Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

45. Questions

Not wishing to interrupt Gwendes and Sírdor in their intimate exchange, I allow my heart and feet to lead me back to Thranduil's door. I tell myself it is only to check on him, but I know that is half true. I wish him to look at me as he had earlier, to brush his fingers over my hand, to ask me to stay for a while.

Forcefully pushing the dangerous thoughts from my mind, I lift my hand to knock. After no answer, I quietly open the door and walk into his bedchamber, surprised by my own boldness. He is sleeping.

I know I should leave. But I find myself sitting down again in the bedside chair. Earlier, when in death's clutches, he appeared pale and vulnerable in his sleep. Now he appears at peace, as if he drifts through the Gardens of Aman as he would on a normal night. His glamor is restored, the gruesome burn replaced with smooth flesh. There is no hint of its existence.

For a long while I sit there, the calming crackle of the restored fire reminding me of my own exhaustion, the steady sound of his breathing lulling me to join him in sleep, to shut my eyes and let it take me over.

But I reach out my hand instead, and brush away a strand of hair resting over his brow. I blame my daring on an addled mind; it is not something I would have done otherwise. His hand grabs mine.

"Rîneth." His eyes remain closed.

"You have quick reflexes!" I give a half-hearted attempt to break free from his strong grasp, but he does not let go.

"Yes." He opens his eyes. Their wintry color makes them as sharp as they have ever been. "But I was not sleeping."

"You were when I entered the room. How long have you been fooling me? And more importantly, why?"

Thranduil sits up, carefully positioning himself so as not to cause further pain. "I was not awake for long. I hoped you would drift off, but you are too stubborn. Like your Dwarf friends. You need sleep more than anyone in Arda."

"I am fine."

"When last did you pass a mirror? You appear as though a band of orcs dragged you through Mordor and back."

"Thank you, my lord."

"And instead of finding your bed, you went to visit the injured."

I stand and reluctantly walk to the tall looking glass in the corner of the room, unsure of what I will see. "How did you know my whereabouts?"

"I knew you would wish to check on your friends. Your good heart precedes your wisdom, at times."

I feel an unpleasant leap of shock when I look at my reflection. Reddened and swollen, my tired eyes carry dark half-moons under them. My curls, though always unruly, have reached new heights, and my face looks like it belongs in the Dead Marshes. There is a large tear in the blue sleeve of my gown. I do not recognize myself.

I lift my hands to my cheeks. When Thranduil died, perhaps I did as well...

"I have certainly paid the price for being at your side today," I say, employing humor to hide my embarrassment. "But you hardly look better."

"Come and sit down before you collapse."

As soon as I lower myself on the chair, he takes my hand and brings it to his chest. I feel heat race through my body. Surely he sees the effect he has on me. He is anything but blind.

"Hannon-le, Rîneth," he says softly. "For what you did. To bring me back from death, the Valar must have heard the sincerest prayer."

"It was not only me. My father also--"

He squeezes my hand, silencing me. "Accept my gratitude. I do not give it lightly, nor without reason."

I avert my eyes from his piercing gaze, afraid he will see through me. There is so much I must keep hidden. "When you died, I...I thought perhaps you did not wish to be healed, that perhaps you wished to leave."

"Leaving is one of the last things I wish for, Rîneth."

I flash a warm smile. "I admire your loyalty to our kingdom."

What I recognize as a spark of amusement flits in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth turns upwards.

"I was not trying to be funny..."

"I did not think you were."

"I trust I may speak on behalf of all your subjects in saying we are grateful you did not wish to leave us. Even Lord Ferdir's respect for you has grown a hundredfold after tonight. He can hardly stop glowing over your skill in battle, your acrobatics, as he put it."

"As long as I have Ferdir's approval, I shall never leave."

I give an un-ladylike snort. His sarcasm is still perfectly intact, even if his body is worse for wear. His faint smile widens at my reaction. For half a moment I can pretend it is a normal night of banter and friendship in my father's chambers, realities of war tucked into a far, untouchable corner of my mind.

But everything has changed now. In more ways than one. My smile fades.

"Before I demand you to go to your chambers and rest, I believe you have a question for me?" he asks.

I nod, relieved. It is the question which has not given me peace since last I left him, causing my already fatigued mind to tangle in confusion. I smooth my soiled gown and rest my hands on my knees.

"Why did you not wish me to tell my father about your death?"

He takes a sip of wine, then pauses to study his goblet before answering. "Because he would have questions. Questions I was not ready to answer."

"What do you mean?"

He returns the goblet to the bedside table before meeting my curious gaze. "I felt you had the right to be the first to know what happened after my death. My spirit was sent to the Halls of Mandos."

My hand flies to my mouth. I had never considered the possibility. The Halls have always seemed like a point of no return, a place of finality. It is at first too much to comprehend, that his spirit left his body entirely and was among the resting spirits in Valinor. Why was he sent back?

It happened only once before with Lúthien Tinúviel, an Elf who pleaded with Mandos to live a mortal life to be with her beloved in Middle-earth. Too many questions overwhelm me to know which to ask first. Instead, I wait for his explanation.

"I never passed through the final doorway to the Halls, however. I was in a passage between Middle-earth and Valinor, a void of shadow and darkness. Itaril was there. She spoke with me."

Itaril. His wife. I feel a lead weight fall through my stomach in disbelief.

"Why would her spirit still dwell in Mandos' Halls instead of with her family in Valinor? She died so long ago, when I was only a child..."

He nods. "At first I did not understand either. I asked her why she had not left; she told me she had been waiting for me."

"She knew of your coming death?"

"It will be impossible for you to understand without me telling you everything, from the beginning."