Everlong

48

The winter weather seemed to briefly lift and shift to allow the slightest rays of winter sun to come through the clouds; the clouds themselves still seemed heavily loaded with snow, sleet or rain but withheld from unleashing anything on the lands below them. It didn't make the day feel any better, or any worse. Each day was a similar, nothing particularly changed and the snows of the season soon became more of a hindrance than something to enjoy anymore.

The river which travelled through the woodland kingdom still seemed unaffected, the waters still churned, the tide still ripped right through, white frothy foam with small pieces of ice would land on the bank now and then, only to dissolve. These little pieces of ice should've been enough of a telling sign to everyone present, but instead they were merely ignored. The river was freezing on further down the way, these small chunks of ice had grouped and banded together to make drifting deadly sheets which could seem flat on the surface, but jagged and dangerous underneath the water. In some places these even froze together and to the bank itself, creating a very unsafe, glittery icy bridge.

As if an oncoming visit from a monarch wasn't enough, rather short written letters in what could possibly be the worst handwriting Thranduil had perhaps ever spied, arrived. It wasn't just one. There were several. It seemed unlike previous winters, this one had been especially bad so far. They were barely in the season, how much worse could it possibly be? But because of the ice, and some parts of the river freezing, they were unable to trade. It was a problem, one which seemed to be apparently their problem. Like elves had the ability to change the weather and have control over it, the sheer impotence and presumption of it all had Thranduil rolling his eyes disdainfully.

It didn't help that in some letters it was specifically written that some men had fallen within the icy waters, just in an effort to chip the ice away so a barge, or barges could get through. Some boats had been abandoned in the ice too. Yet again, Thranduil was uncertain what exactly this Master wished for him to do. Did he respond to the letters? No. The way in which they were written was sheer childish scrawl that was barely legible both physically and mentally, there wasn't a real coherent thought trail.

Thranduil was still receiving letters from the Master, along with any other correspondence from within the kingdom when it came to Voronwë's visit. He had broached the topic to Legolas, he had been reserved. If Thranduil didn't know any better, he'd say his son was equally confused and displeased. Legolas didn't know the elf, this could be the most awkward for him, and for that Thranduil sympathised. Though just not verbally saying so, he conveyed enough through a look and Legolas just nodded in return. Thranduil would have very little qualms about putting himself in the firing line of a relative stranger for the sake of defending those closest to him.

Legolas wasn't so much a problem, he held himself much like Thranduil. Even how he reacted sometimes was very similar, although there was definitely a more defiant streak which Thranduil was adamant came from his mother. But if Voronwë commented badly towards Legolas, Thranduil knew he'd handle himself with poise and calm. Liruliniel, no. She was the main concern of having to put himself in between her and the visiting elf. She didn't have poise, well, she did, it was selective and her tactful way with words was sometimes missing in action and sharp.

Thranduil didn't want an argument, because it would put him in an incredibly hard position. Defend his love, which he would do without a second thought. But also, not defending a guest let alone a royal one was extremely bad form. Even if Thranduil wasn't keen on Voronwë...hard to like someone when they were missing in action and barely vocal in letters. If he defended Voronwë, even if he was in the wrong, would then put Thranduil in the wrong; and he didn't want an argument with Liruliniel, it pained him mentally and internally, his heart would feel like someone had taken ahold of it and clenched it slowly. He didn't like that feeling.