Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

32. Laurenendë

"I would accompany you to the Black Gate of the enemy to have a change in scenery," I say. "I long to look out over a grassy plain, without tree in sight."

"You would ride to Mordor?" He raises a brow, his tone unconvinced.

"I would."

I am jesting, but for half a moment it seems an intriguing prospect. To journey anywhere, no matter the danger. To the world beyond Mirkwood, the world of Men. I doubt he is leaving the forest, but my imagination wishes otherwise.

"Then come." He motions his head to the winding path leading to the stables. "My destination is not Mordor, but Dol Guldur should suffice. It will put your lessons to good use."

He starts down the trail without waiting for a reply, his hair nearly the same shade as the overcast sky. His velvet cloak trails on the cobblestone. I shake my head and follow.

"You are no longer capable of discerning truth from jest."

"Neither are you."

A jutting, arm-like branch grabs my hair, and I pause to reclaim it. By the time I untangle the curly strands clinging to the limb, he has turned a corner and is no longer in clear view. I quicken my pace to catch up with him, feeling foolish for allowing my curiosity to replace my good sense.

"Where are you going, if not Dol Guldur? If you are hunting, I would prefer to return to my practice."

"What better practice than hunting? Whether it be for orc or game, it will allow you to test what you have learned."

He is teasing again. I hear it in the timbre of his voice, and see the way his mouth lifts at one side.

I whip my head around at a sudden rustle of leaves nearby. I let out a relieved sigh. It is only a small rabbit scurrying through the forest. My mouth forms a tight line at the sound of his chuckle.

"The hunt has not yet begun, Rîneth."

"Where are you going, my lord?" I ask again, emphasizing the formality. "Enough of this hunting nonsense. I do not believe you."

"If you wish to know, you may ride with me."

He is taking full advantage of my curiosity. And it is working. I continue to follow as he ploughs ahead, unable to keep up with his wide strides. The sky is bright despite the obstructing clouds, but the light does little to increase the temperature.

I pull my wool cloak closer about my arms. "Are your guards to accompany us?"

"Do you believe we need them?"

He absently touches the hilt of his sword, and I realize I have impinged on his pride. "I suppose not. But if I become supper for a band of spiders, I shall never forgive you."

My touch of humor softens his features. "Come."

The stables are busy with young Silvans tending to the animals. It is a decent way to earn silver while they train for their chosen trade. A newly-born foal stands on stick legs as it hides behind its mother's legs. The mother gives a soft whinny. A smile touches my lips. I have not visited the stables since before my sister's marriage.

I once enjoyed riding, and the freedom it offered me. Nothing but the wind and the animal carrying me, and the possibility I could ride forever, or at least until the Sea. I am not sure why I stopped.

I follow Thranduil to the large stall at the farthest end. His elk is enormous from a distance, but upon drawing closer I surmise he is the size of a house. His mighty antlers reach the stable walls on both sides, hindering him from walking freely. They are as sharp as Númenorian spears, useful for impaling a host of orcs in battle.