EIGHTEEN

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Greenwood was cold, the brisk air was whipping against the palace and creating leaves to blow violently outside. The kingdom and subsequent forest were typically cold during this time of the year, however, those who worked at the palace had their own theories about the harsh wind. Typically, the large and dense forest was able to block a majority of the wind and stop the gusts from affecting the citizens of the kingdom too much. This year, something was different, no matter the building, the trees, or the height of the walls, the entire kingdom was cold and lifeless.

Thranduil believed he was the only one who felt it at first, believed that it was a trick of his own mind due to the separation from his adoring and beautiful seamstress. He soon learned that wasn't the case. Every member of the kingdom felt cold, felt the gusts of winds pelting them as soon as they stepped out of their homes, and understood that this year was not like every year that came before. There was a witch who was said to have the power to control the weather, but she was known to be a myth, a legend, a figment of stories. So that wasn't a likely reason as to why this season was colder than every year prior.

Lady Gaylia had become the prince's head seamstress, under strict orders and regulations set by the king. She was not to speak to him about Navaheya or to anyone for that matter. The silver-haired seamstress' name was never spoken within the palace walls, as if her name was banned.

There was a change when the Autumn Festival ended, the rules and stipulations set upon the staff of the palace became stricter and far more intense. Thranduil's duties increased tenfold, and the air in every room seemed stale and thick. Navaheya had disappeared on orders of the king, the kingdom's most talented seamstress was gone as fast as the snap of fingers, with no explanation from the crowned royal.  None of the staff members wanted to be there, they were all acutely aware that if Navaheya were dismissed and likely banned from the kingdom then anyone could be.

Thranduil had been very aware of the eyes on him at all times, and the increased amount of required reports to both his father and all of his father's advisors. The prince was still fuming, he wanted to scream, fight, argue, and demand information from his father, but he couldn't. He wasn't allowed to exit the palace for an entire month after his outburst in his father's office, no patrols, nothing. He couldn't show his distaste to anyone, otherwise it would have been reported back to the king. He couldn't trust anyone, anyone but Lady Gaylia.

Lady Gaylia's part in Thranduil finding out about Navaheya's departure had remained quiet and a secret. She knew she only had the prince to thank, he had covered for her because she had risked her job and subsequently life, to give him the answers he deserved. She had remained quiet about the situation, other than the letter she had in the pocket of his favorite jacket, the silver floor-length overcoat that Navaheya had created for him.

He had re-read the letter countless times, still trying to determine how to respond to it. It was clear that the letter was meant for him, even though it was addressed to Lady Gaylia. The letter was from Lord Elrond, and the words on the page tore his heart into pieces. Navaheya was suffering, basically killing herself with grief. The grief of losing her was hard on him, but he did not have to lose his home, his job, his life as he knew it, and didn't have to watch his only parent dying before his eyes. His situation was a fraction of the situation his love was in. Lord Elrond wanted a letter from him, but not for the sake of the Lord, he wanted it to be given to Navaheya, to give her something from the prince. Something she could forever hold onto.

Lady Gaylia would check the pockets of the jacket every day to see if the prince had written a letter she could send, however, she had yet to see one. The dark-haired seamstress was confused as to why he had not yet responded, however, he had no idea what to say. The blonde prince could not bring himself to say goodbye to her, as saying goodbye to Navaheya meant that it was all real. That he would forever live without her. He was also overly cautious about the people around him, everyone had orders to report to one of the royal advisors, or the king himself if the prince even discussed anything regarding his former seamstress. Part of him still thought the letter was a trick, but he trusted Lady Gaylia, he was conflicted.

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