
Something inside felt like it crumpled at those words. The childish impatience seemed so wrong now as he watched his father withdraw even more behind the face he now wore all the time as a king. “Ada…” The elfing’s voice pleaded with him softly as he picked up the comb and held it up between them. Tears pricked at gray blue eyes as he peered at him pleadingly. “An ngell nîn… I want you to.”
Thranduil watched him a moment and he held his breath to keep the tears from falling from his eyes. However, when the king gently ran his thumb along the back of his head as he seemed to remember something, he could not stop the sniff or the heated drops from falling over his cheeks. Instantly the strong fingers unraveled from his hair and both hands rose to wipe the tears away. Legolas closed his eyes as his father kissed his forehead and whispered for him not to cry in the low but gentle sound of their language. It only made him collapse into the elder’s chest and cling to him tightly.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to.” He liked this time together. The running really only made the event longer so he could have more time with his father each day. He did not know his own foolishness would make those moments suddenly end. The idea horrified him. But as his father’s arms wrapped around him, he burrowed in deeper and closed his eyes. “Please never stop…”
“I will not…” Thranduil’s lips pressed into his hair and he felt the warmth and calm wash through him and ease away the need for tears. They knew that his request was too long and too much. But for now, it felt right to ask it. Just this one thing. And even if his father never told him why he never braided his own hair, he could be happy if Thranduil never stopped braiding his.
Translation Notes:
Meleth nin – My love
A'maelamin – My beloved
Amin mella lle – I love you
Ada – father (daddy is a better equivalent in a way)
Amin hiraetha – Forgive me/I’m sorry
An ngell nîn – roughly please/it pleases me