Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

19. The Letter

I am resting on my cushioned settee, a green leather-bound copy of The First Eorling in one hand and a glass of cool water in the other. Despite my many attempts, my thoughts stray far from the words on the page.

Midsummer has turned to late summer, and the merciless sun's heat remains, any hint of autumn's respite not evident. A month has passed since Legolas' departure to Imladris to give Lord Elrond the news of Gollum's disappearance, having volunteered for the treacherous journey before Tauriel could. It was with some reluctance that the King let him leave.

My mind journeys backward in time to the fateful night in June when Gollum escaped. The King left his Aur en-Onnad party in a hurry, along with Legolas, to join the guards in their search. Long into the starless night they scoured the forest for any trace of the creature, returning only at dawn with empty hands. Gollum likely had long reached the stronghold of Dol Guldur.

Before his escape, it was said his guards took him to his favorite beech tree by the river, having mercy after his continued pleading for fresh air. While Gollum climbed the branches, they stood at the bottom, lightly armed and inattentive. They were easily slain when the orcs attacked. It had clearly been planned.

It is still unknown how Gollum devised it. But Thranduil and the guards underestimated his cunning, and the Enemy's spies. Now he is loose again, undoubtedly hunting for the One Ring at the Enemy's behest. Is a lone Halfling any match for that wretched creature?

I shiver, though it is far from cold, and close the book with a dull thud. Mulling over the events of that night makes it impossible to focus on an overly detailed journal from a forgotten Rohirric King. And no matter how I try to block Ferdir's words, I still hear them in an unending repetition.

"I have heard she did not love him."

I lift the smooth glass to my lips and take a sip to wash the words away, but they have settled like boulders. Water will not move them. I walk to my bookshelf and return the faded green journal to its home, perhaps to reside there for another hundred years.

The Eldar marry only once for the ages. It is a union carefully considered and created by nothing less than love, broken by neither strife nor death, ending only at the world's end. It is the will of Eru. Whether or not the Queen loved her King changes nothing, and never will.

Even if Thranduil's heart has changed and he loves another, it is folly. No new marriage vows will be accepted under Varda's skies. Ferdir's unfounded belief that the King sent Caewen the harp would perhaps be amusing to some, but I find it unsettling.

The Queen loved him, surely.

"Do not be so sure," Ferdir says.

I sigh heavily. I cannot stay secluded in my chambers and allow my troubled thoughts to reign. Visiting Lady Aethel would at least provide a needed distraction...

"Rîneth?"

Ada's voice. I stride to the door to let him in, grateful for his timing, yet curious. It is only late afternoon, too early for his usual visits.

He greets me with an untroubled smile, clutching what looks like a letter in his hand. "May I come in?"

"As long as you are not delivering bad news," I tease, and lead him to the settee. I pour a glassful of water as he settles. "Do you have something for me?"

"Hannon-le." He takes the offered drink. "Thranduil received a message this morning. He wanted you to read it."

I sit down. On the white parchment is a broken maroon seal of the House of Elrond, its filigree design one I have seen before in letters from my sister. But the writing is small and precise, different from Faeleth's feminine, loopy script. It is addressed from Lord Elros.