Chapter Text
The silence was so complete the sound of the river far below Thranduil’s throne reached his ears. He looked over the arm of his seat, down, down, down into the abyss far below him, past the wide receiving chamber, past the prisoner cells, past the storage rooms that held his people’s winter stock, past the tightly guarded room for his personal wine supply, and all the way into the rushing waters. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to plunge all the way down.
Shaking the melancholy images from his head, he straightened. Those thoughts usually plagued him when a petitioner droned on without getting to the point, not on fine days like today, and even less so now that Nimue had joined him in the Woodland Realm.
He leaned his head on his propped hand and sighed deeply. I do not allow these yearly general petition days to only be ignored. In all the Ages I have allowed this, there has never been not a single request. He tapped his fingers on his chin. What is keeping them?
He pondered the question and waited, growing increasingly frustrated, for another hour. No matter how hard he willed it, the ornate doors refused to open.
With a huff, he stomped down the stairs leading from his throne. How undignified but no one is about to witness it.
He pulled open the doors and schooled his features into their usual disinterest. “I will accept no further petitions.”
The guards stationed outside the throne room did not respond but he had not expected them to. Two other guards fell into step behind him as he strode swiftly towards his rooms.
I wait on no one’s pleasure and since they have squandered my magnanimity, I shall take a ride.
The guards took their places outside his chamber doors when he entered. Going to his wardrobe, he paused, considering summoning Galion to help him change but deciding against it. Let them wonder where I have gone.
With another sigh, he reverently removed his ornate crown of branches adorned with the season’s freshest blooms and set it on its cushion. He dropped the elaborate robe to the floor. His shirt and breeches soon joined the robe. Someone would take care of them when they prepared his room for bed.
He pulled on his riding outfit and secured a simple circlet of finely wrought silver on his brow. Just because he was going riding didn’t mean he couldn’t retain his regality.
He strode towards the door, pulling on his leather gloves, and strapping the sword belt around his waist, when he paused. Nimue’s voice floated to the front of his mind. ‘Just because you are king does not mean you can be a slob.’
Groaning, he hurried back and scooped up his discarded clothing. The robe was hung on the appropriate hook and the other clothes put into the basket to be laundered. He never used to give these things a second thought but - He smiled at Nimue’s brilliant blue shift in the basket - Perhaps these changes were doing him good.
I will ask Nimue to accompany me. We can ride double. He exited his chambers with a small smile, imagining her in his arms as they galloped. I will take her somewhere special.
A door to one of the chambers flew open as he strode along the corridor and his ever present guards raised their spears.
A startled maid dropped the linens she carried and curtseyed deeply. “Pardon me, my king,” her voice trembled.
In the past, he would have glared and continued on without a word but now he tried to settle his features into something kinder. “You are…”
Not Aemma, Nimue's personal maid, but another one that is frequently around. What is her name?
He attempted a smile which only seemed to startle the maid more.
Nimue has no trouble remembering. She learned everyone’s name in a fortnight.
“Lorazenya,” the maid whispered, still averting her gaze.
“Ah, yes. Lorazenya, have you seen Lady Nimue?”
She sputtered and cast a wary glance at the guards when they shifted their weapons to rest at their sides.
Thranduil waited, trying to keep the annoyance off his face. It is not a difficult question.
“My lady likes to spend the afternoon outside,” she squeaked and curtseyed again.
“Which garden does she favor?” He gritted his teeth, keeping the biting words at his growing impatience from slipping out.
Lorazenya's eyes darted everywhere but at him. “She…umm…My lady prefers the receiving platform outside the doors.” She dropped another curtsey.
His heart slammed into his ribs. Outside the stronghold!
“Travaran does not leave her side, my king.” Lorazenya twisted the hem of her dress.
“Yes, of course,” Thranduil said, trying to slow his racing heart. The guard he had assigned her would protect her with his life.
“Carry on,” he dismissed the maid.
He took a few steps. I promised to be kinder. Stopping, he turned back and said with a bow of his head, “Thank you, Lorazenya.”
She squeaked, dropped the linens again, and bobbed a curtsey.
Dismissing her with a wave of his hand, he resumed his journey until the rough stone doors of the stronghold’s entrance loomed before him. They had been designed to and successfully repealed attacks by spiders, orcs, men, and many other unmentionables over the ages.
Why could she not favor a garden within the walls? At least she was within sight of the doors and the guards. He resolved to speak to her about it. Ordering would only make her choose a more dangerous spot.
He stepped outside and took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the enclosed interior of the stronghold.
Dappled sunlight dotted the ground through overlapping branches overhead. A warm breeze shook the leaves, bringing the earthly scent of new growth. A squirrel scampered down the nearby trunk and darted across the path.
He breathed deeply. Arda's reawakening always filled him with renewed hope. We should have a celebration. Nimue will be gorgeous adorned in flowers.
Smiling to himself, he turned to the receiving platform. His breath caught when he saw Nimue. She sat facing away from him, ensconced in a golden beam of sunlight. Her hair shone as those of a raven’s wing and the cream dress, the one he had helped fasten that morning, floated like mist about her. Before, he had imagined her in nearly every corner of his realm but her beauty in reality was beyond comprehension. He sent a prayer of thanks to the gods for allowing her to return to his life.
As he stood mesmerized, a young woman stood and curtseyed. She was smiling but had tears in her eyes. Her hands fluttered when she passed him, only to remember herself and curtsey with a whispered, “My king,” before disappearing into the stronghold.
He barely acknowledged her. As he watched, one of the guards-in-training approached Nimue and bowed. The sound of her laughter barely reached Thranduil’s ears as she reached out and took the guard’s hands, guiding him to sit next to her. As they talked, her fingers worked the small embroidery piece in her lap.
Thranduil took in another calming breath. She would not be entertaining another lover so openly. His hands clenched at his side and he struggled to uncurl his fingers. She is well within her rights to speak to anyone she pleases. He knew this but he wanted to march over there and toss the impertinent youth away from his love.
He turned to the door guard closest to him. “You, where is Travaran?” he barked.
Travaran stepped from behind the other guard and bowed deeply. “Here, my king.”
Thranduil motioned him over, further out of earshot of Nimue. He didn’t want to cause her unnecessary distress, not before he learned what was really going on.
Travaran bowed again and shifted to keep Nimue in his sight.
Thranduil minutely relaxed. I have chosen well the person to keep her safe in my stead.
“My king?”
“I commend you for your diligence in protecting my lady.”
Travaran bowed his head.
“I would like to know more about her daily activities. I was told she spends the afternoons out here.” He gestured to where she sat.
“I tried to tell her there were safer locations, more comfortable locations, but she insisted on leaving the stronghold’s walls. I thought staying within sight of the doors would be …” Travaran realized he had spoken out of turn and bowed deeply again.
“I appreciate your honesty,” Thranduil soothed. “Is this what she typically does?”
Travaran nodded. “People come and talk to her while she plies the needle. I’m not sure about what, she asks me to stay back,” his eyes darted to Thranduil’s face and then away, “I have only seen them talk, my king.”
“I will not tolerate any suggestions that my lady is untrue,” he growled.
“Of course not - I would never - She is - I would protect her with my life even if I was not commanded to do so.” Travaran clicked his jaw shut and lowered his gaze.
I should not be surprised that he has developed feelings for Nimue. Her beauty is only matched by her kindness. Thranduil studied the young guard. I will speak to Legolas about setting up a rotation for her protection. It will prevent any undue attachments being formed.
His eyes flickered back to Nimue, still in conversation with the guard-in-training. I do trust her. I was the inconsistent one.
Travaran shifted, his sword sheath creaking against his leather armor.
“Your loyalty will be repaid.” Thranduil tore his focus from Nimue and smiled at the guard.
Travaran’s eyes widened and uncertainty swept across his features. He quickly bowed and when he straightened, his face had returned to one of neutral respect.
“How else does she spend the days?”
Again, Travaran shifted. “Most mornings she spends in the kitchens. If she does not meet you for luncheon, she will often go to the training grounds and luncheon with Prince Legolas.”
Thranduil made a sound in his throat. Neither one told me of this but I am glad she and my son are getting to know each other.
“Then she comes out here, if the weather is nice, otherwise she will go to the minstrels or the library.” Travaran shifted his weight to his heels and glanced at the other guards. “A few times she disappeared behind the tapestry on the wall beside your chambers. She will not let me join her there but I do not leave the spot next to it.”
Thranduil waved his hand. The tapestry hid the stairway to a small turret room. Even he would not enter her private sitting room without an invitation. He had learned with Legolas’s mother that women needed a retreat when the demands of the court became overwhelming.
“And she stays here until she dresses for dinner?” Thranduil asked.
Travaran shook his head. “After a few hours we go visiting.”
Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Visiting?”
“She will go speak to any number of people. I’m not sure how she decides and it is different almost every day. I think she may be close to speaking to every one of Greenwood’s inhabitants.” Travaran suppressed a chuckle.
“What does she talk of?”
Travaran shrugged. “It’s mostly pleasantries and asking after their family and friends.” He snuck a glance at Thranduil. “I do not believe it is anything of great importance, at least not what I can determine. Everyone is more than respectful.”
“I expect no less.”
“Yes, my king.”
Thranduil hummed. In a few months she is learning more about my subjects than my former wife ever did.
“After that time, she will dress for supper. If it is needed, I escort her to the Feasting Hall and afterwards …”
Thranduil stopped listening. Since her arrival, Nimue has spent every evening with him.
As they were conversing, the guard-in-training rose and made his way back along the path to the practice fields.
Now that she was unoccupied, Thranduil strode forward without a word of parting to Travaran. As he crossed the doors’ threshold, he nearly collided with a hurrying Elf.
The Elf gasped and stumbled over the bottom of his robe in his haste. He would have fallen if the door guard had not got a hand on his arm. Sputtering, he bowed to Thranduil, offering profuse apologies.
Thranduil frowned and waved a dismissive hand. Fortunately, Madog is a scribe and not a warrior. He has so little awareness it is a miracle he doesn’t injure himself with his quill.
Nimue turned at the commotion and a smile lit her face when her eyes landed on Thranduil. She stood gracefully and seemed to float across the ground until she was in front of him.
He took her hand, bringing it to his lips to give her fingers a soft kiss.
Without releasing his hand, she asked Madog, “Is your inquiry urgent?”
“No, my lady.”
“I will look for you in the Feasting Hall tonight,” she said. “We will speak soon.”
“You are most kind, my lady.” Madog bowed again and slipped back inside.
Why would he have an inquiry for Nimue?
“I thought you would still be holding audiences.” Her question pulled Thranduil from his musings.
He pouted. “Not a single person requested one all day.”
“Is that unusual?”
“There is always some petty squabble I need to solve. Maids not receiving promised cloth, archers looking for promotion, some argument between families about marriage contracts…” He groaned. “It is noticeably better than listening to my advisors debate the same strategies for clearing the Greenwood of spiders. None of them have thought of anything new, or feasible, in the last Age.”
She squeezed his hand. “You are a generous king, perhaps your subjects have had all their needs met.”
“Perhaps.” His eyes darted to where Madog had disappeared and he thought of the others she had been speaking to … Or, perhaps they have found someone they would rather bring their petitions to. But no, that had never been a function of Greenwood’s queen.
“Thranduil?” She put a hand on his cheek. “Is everything well?”
He brought his hand to cover hers, smiling to alleviate her concern. “I was thinking, since I am clearly not needed today, we might go for a ride.”
Her eyes darted to her gown. “That will be lovely. Let me change.”
He kept hold of her hand. “No.”
“No?” She laughed. “You cannot expect me to ride in this dress.”
“I do,” he whispered and leaned close to her ear. “You will be radiant before me on Arasrohir.”
“I am perfectly capable of riding -”
“I know, my love.” He kissed her cheek. “I simply wish to have you in my arms as often as possible.”
Her hand slipped around to the back of his neck, drawing his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. “You make a strong argument.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Of course I do, I am king.”
She swatted at him and laughingly let him lead her by the hand to the stables.
The steady pounding of hooves filled the otherwise silent forest. The sun was obscured by the intertwining branches over the wide path. A strand of Nimue’s hair worked itself free from her braid, tickling Thranduil’s cheek. It filled his nose with a soft floral scent of rosewater. He wrapped his arm more securely around her, pulling her even closer in an attempt to shield her from the brisk wind the trot pushed over them.
Nimue tilted her head back against his chest, looking at him questionaly.
He shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile. I hope she will be pleased.
He urged Arasrohir into a gallop, flying over the path, until they reached an ancient pine tree. Slowing to a walk, he directed the elk to a narrow path, motioning for the two following guards to hang back. He wound their way onwards over the light frost that still covered the sheltered ground beneath the trees.
Nimue shivered and he transferred the reins to one hand, using the other to pull his cloak around to cover her. Sighing contently, she snuggled further into his chest.
“Just a little further,” he said softly.
“Where are we going?” She peered over the edge of the cloak, taking in the trees pressing close on either side and the twitter of songbirds hidden in the branches.
“Just wait. Have I ever taken you somewhere unpleasant?”
“There was that time I ended up covered in spider’s web.” She bit her lip to hide a smile.
He groaned. “We did not go there intentionally.”
“Although, watching your prowess with the sword is quite invigorating,” she purred.
Heat pooled in his belly. “I could say the same, my love.”
Her hand reached back, slipping along his thigh, to grasp the hilt of his sword. “And are we heading for such dangers?”
He swallowed hard and focused on finding the best path along the narrow trail. Finally, he responded, “We should encounter nothing larger than a rabbit.”
Her fingers retreated with another feather light stroke along his thigh. “I should hope so, considering you refused to let me change into something practical.”
He shifted his hand higher around her midsection. “I find this to be enough of an impediment without all the laces and layers of your riding outfit.”
“I do hope I won't have to rip it to fend off any monsters. I rather like this dress.”
He scowled, making her laugh. “In the very unlikely event that happens, I shall have two new ones made of even higher quality for you.”
They lapsed into silence, enjoying the gentle rocking of the elk and the nature of the forest, until the bubbling of a stream reached their ears.
Thranduil let out a breath. I hoped it would not still be frozen.
They stepped into a nearly perfectly circular clearing, ablaze with sunlight. Running through the center was a trickle of water, barely wider than the length of his sword. As the stream neared the far edge of the trees, it tumbled over a large boulder, creating a miniature waterfall.
Nimue gasped. “How lovely.”
He tossed the reins to the waiting guard and slid from the elk, reaching up to help her down.
“How did you ever come across this place?” She turned to face the beauty but stayed in the circle of his arms.
“I was spider hunting one night and got separated from the others -”
“Nearly gave Feren a heart attack,” one of the guards muttered.
Nimue giggled. “I thought you promised me no monsters.”
Thranduil glared at them and they withdrew. As a precaution, he led Nimue closer to the stream.
“I was separated from the others and followed the sound of the stream. It led me here.” He wrapped his arms around her again and leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear, “We will return at midsummer. The field is full of flowers and the stars on full display.”
“I do miss the stars.”
“You are my star.”
She giggled again but tilted her head to bring their lips together.
His hands tugged on her waist, turning her until they were pressed together from toe to chest. His lips never left hers as she wound her fingers in his hair, holding him to her just as fiercely as he held her.
The need for breath pulled them apart but they stayed wrapped together for several long moments afterwards.
“And what did you have in mind for this afternoon, my king?” Nimue said softly.
“Just to enjoy your company without anyone interrupting or watching us.”
She tilted to look over his arm in the direction of the guards.
He dropped his forehead to hers. “Well, as few people watching as possible. It would be impudent of me to take you out here unprotected.”
“And it does ensure we don’t have to concern ourselves with anything but each other.”
He kissed her briefly, pulling away before he could get caught in her sweet embrace, and motioned for the guards to bring him the blanket and small basket.
With a flourish, he spread the blanket out near the stream. Nimue sat and smoothed her skirts around her, tilting her face to catch the sun’s warmth.
If only I could capture this moment. I would always carry it with me.
He lowered himself to the blanket and poured them each a goblet of wine.
They sipped the sweet wine and talked of many things. Reminiscences of their shared past, day-to-day gossip at the court, Legolas’s desire to organize a large spider hunt, the possibility of a masquerade ball for the changing of the season. The conversation flowed easily between them with no agenda and no plan.
Things would have been so different if I hadn’t listened to my father and married Nimue instead. My wife could barely say three words to me in private without becoming angry, even if she was the model of a perfect queen in public.
Several hours later, Thranduil lay with his head in Nimue’s lap. The gentle strokes of her fingers in his hair nearly lulled him to sleep as he watched the promised rabbits play in the field across the stream.
She gave his hair a soft tug and he rolled to look up at her smiling face. He took her hand in his and pressed it to his heart.
“It draws close to supper,” she said, breaking the silence. “We should return.”
“Or, we could stay here until the stars rise and I can see you bathed in their light.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps when it is a little less cold.” She bent down and kissed his nose.
“Why did you not tell me you were chilled?” He quickly sat up and pulled her into his lap, rubbing her arms.
She giggled and pushed at his chest. “Because I am not cold now, but I fear it will be very cold with the sun drops below the canopy. The mornings are still covered in frost.”
He wrapped her tighter in his arms, tucking her head under his chin. “We will take supper in our room.”
She clucked her tongue. “We will make an appearance in the hall.” She poked his ribs. “You cut the audiences short.”
“No one wanted an audience.” The whine in his voice embarrassed him.
She laughed again. “Perhaps they will explain themselves at supper.”
Grumbling, he released her and helped her to stand before gaining his own feet. “There had better be a reason for their negligence.”
He helped Nimue onto Arasrohir and mounted behind her. But I would not trade this afternoon for all the jewels on Arda.
Thranduil gazed in the mirror as Galion placed the crown on his head, adjusting his hair until it hung flawlessly over his shoulders.
He heard Nimue sneeze in the other room where Aemma was helping her dress. I should not have kept her so long in the cold. I will never forgive myself if she falls ill.
“Get the gold wrap for my lady,” he instructed Galion. It will pair nicely with the lilac dress she had laid out for tonight.
The butler gave his hair a few more adjustments before hurrying to the wardrobe. He returned with the requested item. “Shall I bring it to your lady?”
“No.” He stood from the chair. “I will do it.”
Galion handed over the item with a bow as he was dismissed.
Thranduil leaned on the doorway, watching Nimue finish her evening preparations. Aemma wove crocuses, a shade paler than Nimue’s dress, into the intricate braid that hung down her back.
She deserves a crown. She will never consent to the queen’s crown but perhaps I will send Galion to the treasury tomorrow to see if there is a suitable circlet that can be reworked. She cannot offer too much resistance, not when even the lowliest of Imladris’s servants wear circlets. He snorted at the thought. Elrond could have been High-King and yet he insists on treating everyone as equals.
Focusing on the scene in front of him, he waited until Aemma curtseyed and exited the room before striding over to stand behind Nimue as she sat at her dressing table. He draped the golden wrap around her shoulders. Its color with the dress made her look even more queenly, just as he envisioned.
She smiled at him when their eyes met in the mirror. “What is this for?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t sneeze. I can’t have you ill.”
She shook her head. “I sneezed because the flowers released their pollen. I had to have Aemma shake them out over the balcony.” But she pulled the wrap more evenly around her shoulders.
He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer. “It has the additional benefit of drawing out more of your beauty.” He kissed the soft skin of her neck.
Shaking her head again, she leaned forward and tucked stray wisps of hair into place.
As he waited for her to finish getting ready, his eyes wandered along the dressing table. His wife’s had been ladened with vials, jars, combs, and many other things he could never name. Nimue’s could not have been more different. The only items the table held were her vial of rosewater, a simple hair brush, two ribbons she used to tie her hair back, and the jeweled comb Legolas had gifted her during the last celebration.
He also noticed that the embroidery piece she had been working on earlier lay on the table. His curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the simple cloth to examine her stitches. They were neat, as he expected, but had no discernible design. There were small knots, random shapes, and threads of many different colors filling the small cloth.
She opened the vial of rosewater and applied some to her wrists.
“What were you talking of earlier?” he asked.
“The songs for the midsummer celebration? From Imladris’s library?”
“No. Before at the receiving platform, I saw you speaking with a maid, and then a guard, and even Madog wanted to speak to you. What were you talking to them about?”
She hummed softly and moved her gaze away from him in the mirror, adjusting one of the flowers. “Nothing of importance.”
“Do not lie to me,” he hissed.
Her reflection glared at him as she continued to calmly adjust her hair.
“Travaran reported that you spend your afternoons visiting.” He gripped her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Have I been so neglectful that you must speak to even the stable lads?”
Her eyes flashed. “It might do you good to speak to more of your people. Perhaps you would be less melancholy.”
His fingers tightened, making her wince, when he realized, he soothed a thumb over the indentation in apology.
She placed a hand over his. “You are not your father. You do not have to continue to uphold his standards of courtly behavior. Your people love you and would cherish the opportunity to know you better.”
He closed his eyes to hide the confusion from her. Do I want that? The easy comradery Legolas has with his fellow archers? The closeness I once shared with warriors before the disaster of Dagorlad? Why would anyone want to know me? I spent the last Age pushing everyone away… even my son when he needed me the most.
A gentle touch on his cheek settled his racing thoughts. “Thranduil?”
He took in a shuddering breath, glad it was just the two of them. “If I hold myself apart then it does not hurt as badly when they are gone.”
She smiled sadly and brought her other hand up to hold his face. “All that does is make you suffer twice. First when you have no one to rely on and then again when they are gone.”
He mirrored her hold and drew their foreheads together. “But you came back to me and perhaps that is a sign from the Valar.”
“You deserve the same compassion and joy you bring to your people.”
“Our people.”
A knock at the door interrupted her reply.
“Father, Nimue, are you within?” Legolas called through the door.
Thranduil pressed a quick kiss to Nimue’s lips before bidding his son to enter.
Legolas bowed to them and straightened with a smile. “I should have known better than to listen to Syrune’s worrying.”
Thranduil scowled. His chief advisor was prone to fits of anxiety most unbecoming of his station.
Legolas laughed. “As soon as I heard Lady Nimue was also missing, I knew nothing horrible had drawn you away from petition day.”
“This is exactly why I wanted time away,” Thranduil muttered. “Everyone is always watching.”
Nimue gave his arm a comforting squeeze.
“Was there a matter that needed my attention?”
“No, Father.”
“And this conversation could not have waited until supper?”
Legolas shrugged. “I thought I would check if there is anything I could assist with from the petitions. Things that might be best discussed in private.”
“There were no petitions.”
Legolas’s brow furled. “No petitions?”
“None of our subjects seemed to care that I set an entire day aside for them. Not a single person approached for an audience.”
Nimue made a noise and the men turned to her. She held the small cloth of embroidery in her hand, running her fingers over some of the stitches. “I wondered, Legolas, if you would be able to help Emhyr become more practiced with the bow?”
Now Thranduil’s brow furled. How does she know who needs archery practice?
“He is worried that Feren is upset after the last spider incident and does not want to make the same mistake.” She smiled at Legolas. “You are Arda’s most skilled archer and I’m sure just a few sessions would be enough for Emhyr to regain his confidence, and Feren’s good graces.”
Thranduil was sure his face mirrored the surprised confusion on his son’s.
Legolas recovered first. “It would be my pleasure,” he answered Nimue. “I shall speak to Emhyr about potential times after supper.”
“I’m sure he will appreciate it. You won’t tell him I asked you for this favor?”
“If that is your wish, my lady.”
“Please, how many times must I ask you to call me Nimue?”
“Nimue,” Legolas pronounced carefully and smiled, “I will keep this conversation between us. It will do me good to practice basic bow techniques.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall we?” Legolas offered her his arm, which she took.
Thranduil strode ahead of them and the ever present guards fell into step as they exited the chamber and made their way along the twisting corridors.
Snippets of the conversation between Nimue and Legolas reached his ears as they walked the twisting corridors.”
“Do you know who supplies quills?” she asked.
A servant passed, bowing with words of respect, making Thranduil miss Legolas’s response and the next question.
“Only on celebration days,” Legolas answered a different question.
Thranduil nearly growled when the laughter of several maids echoed back to him from the bisecting corridor ahead.
“There is no restriction on who may train, even ladies, as long as they are committed,” Legolas said.
After a few more steps, Nimue asked, “Are the springs off limits after nightfall?”
Thranduil slowed to not miss this conversation.
“Are you planning on taking Father there for some -”
The sound of slapping reached his ears before Legolas laughed. “I meant no disrespect. If you want to take a private swim, you should ask Father about his hot springs.”
“But the other pools?”
“They are not well lit but I suppose if you don’t mind the dark they would be a pleasant enough spot. Not many would make the journey at night, even though we have not had any spiders that close to the stronghold in decades.”
“Paeris will be pleased to know.”
Thranduil puzzled over the strange sequence of questions. None of them seemed connected or had any direct relation to Nimue. Why would she -
The pieces fell into place and he halted.
Legolas trod on the end of his robe, pulling one end from his shoulder. “Father?”
Nimue gasped. “What is wrong?” She moved around to his front. “Are you well?” She raised a hand to his forehead.
The guards raised their spears, spreading out to flank the king’s family, but seeing no danger, retreated a respectful distance away.
Thranduil stopped Nimue with a shake of his head, looking at her in wonder. “There were no petitions today because they are going to you,” he said in a strangled voice. “How did I not realize…Visiting…You have been …Why?”
She dropped her gaze and clasped her hands in front of her. “I want to be useful.”
“How did this … why…”
Legolas snickered and Thranduil shot him a glare.
Composing himself, Thranduil asked, “How did this all begin?”
Nimue chewed on her lip. “I was chatting with Aemma one morning. She mentioned how she hadn’t had a new dress in decades because no one was around to keep track of the maids.”
She glanced at him and he smiled, encouraging her to continue.
“If I’m the highest ranking lady -”
“Queen,” Thranduil interrupted.
Nimue shook her head. “I thought it wouldn’t matter if I took charge of domestic concerns.” She peeked at him again. “And no one seemed concerned when I tasked Baerwidin to oversee the household staff.”
Legolas made a small sound. “So that’s why my chamber has been refreshed each day.”
Nimue nodded.
“But it is not just the household staff,” Thranduil said. “What I saw today was much more organized.”
Nimue continued to avoid his gaze. “A few days after that a minstrel approached me for leave to study. A party of scribes were journeying to Lothlorian, I didn’t think it would cause difficulties to add one more, and they would rest in Imladris on the way. She will return when the opportunity presents itself, since I couldn’t not guarantee an escort could be sent to…”
He gently drew up her bowed head with a finger under her chin, frowning when she closed her eyes to avoid his gaze.
“I know I should not have presumed to make decisions. They started coming to me for advice and I wanted to help. I am not attempting to undermine your authority,” she whispered. “As much as I would like to take over kitchen duties, I will not take that responsibility away from Clyradyl.” Her hands clenched in the folds of her skirt. “But I am not a doll to be propped up and admired. I want to be useful.”
Thranduil made a soothing noise and kissed her forehead. “Will you look at me, my love?”
Slowly, she blinked her eyes open.
He stared into the depth of her dark eyes, tracing the subtle patterns so similar to the bark of a chestnut tree, trying to convey how he was feeling.
It took a long moment before he was able to put voice to his swirling emotions.
“My love,” he repeated. “It is not that you are making these decisions or that I do not trust you to make them.”
Legolas snorted.
Thranduil glared at him. I will trust your decision making when you are able to return from a hunt unscathed, my son.
“I simply do not wish for you to become overburdened.” His thumbs stroked Nimue’s cheeks. “If you would allow it, I would shelter you from the world, and especially from the trolls that inhabit this court,” he said with vehemence.
She glared. “You would not think they are trolls if you got to know them better.” She smiled at a group of councilors as they neared.
Thranduil turned his gaze towards them and they scurried towards the Feasting Hall.
“We shall speak more of this later.” He straightened his robe and once more led the way along the corridor.
Legolas offered his arm to a grim Nimue and they followed in silence.
The sweet sounds of a minstrel’s recorder mimicking birdsong drifted over the Feasting Hall as the last plates were cleared by servants. Soon, a flute and harp joined in and the tune encouraged the young and merry to start a dance.
Thranduil reclined in his chair, swirling the wine in his goblet. Supper had been an awkward affair at the head table and he knew it was his fault.
Legolas had excused himself after the second course to sit with his fellow archers, claiming he needed to speak to them about their last patrol. Nimue refused to raise her eyes over the height of her wine goblet and said very little unless asked a direct question. Syrule and the other advisors attempted small talk but soon lapsed into silence as they had done the many long centuries when Thranduil was in no mood to talk.
The minstrel’s tune changed to one that was more lively, calling additional couples to the dance and the atmosphere rang with laughter.
Legolas appeared at Nimue’s side. Finally, a smile graced her face as she accepted the offer to dance without a glance at Thranduil.
He gulped the remainder of his wine and signaled for more.
Galion hurried and refilled the goblet to the brim.
I am not jealous. A king is not jealous. He drank deeply again.
What is it then? Nothing has changed since she has returned to me. I listen to the same asinine arguments about the spiders, the negotiations for grain and other foodstuff continue, messages come and go between the great Elven settlements - there is always some assistance needed somewhere that requires debate and planning and a million other tedious thoughts.
He rubbed his temple, feeling the edge of the crown and noticing its weight for the first time in over a millenia.
Perhaps, everything has changed. I look forward to each dawning of the sun, not because it means I continue to have the strength to protect my people from the ever stretching shadow but because Nimue is there and not a dream I forbade myself to acknowledge all those long centuries.
His eyes floated over the crowd until they found Nimue. She no longer danced with Legolas but rather with Meirion, a warrior. She made him laugh when he stumbled and she graciously moved them through the next steps.
He straightened when he realized what it was. She has thawed my frozen heart and I want to keep her for myself. But, there have been less reports of training injuries, less discord among the families, and even the counselors have been more agreeable. All because she is listening to their concerns? Could it be that simple?
He motioned to Galion who hurried over with the wine pitcher. Thranduil placed his hand over his goblet. “Send the scribe Madog to me, I wish to speak with him.”
Galion’s eyes widened but he bowed and strode off to do as bid without comment.
In barely the space of a minute, Madog approached the table, bowing deeply. “You wish to speak to me, my lord?”
Thranduil motioned for him to sit in the chair to his right.
Madog perched on the edge with his spine straight. His hands were clasped in his lap but did little to hide the tremble.
Is he frightened of me? Thranduil smiled to ease the tension.
Madog visibly swallowed and sweat appeared on his forehead.
“Tell me, Madog, you sought out Lady Nimue earlier, what did you intend to speak to her of?”
“It was nothing, my king. I will not bother her again,” Madog’s voice could barely be heard above the din of the Hall.
Thranruil’s fingers clenched around the goblet and he took a sip of wine before responding. “I would still know. Whatever concern you bring to my lady is of great concern to me. You will tell me exactly what you would have discussed with her.”
The bead of sweat trailed down Madog’s forehead and along his cheek to drip onto the collar of his robe. “My king,” he stuttered and the color drained from his face.
Thranduil tapped his fingers on the table. This grows tedious.
“Lady Nimue helped to make a match between Dyfri and Travaran. I was hopeful that she could help me have a chance at courting Meirion.” Madog’s teeth bit into his trembling bottom lip.
Thranduil’s eyebrow rose. These are the requests they bring her?
A sob escaped from Madog and he stood, bowing deeply. “I will take my leave, my king.”
“Sit,” Thranduil commanded.
Madog all but collapsed back into the chair. His whole body trembled and tears poured down his face. He moaned quiet apologies.
“How would Lady Nimue help with your courting aspirations?” Thranduil asked, fighting to keep his tone level.
“She … she … Lady Nimue.”
“Pull yourself together,” Thranduil hissed and tossed a napkin at Madog.
Madog put the cloth to his face, taking several deep breaths before wiping his tears away and sitting straighter.
“Now, how would Lady Nimue help with your courting aspirations?” Thranduil repeated.
“Dyfri had been pining for Head Scribe Annest for centuries but didn’t have the courage to speak to her. Lady Nimue found out, I’m not sure how, and soon after Travaran was courting Dyrfi.” Madog sniffled and wiped his nose on the napkin. “Dyrfi said Travaran had been pining for her nearly as long and she never noticed but now that Lady Nimue had connected them, they have developed a true bond.”
Perhaps the guard rotation will be unnecessary. But why would she concern herself with these trivial matters?
Madog twisted the napkin. “I no longer have family on these shores and no proper way to make an introduction to Meirion. He has always been kind when assigned to journey with me to Imladris or Lothlorian. I greatly admire him.” His voice dropped. “I hoped Lady Nimue could introduce us and determine if I had a chance at courtship. I know it is wrong of me to bother her for any matter. I apologize for my imprudence. It will not happen again.”
At that moment, Nimue approached the table escorted by Meirion.
The three males froze under her displeased look.
Madog jumped up and bowed only to sway and moan deeply. He put a hand on the table to stop from tumbling over before sitting with a thump.
Nimue frowned and then turned to Meirion. “Would you be so kind as to take Madog to find a glass of water. I do not like his constitution. You may need to take him to the healers as well. I would do so myself, but I must speak to King Thranduil.”
“Yes, my lady.” Meirion rounded the table and put an arm around Madog’s waist and slowly helped him walk away.
Nimue picked up the gold wrap she had left behind and placed it around her shoulders. “I have grown cold and wish to sit nearer to the hearth.” She strode away from the table with her head held high.
Thranduil nearly swore out loud. Picking up his wine goblet, he took long steps and caught up to her. He offered his arm and bit back another swear when she pinched his elbow.
She guided them to the shadowed bench next to the great fireplace. It was the perfect location to have a private conversation among the crowded hall. The light from the fire cast them in deep shadow and their position in the corner meant they would see any would be eavesdroppers.
She sat and smoothed her gown over her legs. He joined her, sitting close enough that their shoulders pressed together and the folds of her skirt spread over his thigh.
“Would you care to tell me why Madog looked as if he was facing his execution?” she calmly asked.
“I simply asked what he had wanted to speak to you about.”
“You wish to keep me from speaking to anyone.” The flames reflected in her eyes.
He grabbed her shoulders, twisting her to face him. “I have longed for you for millenia, so forgive me if the thought of those miscreants taking all of your time drives me mad.”
She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down to rest his forehead on her shoulder, mindful of the crown. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His arms encircled her waist.
“Did I not abandon everything to spend the afternoon with you?” She gently stroked his hair. “You need only ask and I will be there. But I am not a pet songbird, you cannot lock me in a cage when you do not need me.”
He clung to her. “I will fade if I lose you again.”
“That still does not mean you should frighten your subjects,” she said lightly.
“I never intend to,” he muttered against her neck.
He held her, enjoying the gentle strokes of her fingers in his hair until he was able to better control his emotions.
When he straightened, she asked, “Will you tell me of the conversation with Madog?”
“Do you truly go about making matches?” he answered with his own question.
“Do you not wish others to be happy?” she parried.
Why should they be happy when I was not? I could barely sit through a marriage ceremony without drinking a barrel of wine, that is how much I ached for you.
“I know that I am not of the highest bloodline, and perhaps I have spent too long in Imladris to know the proper etiquette, but I did not wish to recreate the enmity of our childhood court.”
“Your bloodline has never mattered to me -”
“But the bloodline of everyone else matters?” she interrupted his tirade.
He hung his head.
“I simply wish to create a court where its subjects adore their king and not just fear him.” She took his hand. “I used to dream of your mother standing up to your father to allow us to marry.”
His fingers tightened around hers. It is a blessing I was able to keep from her the knowledge Mother was more set against our match than Father was.
“I would never suggest you adopt Lord Elrond’s views.”
He snorted.
“I would simply like things to be more amicable.”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Nimue is right. I do not need to be like my father. He is dead, may his soul rest, and I never need to be afraid of him again.
He looked out across the Feasting Hall, really looking at his subjects for what felt like the first time. A group of maids laughed and primped as they took turns tying a ribbon that looked familiar to him around their braids. Feren sat with his elbows on the table, deep in conversation with the guard-in-training who he had observed speaking to Nimue earlier. Madog was tucked against Meirion’s side, blushes on both their faces as they shared a goblet of wine.
If only I could say I had a hand in that.
His eyes were finally drawn to his son. Legolas lounged against a pillar, obviously taking pains to keep whomever he was speaking to hidden from view. The care was ruined when he took a tendril of deep red hair between his fingers.
I thought I told Tauriel to stay away from him.
Thranduil’s gaze dropped to where his hand was joined with Nimue’s. I am acting like my father. Why should I deny Legolas this small happiness? It will only cause him to resent me as I resented my father.
He brought Nimue’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her soft skin. “You bring me happiness every day and if I had been paying better attention, I would have seen your handiwork in the recent peacefulness of the court.” He released her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against his side. “Our people love you and I do not want them to fear me as my father was feared. Will you help me change my ways?”
“They do not fear -”
“Madog almost fainted and I was not trying to threaten him.”
She pressed her lips together to suppress a smile.
“Please, will you help me change?” She is the only one that could make him beg.
“Of course, my love.” She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder. “Sit with me tomorrow after luncheon. We can begin then.”