Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

28. Hope

I do not speak to him the next day, or the day after, and see him only at dinner as he speaks to everyone else. I have no intention of avoiding him. I wish he would tell me everything. My entire world is spinning like a loosened wheel, and I need him to set it right again.

But he has shown me vulnerability, more than he ever has, and he will need time. I cannot guess how much.

When the allotted day of the week arrives for him to dine with me and Ada, he gives the excuse of having other errands to attend to. I wonder if I have successfully hidden my disappointment from my father, or if I have been an open scroll for all of Arda to read.

When Thranduil spoke the Queen's name, and shared the possibility of truth behind the rumor, something changed irrevocably between us. During the many years I have known him, never has he mentioned much about his wife, let alone utter her name. I had believed his grief prevented him. I never pursued the matter, regardless of our friendship. There was a wall there, and though invisible, it was more solid than our cavern fortress.

But now the wall is chipped away. Not all, but a part. Whether our friendship will deepen or dissolve, I cannot say, but it has changed forever. There is no returning to before.

I hope it will deepen...

It is difficult to fathom his wife not loving him. Thranduil has his flaws, his stubborn ways, but he is the most majestic being I have known. Ever the King, ever the defender of his people.

Does Ada know the truth? How had such a rumor begun?

I still carry guilt about asking him for reassurance regarding Caewen, but I cannot regret what I learned, nor him showing his vulnerability. If only he would open further. I would listen and be his supporter, his ever loyal friend. And perhaps then my thoughts would cease buzzing like a swarm of bees without a home.

But I shall wait for him, as long as the smallest hope remains.

"It should only be a moment, my lady. Gwendes is helping her father."

It is Gwendes' mother, Gilrin, who greets me upon my arrival to their small cottage house. Her olive dress, though simple in design, compliments the brown warmth of her eyes and tailors to her small frame.

I mirror her smile. "I was actually wondering if I might come in."

"An ngell nîn!" She lights up like the noon sun and motions for me to follow. "Make our home as your own. Would you care for some apples? They are the reddest I have ever seen."

"That would be lovely, hannon-le."

Their dwelling is small in size, but it does not lack for cheer. Jewel-toned pots and decorative earthenware of various shapes and sizes rest on the shelves in an elegant array, evidence of the pride they have for their craft. Some appear newly made, while others are of an ancient style, gold pitchers with long necks like swans. They are likely passed down from the First and Second Ages.

"I shall tell Gwendes and Tadion you are here," says Gilrin.

I take a seat in a chair next to a tall vase of purple aster in front of the window. The room smells earthy and sweet, of clay and apples and a recent fire in the hearth nearby.

Gwendes enters from the back room, her curious expression transforming to a wide smile when she sees me. The window light highlights the remnants of clay on her hands and the small splotch under her eye.

"You should have at least told me you were coming, my lady." She holds up her hands sheepishly. "Look at me! Alas, I am not fit for company. I would have cleaned up--"

"Please, Gwendes. It is just a bit of clay."

She does not appear convinced, but her arms fall back down to her sides. "Is everything well?"

"As well as can be. I only hope I did not stop by at an inconvenient time. I wished it to be a surprise, but I can return later if it would be more suitable..."

"A surprise?" Her questioning gaze lands on the bundle in my lap.

Before she can comment on it, her father walks in behind her. As ever, his appearance reminds me of a raven-haired Lord Celeborn, with the same calming manner and gentleness in his blue eyes.

"Mae govannen, Lady Rîneth," Tadion says, bowing his head.

"Mae govannen," I greet. "You are all very kind to welcome me into your home. Likely you are wondering why I am here."

Gilrin places a plate of sliced apple topped with cinnamon on the low table in the center of the room and sits down. Gwendes and her father follow suit.

Looking down at the linen-wrapped package resting on my lap, I feel a torrent of flitting butterflies in my stomach. It is possible it will not be as well-received as I hope. What if I have not captured the essence of the person I never knew?

As they wait for me to speak, the wind chimes on the other side of the window play a pretty song.

"Not long before Yestarë, Gwendes came to me with the sincerest request. She wished I would record her brother's stories." I glance at Gwendes. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. "I knew very little about her, but I felt a strong compulsion to help. Little did I realize I would gain such a close friend that day, and also discover a hidden gem this side of the Sea. In truth, I find your son's stories a greater treasure than any gem. After they are read by others, I shall not be alone in that belief. It was an honor to have recorded them."

As they each look through the book in turn, I feel I should leave. I do not wish to be an intruder in something so private. This was their only son, Gwendes' only sibling. I never knew him, nor do I even remember news of his death.

My gaze moves to the door. Before I can stand, Gilrin reaches out and clasps my wrist.

"We shall never be able to repay you, my lady." She dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. "The drawings...you have captured him well."

"He would be proud to know his stories live on," says Tadion. "They were his life, his very happiness."

I give a wobbly smile, unsure how to respond. Keeping my composure is proving more difficult than I could have imagined. Tears threaten to break my tight rein over my emotions. I am about to lose the battle.

Without a word spoken, Gwendes pulls me up from my chair and into a tight embrace. The light from the window envelopes us like a cloak.

It is rare for friends or acquaintances to embrace in our culture, and even in some families it is uncommon, but I do not care. Nor do I think it strange. Our friendship has been unconventional from the start, and still has endured much. When the tears come, I do not try to stop them.

A/N: Have a wonderful weekend, everyone! :) Thanks for your comments and votes - they all touch my heart.