Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

4. Springtime in the Greenwood

I lean back and close my eyes, longing to be out of doors and feel the warmth of sunlight on my skin. Ada says the wintry cold has disappeared for now, signs of early spring beginning to appear, not only in temperature but in the happy buds of pink and white on the trees. It is my favorite season.

It feels like I shall not see it this year. I return my gaze to the crisp parchment on my writing table, the faint outline of a tall, armored figure coming to life. It is the fourth attempt at drawing Thranduil's father, King Oropher, likely not the last. For the life of me, I cannot achieve what I hope for; his eyes and brows always become the same as Thranduil's, and his expression too grim.

What did Oropher look like? Old paintings of him are rudimentary at best. If not for the silvery-blond hair and woodland crown, he could be anyone else. I half wonder if the artist used another model than the King. His face more resembles Lord Celeborn's. Even Thranduil agrees.

But he has been of little help, offering no better description of his father than his tall stature and serious eyes.

These cavern halls, which have never lacked for light or space, are now suffocating. My large scriptorium with its cheerful amber lights and high ceilings is like Gollum's prison cell. My feet long to touch soft grass rather than hard stone.

This particular drawing should have been finished days ago...

But it is the thought of disappointing Thranduil which keeps me crumpling parchment after parchment. His request for me, the realm's only scribe, to copy his father's many battle accounts was not made lightly. Knowing how proficient I am with quill and paintbrush, he asked for accompanying art as well.

I grip the twisted-oak arms of my chair and stand. No one can deny me a walk under sun and sky.

A soft, almost reluctant knock makes me pause. Is it a kind guard bringing me dinner again? If I missed it, the sun has already set...

"You may come in."

The door opens. Instead of a guard, it is an elleth with plaited hair the color of strawberry, her uncertain expression making her appear younger than she likely is. She holds a small, brown book close to her chest. I remember seeing her before, though her name is a mystery.

"May I be of help to you, mellon?"

With a shy smile, she moves closer. "I hope I did not come at an inconvenient time, my lady. You look like you are about to leave. I can return tom--"

"Please." I gesture to the chair in front of my writing table. "Sit down and feel at home."

A wave of embarrassment hits me as I notice the girl observing my unfinished drawing of Oropher. I hurriedly turn the parchment over.

"Was that King Thranduil?"

Another failed attempt, then. "No, it is..." I cannot utter the name. "It is nothing for now."

"You draw beautifully, my lady."

I sit back down and smile, though my cheeks are still warm. I had not wished for anyone to see it. "I am ashamed to say I do not know your name, mellon."

"Gwendes, daughter of Tadion. And you are Lady Rîneth."

Tadion, the gentle-eyed potter who lives in one of the dwellings in the forest village. I have greeted him in passing often, not knowing much about him, nor making time to ask.

"I know of your father, but I did not know he had children."

"Oh, yes. I help him with his pottery work. It is difficult for him to manage it on his own. Sadly, I do not have his natural talent for it. Not that he agrees..."