Darkest Nights | Love of Royals: Book II

VII: Boundaries

It's not difficult for me to traipse into my new room, feigning weariness, after a long day of playing with Erainiel and Legolas.  Nor is it difficult to sneak out again when I'm certain the coast is clear, so I can have a proper explore of the domain of my father's archenemies.  Thranduil and Elena's insignia follow me everywhere I go, not only on the flags adorning the walls, but in more subtle forms such as the antler-like patterns engraved on each door frame, and in the six-pointed stars found on everything from lantern holders to decorative vases.  A constant reminder of who's in charge in this forest-scented labyrinth of a kingdom. 

Nightfall brings with it its usual flood of Dû-edhel power, spurring me on through every crack and crevice I can access.  I am able to avoid the guards on the night watch, my jet black attire aiding me as I blend into the shadows, stepping silently across the stone.  I explore outside too, the moonlit gardens and workshops built into the trees, and scuttle back the way I came when I find myself in a stable faced with an angry-looking elk.  Obviously property of the King, for it is his symbol, not Elena's, that can be seen carved on the stable door.

I return inside to the enormous throne room.  Tonight, the waterfalls are mere trickles compared to the night of the storm, and I give each one a careful study in case there's a way I can climb back out via one.  I'm met with only disappointment.  Too steep and dangerous to climb out, too many armed guards to dispatch without my weapons before attempting to use the doors... I should have known escape wouldn't be easy.

Rather despondent, I make my way back down to the lower halls as dawn at last draws near.  I did have the intention of returning to my room, but along my way through the royal quarters I hear voices.  Voices I recognise.  Voices that continue to converse even when I press my eye right up to the keyhole of their door.

Thranduil, clad today in robes of burnt gold and forest green, is sat almost bored on the edge of the huge bed.  His wife, meanwhile, is pacing rapidly back and forth in front of him in the middle of a thoroughly frustrated rant.

'I have lost all patience with the way you and Legolas speak to each other,' Elena snaps at her husband, 'have you even thought of how it could affect Erainiel? I know it's better than it was, but it's not as good as it could be. I just want our daughter to grow up without thinking you two hate each other!'

'You are overreacting, meleth nín,' says Thranduil monotonously.  It's clear this early morning conversation has been going on for longer than he should like.

Elena, however, presses on.  'You granted him the freedom to live where he chose, he stayed in Imladris, you haven't seen him for six years, and now he's returned. Tell me, what is so bad that you need to treat him so coldly?'

'It is not that simple,' Thranduil counters, 'we have been distant from each other since long before you arrived. You know this.'

'I do,' Elena sighs, 'but he's trying to find his place in the world outside this realm. That must be difficult for him, don't you think? You could at least be a little more lenient with him.'

'Have you not seen how he is with Fíria? He must not get too close to her. You know who her father is.'

Elena balks at the thought of Fínegel, pausing to run her hand through her hair.  'I do, but why did you give consent to release her from the dungeon if you fear she is so dangerous?'

'I do not fear her. I gave my consent because I trust you. And if you believe that she is honest, and will not attempt to murder us all, then so do I. I just cannot have Legolas pledge himself to her of all people. She knows that, and yet still they will not separate. I do not want to force it upon them after everything you have told me.'