Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 46 ~ Confronting the King

The echo of heavy oaken doors opening resounds through the hall as I walk into the throne room, head held high, and stop before King Thranduil on his throne. My head dips in a shallow bow.

King Thranduil barely acknowledges my presence, simply raising an eyebrow at my uncustomary entrance before waving a hand at me.

"Speak."

His words are a drawl and I restrain my bristle at them.

"Do you have any word from the front?" I manage to grind out, keeping a loose leash on my temper. Despite my efforts, it remains painfully evident in my voice.

I might have cared once but no longer. A week has passed since Legolas and his troops have left to join the battle in the forest, and still not a word from him. It seems unlike Legolas to neglect writing even a short letter to me which can only mean one of two things: either his father is keeping things from me, or something has gone terribly wrong.

Thranduil remains as immovable as ever atop his throne, his robes settled around him in a pool of molten silver, watching me from the corner of his eye.

"No more than when you asked me the same question but yesterday, my lady."

His eyes sharpen as he turns his gaze on me fully.

"Though I am curious to know, my lady, why you remain so concerned with matters that have little to do with you."

"And how, my lord, does this have little to do with me?" I can feel the displeasure rising to my face but do little to try to hide it. "If it were up to me, I would be out there, fighting."

I add with a little more bite, "Helping."

Despite my jab, his composure remains as cool as a feline's. I watch him take in my state of appearance, my armor strung over an arm, sword and knives belted at my hips, bow and quiver strung across my back. My braided hair had begun to come undone during my training this morning, now creating a wild, golden halo around my face which is no doubt pink with exertion and the outside cold.

An evident contrast to his immaculate appearance. He quirks an eyebrow.

"So I have heard for the past week," he drawls, cold amusement behind his eyes. "If you are here to renew your request of being sent to the front, I'm afraid I must deny you, yet again."

My temper is threatening to boil over, but I grit my teeth and dampen it, willing some of the cool indifference on the King's face to rise to mine as well.

"May I inquire as to why?"

It's been the same game of cat-and-mouse every day for the past week. I storm into the throne room after driving myself half-mad trying to distract my thoughts, requesting to be sent to help at the front, and Thranduil denies me. Day after day. I'm surprised he hasn't cracked and allowed his temper to snap at me yet. The Valar know mine is hanging on by a thread.

Thranduil is already quite weary of our daily exchange. I hear the small, exasperated sigh he let's out before addressing me with mock politeness again.

"Your father would neither wish nor allow it, my lady."

He rises, moving to dismiss me but I interrupt before he can.

"The same excuse as yesterday, and the day before, and every day since my arrival here," I spit, no longer able to disguise my contempt. "I am tired of being kept in the dark; by you and by my father and brothers."

"I've had enough." I can feel my cheeks begin to heat as my temper rises, lips puling back in a snarl. "Send me to the front."

My words echo dully in the empty hall. Their resonance is jarring, bringing my temper back down to earth, allowing me to regain control of my head. Thranduil is silent, watching me with icy eyes. I force myself to hold his assessing gaze.

When he speaks again, his voice low.

"And why, Lady Celebríel? Are you so eager to face death?"

There's a dangerous flicker to his eyes now, almost feverish. I feel myself mentally backing away from it, but I stand my ground.

"You know why, King Thranduil."

"Perhaps," he muses, his attention now fully on me as he steps closer. "But I suspect it is not the reason you believe me to know, nor the reason you are convincing yourself of."

I eye him warily. "You speak in riddles, my lord."

"Riddles you know the answers to." He smiles and it strikes me as cruel, twisting one side of his face. His words are silky smooth and quiet. "Ones that concern my son."

My heart misses a beat within my chest. In my surprise I nearly allow the resolution to slip from my face but I furiously gain control over it, keeping my expression firm.

"What about your son?" 

I know he doesn't miss the slight tremor in my voice.

"I'm sure you have noticed the affection my son has been treating you with since your arrival." His smile sharpens. "You are far to clever to have missed it. And the boy wears his heart on his sleeve."

"Nothing more than the tentative beginnings of a friendship," I answer, but it doesn't sound convincing, not even to my own ears, and my mask is starting to slip.

"Friendship," he scoffs, a touch of amusement to his voice as he circles me, studying me for a chink in the armor. 

The cool air ruffles the hair on the back of my neck as he passes behind me. It sends a chill down my spine, my heart quickening in my chest. "You hide your feelings well, Lady Celebríel, even from yourself, but you are no fool."

"He has grown very fond of you." Those cold eyes meet mine again, and they seem to bore straight through me. "And I suspect that you have also fallen for him. Even now, in the midst of your anger towards me, your face softens at the mention of him. I know what love looks like."

I tear away my gaze. My heart is racing, threatening to burst. The air is too hot, the hall to small, the blood too loud in my ears. I mentally grit my teeth against it.

Thranduil releases a small sigh, bringing me back to earth. His expression is so unlike any I've seen him wear before that it almost calms the raging in my head. His face remains cold but his eyes are full of sadness, staring at the emptiness beside him.

When he speaks, I barely hear him. "You may forget, but I was once in love too."

And then the haunted emptiness in his eyes is banished as quickly as it appeared, cool indifference rising to cover it like a sheet of ice.

I am not as quick. My mind is still spinning, fueled by the erratic beating of my heart. I can't find the words to deny him.

He takes my silence as an admission.

"At last." His voice is back to its smooth drawl. "I was beginning to believe it would never happen. It only took you six months to admit it, stubborn as the Noldor are."

The chaos in my mind pauses as I stare at him. "You were expecting this?"

His lip curls. "Naturally, my dear. Do you really think we would keep you here so long if your father and I didn't have some bigger plans in motion?"

My blood runs cold as the missing pieces of the past six months begin to foggily click into place. My mind reels, furiously scrambling through all the implications of his words. It's completely ludicrous, something I would have laughed off six months ago, but now...

"Tell me the truth, once and for all, Thranduil." My voice is shaky, but there is steel determination underneath it, forcing his gaze back to me. "Why am I ordered to remain here, safe behind your walls, against all reason, while your son risks his life beyond them?"

He smiles and it's cold, sending a chill down my spine. "Because my wife and your mother had longed hoped for a union to tie their realms together. You were intended for my son, long before your arrival to Mirkwood."

The world tips and my breath quickens, each exhalation feeling as if it is being ripped from my lungs. I can't focus, my head is spinning. King Thranduil's words echo louder than thunder in my ears.

"Such was their agreement. Your mother's eldest daughter, betrothed to my only son."