First Age of Middle Earth – 537
I Valar u-annar rûth na le an melch, dan le belch ad úgerth. Le minui dagant nothrim!
The melody of the ocean caressed his ears. The breath of the wind through the silk of his hair soothed the tumult that raged more fiercely within his heart than the waves that broke against the rocks of the bay below the cliffs on which he stood. The cry of gulls overhead voiced the quiet anguish that he remained unable to express.
Thranduil drew in a deep breath of the salt air, and let it out as a long, slow sigh. So much loss... so much strife.
"I thought I might find you here."
He turned his head to watch as Gil-galad crested the rise, then when the king drew close enough turned and offered a bow.
"My Lord," he greeted the High King.
"Get up, Thranduil," Gil-galad said softly, if with a touch of exasperation in his voice. "You need not take on airs and graces, we are far too near in age for that, especially when we are alone."
Thranduil straightened, turning his head again out to sea as the king stepped up to his side. Both gazed westward, and both of them, almost as one, reached to secure portions of their long hair, the one shining white-blonde the other a darker golden hue, that was teased by the stiff breezes atop the cliff.
"Let us leave obeisance to those strutting peacocks below who are old enough to know better, hmm?" Gil-galad offered with a smile.
Thranduil's lips twitched in his own smile at this, and turning again toward the king said, "Those 'strutting peacocks' are your subjects and advisors, my lord king."
"Exactly," Gil-galad said, with a much aggrieved expression on his face, "And you've more wisdom in your little finger than all of them combined."
Thranduil let out a long, slow sigh. He doubted the truth of that even though, not yet into his second century, he felt as though he carried the weight of mountains upon his youthful shoulders.
"Mana suriëlye?"
Thranduil shook his head.
"Aniron hîdh, Gil-galad," Thranduil answered, though understanding the other Elf, his conditioned raising allowed him not to respond in kind, "dan..."
He trailed off, taking a long breath as he turned his face back out to face the west, and the sound of the rolling waves.
"You fear it will be long in coming," Gil-galad voiced what Thranduil could not bring himself to say, lest in the speaking of it, he conjured it somehow into being.
He nodded, his eyes still closed.
"I fear my mother may have been right," he confessed then. "And that if I could somehow have avoided battled in Doriath I would be spared that which is to come – for come it will. It is only a matter of time."
"If you had not fought in Doriath, mellon nîn, you would now be among those that dwell in the Halls of Mandos."
"As is my mother," Thranduil sighed, and ran a tired hand across his forehead.
"Forgive me." He felt Gil-galad's hand grip his shoulder as the High King's words reached his ears. "I spoke without thought."
Again he shook his head.
"What is to forgive when it is the truth?" he asked, then opening his eyes and turning to Gil-galad he continued, "When even here, after so many years, peace is uneasy at best. What will it be when they catch up to us once more?"
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Laer o Faen
FanfictionA near fatal encounter with the Serpents of the North leaves Greenwood the Great's queen with but one choice, one that cost her own life, but she makes a promise to her beloved King, born of a love that has already lasted through more than an age of...
