Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

6. A Smile and a Crown of Flowers

Elros' eyes are expectant and his brows raised as he waits for an answer. He has drunk too much wine. Yes, that is it.

"You are kind, my lord. But surely you wish to ask Gwendes instead? I suggest you ask her now before someone else does."

"Y-yes, of course, my lady." He lowers his eyes. "As always, I value your advice on such...delicate matters."

With a bow to myself and the King, he takes his leave. I try to ignore Thranduil's chuckle and focus on the Gwendes' delighted expression when the elf lord asks her to the floor.

"Do you not see it? A wedding this time next year."

"Perhaps the spiders will have left Mirkwood by then, and the orcs abandoned Dol Guldur as well."

I do not reply. The Song of Brethil's subtle romantic tone would be perfect if Gwendes was more skilled, and Elros not so heavy-footed. Gwendes at least attempts to keep up with the pace...

"It seems they have found one thing in common," Thranduil says.

"Maybe that is all they need."

He turns to look at me, and his face softens. "How is it coming with my father's writings?"

"I am not far from his last entries, ere he left the Greenwood to join the Last Alliance. Do you wish to come by soon and see what I have completed so far?"

"I do," he replies, his tone lighter now. "Have you succeeded in drawing a portrait of him?"

My eyes flit away from his probing ones. I fear he will somehow see the images in my mind of my crumpled attempts. "Perhaps you should give me a few days longer. It is still...a work in progress."

"I see."

I have no doubt he does.

"Thank you, Rîneth."

"Buion na 'ell."

He bows his head and offers a rare smile.

I watch as he walks to the table of refreshments to retrieve more wine. Something Lord Amdiron says makes him nod his crowned head, the small white flowers striking in the dim light. My father joins them in their conversation, and again Thranduil flashes a smile.

With his smile and crown of flowers, I cannot help thinking for all his many years, the King of the Woodland Realm maintains his youth. It is only in the deepness of his eyes where I see the bodily evidence of age and wisdom of six-thousand years.

-----

I stand with Gwendes on the high bank above the Forest River among the beech trees, observing the rippling current move in its ever hurried and frenetic pace. The sun hides behind a covering of dense clouds which mimic the river's dark mood. It will rain soon.

"You were right about everything." The wind lifts Gwendes' unplaited hair and tangles it before letting it fall. "I was too eager in my feelings for Sírdor."

"He is your good friend. It is natural for friendship to be mistaken for something more."

"I see that now." Her gaze rests on two guards crossing the river bridge, but her mind is elsewhere. "But Lord Elros is of nobler standing. I am being absurd."

"Why do you believe he is nobler than you? Do not tell me it is his parentage. Sindar, yes, but his father was a hunter. We are all the Eldar and possess the same gifts and talents."

"That may be true..."

"It is true." I shut my eyes. "I shall never stand for this archaic thinking."

How can I make her see reason? From birth Gwendes has been conditioned there is a line of separation, not to be crossed for even love. The prejudice is a poisonous thorn in the realm which continues to cause damage and pain, perhaps more than Sauron. My parents suffered persecution from both Sindar and Silvan for their unconventional union. Some of my kin even refused to attend the wedding.

I feel a crushing ache as my thoughts flit to the prejudice I have faced as well. No, I must not think of it now.

"If you are so strong in your belief of everyone being treated equally, my lady, why do you dissuade me from Sírdor?"

"I...it is not my intention to dissuade you. I just do not wish you to feel he is your only option due to a senseless divide between our people. Perhaps I have been too carried away..."

"Nay, my lady."

Several moments pass between us, the only sounds audible the thundering current and birdsong.

"Tell me, Gwendes, do you love Sírdor?"

"I...perhaps."

"It is either yes or no."

"I do not believe I love him..."

"You must know your own mind. I cannot know it for you."

"If I truly loved him, I would not have enjoyed Elros' company as much as I did last night," she says with more certainty. "Therefore I cannot love him. I confused friendship with love..."

I feel a sudden pang of sadness, but I do not know why. I place my hand on the rough-textured bark of a nearby beech tree.

"Friendship does not always create a marriage. My father wished for me to marry Legolas, but our feelings did not extend so far."

Gwendes' blue eyes widen. "If only it had. Then you would be the future Queen, and all the young ladies would despise you for ruining their hopes of stealing his heart."

I laugh. "I have received many dark looks for merely being his friend. I cannot imagine what will happen to the lady he chooses to marry. I do not envy her!"

"Nor do I. I have never understood the fascination," Gwendes says, almost sheepishly. "You are older than I and know much about love, yet you have never been in love. Or have you?"

There it is, the question which demands to be asked. My grip on the beech tree's bark tightens until it hurts.

I will my voice to hold steady. "I have been only a friend to many, not just Legolas. But I made peace with it long ago."

Brow wrinkled, she shakes her head. "It does not seem possible. I know there is someone who would make you his wife."

"Do not worry yourself," I say lightly, hoping to dispel her from probing further. "I shall happily grow older and wiser along with the forest and continue with my writings here in the Greenwood."

"Forevermore?"

It starts to rain.

"Until the King leaves, and then shall I."

"Because of your friendship?"

"Yes." I smile.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Votes and comments are much loved!