Almárëa

9

The Lords of
Mirkwood and an
Orc

Almárëa did not know what to say as she stared at the Elven King of Mirkwood. Mirkwood that was known once a very, very long time ago as The Greenwood.

Her blue eyes stared and stared and stared at the ellon that is supposed to be her father, her Adar.

She should have known, should have guessed when she found that she shared the same features with him. The blue eyes, the hair color...even the smile. A smile that now adorned his otherwise stoic face.

It looked out of place, but it was certain that the smile was just for her.

She blinked and looked down at her small hands, wondering what he expected her to say to his big reveal.

Did he want her to fall into his arms and cry? Did he want her to accept him like she expected him to accept her?

She swallowed. She cannot be a hypocrite and not accept him because of her expectation to be accepted by him.

A long finger moved into her vision and she felt it gently wiping under her one eye.

Did she shed a tear? She didn't even feel it.

"Almárëa," the Elven King spoke softly, ever so gently.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"I do apologize for everything. I knew not of your existence. I did not believe..." He swallowed and looked a way, a sorrowful look upon his face.

She furrowed her brows. Her Adar was sad and she could not quite grasp why.

She watched as he stood from the bench, extending a hand out to her to take.

"We should be getting back. Evening is almost upon us. It will be dinner soon."

She swallowed and then stood, placing her small hand into his.

She said nothing as he led her out of the garden, his strides slow to match hers.

He too said nothing as they walked, but occasionally he would look down at her and she would wonder why. Why did he look at her? What did he see?

She was eventually left with a servant who brought her back to Míriadis, her Adar wishing her a good night before he walked away.

It confused her as he had spoken of dinner. Was she to eat alone with the servants?

It seemed that her assumption was right for the most part.
She ate with Míriadis and a few other elleths who are mere servants and then was sent off to bed, sung to sleep by a different servant, a lullaby lulling her to the land of dreams where all was well, though sometimes it was not, like that very night.

She dreamed of her mother's death and it was horrible.
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"My lords, it is not for you to decide if my daughter stays in my halls," the King spoke, his voice cold and harsh as the harshest winter's wind. "It is my decision alone that counts as I am King of this realm."

"Sire, though that is true, we are of your Council. Decisions for our realm should not just be left to you as it would affect us all," Esgaron the father of Lady Síla spoke up condescendingly.

King Thranduil resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the old Elven Lord. Lord Esgaron had been on Thranduil's father Oropher's Council when Thranduil was but a young elfling. It is no secret that the old Elven Lord looks upon Thranduil with disdain because Thranduil was not like his father.