Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

26. Ever the Matchmaker

Following Gwendes' frightening encounter, King Thranduil joined the Guard in scouring the realm and beyond the borders to ensure a host of orcs were not awaiting an attack on the kingdom.

But not even the Guard's most skilled tracker could find evidence of foul activity, even in the dry weather conditions. Another spider nest had sprung near the southernmost edge of the border, which Tauriel led in successfully destroying. Yet there was no clear explanation for the lone orc's appearance so near the village other than it wishing to find more interesting prey.

Thranduil looms over my shoulder in my scriptorium, giving precise instructions on what to include in a recorded account of the recent happenings.

"Mention Feren's involvement as well. He and Tauriel have been paramount in destroying the nests in Legolas' absence."

My quill scratches against the parchment as I write. "I shall also make mention of Lord Ferdir. If not for him, we would have lost one of our own."

"Anyone else would have done the same." His tone turns cold, like the autumn winds which have snatched the leaves from the beech trees by the river.

My quill stops scratching. "While I agree with you, he was the one who was there. Should he not be honored for his bravery?"

"If it had been Elros, would you still wish to honor him? Or is it because Ferdir looks more the hero?"

I cast a bemused glance over my shoulder. "What do you have against him?"

Thranduil leaves his position behind me, and walks over to examine my mother's oil painting of Lindon. He rests his arm on the top of my bookshelf, the metal of his rings reflecting the light from the wall sconce.

"He has not seen much of battle," he says. "He has remained coddled in his aunt's home in Lòrien while the rest of his kin have fought to defend our realm. His own father has fought by my side many times. He was there when we came against the fire-drake at Gundabad..." He reaches up to touch his face.

"Yes, of course--"

"He would have you believe he has slain a fire-drake mightier than Smaug, and saved Elvendom single-handedly."

I clamp my lips to keep them from turning upwards. While it is true Ferdir vaunts himself more than I prefer, and often grips the hilt of his sword with a smug grin, he has never once mentioned slaying dragons.

"He is a little arrogant at times, that is true, but he saved my friend's life. Thus I cannot say much ill about him."

The steel in his eyes sharpens. "You cannot say much ill about him because he charmed you."

"What is wrong with charm?"

Thranduil studies me, his expression inscrutable. His gray robes rustle as he moves to stand in front of the table. The palms of his hands rest on the varnished oak as he leans over.

"If charm is what you seek, you shall have it in abundance with Ferdir."

Deciding to hold my tongue, I return to my writing. In truth, I could do without Ferdir's overdone charm, but he is not as dislikeable as Thranduil has depicted him. Even if he does use his aunt's home as a hideaway from his troubled homeland, he has been kind to me.

But I have learned that when Thranduil is in a disagreeable mood, it is best to leave him be and allow the storm to pass. I surmise his current thunder is due to the stressful events of late, and Ferdir is being used as a target.

I expect him to take his leave at my intentional silence, and not achieving the argument he desires, but he lingers. He walks around the large chamber and continually pauses to study various objects.

The brown feather of my quill tickles underneath my chin as I move it with my fingers, and I realize I have stopped writing to watch him. I re-ink it and bend back over the parchment.

"You may make mention of Ferdir, but Tauriel and Feren take precedence, at least in this account," he says after a time.

My heart leaps at the small victory.

"Does Legolas ever speak of his continued feelings for Tauriel?" I ask, changing topics before he can attack Ferdir again.

"He does not speak to me about anything of a personal nature."

I finish writing a sentence and put down my quill, giving him my full attention. My victory, no matter how small, has given me courage. "Perhaps because he does not feel he can?"

A familiar crease forms in the center of his forehead, one which often appears when he is in deep thought. "He knows I am his father."

"He knows you are the King," I say carefully. "You must give him a reason to believe he can see you as anything else."

His brows pull together. "Speak plainly, Rîneth."

"You must treat him as a father treats his son, not as a king treats his guards. He needs you. And your approval."

The warmth of the room is swept away in an instant, the temperature dropping to match the crisp coolness of the outdoors. My robes suddenly feel too light. My bounding courage withers and dies.

"But it is my hope," I say, veering the discussion to calmer waters, "he shall find a lady worthy of him in Imladris. Faeleth may know someone..."

He quirks his brow, a spark of warmth returning. "Ever the matchmaker."

"I have retired from that position."

"If only I believed you."

He makes his way towards the door without announcing his departure. I feel a small twist of regret that I shall be left alone again, even though my companion had been moodier than a Halfling going without a proper meal.

"I will see you at dinner," he says. "Unless you are too busy in your writings to remember to come."

"I shall be there."

"Good." He grips the handle, then hesitates.

"Is there anything else?"

He opens the door and enters the hallway before answering. "No."

I listen to the echo of his boots slap the stone-floored passageway until an oppressive silence takes its place. Feeling a desperate need to busy myself, I soon lose myself in my writings and forget about the silence, and my friend's strange behavior.

A/N:  Artwork by the fantastic Elithien (Eli Draws) on Tumblr, commissioned for Stars of Varda by MaggieShivers