Feigning Diamonds (A Thranduil Fanfic)

Chapter 8: Onyx

"Her lipstick stains like acid rain, dissolving away my sense of restraint, the streetlamps burn through the cloak of the fog, concealing the violence, I've been stung... so hurt me again, it's not worth saving, the heart that I've spent my whole life breaking..." -Wasp-Motionless in White

***

"When do we start?" Thranduil asks Idriel once their deal is sealed.

"The sooner the better," she responds. "I do not think this is something we can put off."

"Very well." Thranduil turns to address a nearby guard. "Summon my son."

Idriel grimaces slightly at his command, but Thranduil doesn't notice. They wait in a silence that reminds them of the simpler days when this silence was shared--gazing at the stars, after an argument, anytime there was no need to speak.

Legolas enters gracefully, greeting Idriel formally before turning to his father.

"I am going to Aeldyn to help with a serious problem," Thranduil explains to him. "I am not putting you in charge, but until I get back, like always, the guards are to listen to you."

Legolas nods once in understanding. Thranduil gestures for Idriel to lead the way. She does, but not before telling Legolas, "And no parties while we are gone, got it?"

Legolas cracks a smile, as does Thranduil, who hides it skillfully. There's that sense of humor I missed so much.

They depart shortly afterwards, taking separate carriages so Thranduil can get back. He only protested this once, then remembered their deal and rendered it best to stay apart.

The ride is shorter than the other times, but perhaps it is the nerves of both of them of being alone together for the first time in years.

"I will show you other things that are broken," Idriel says as they enter the glass castle. Thranduil nods. "I have noticed that they are in more clandestine places--places citizens here are not likely to go on purpose."

"Such as?"

"The wine cellar, the dungeons, my personal room and garden, and the archives are some places."

They go to the archives first as it is the closest. Thranduil notes that the record keeping spaces are either dented or scratched, as if a large animal had a feud with it.

"These aren't exactly broken, but the guards who watch over this place say they heard and saw nothing," Idriel explains.

Thranduil notes how worried she is. Her eyes are desperate, going over the injuries as if the answer lies in them and rubbing her arms like there is a draft (which there isn't--it is actually quite warm inside, he notes). How he wishes he could comfort her.

"Let's move on," Thranduil suggests. Next is her garden. It is small, but for one person, how big is it going to be? "What is wrong here?"

"The flowers that light it at night are all dead." Idriel gestures to withered flowers along the edges. They are even more fragile in death. One touch would disintegrate them.

The wine cellar has broken wine bottles and also a few damaged lights; the dungeons' brick walls are starting to crack and crumble into dust, and the chains that are to hold prisoners are extremely rusted.

"Is this all?" Thranduil asks while they are still in the dungeons.

Idriel nods and then scowls. "For now. Soon the glass walls will start to crack, doors will fall off their hinges, and oh, it hurts me to think about the future of my kingdom."

Casting all precautions aside, Thranduil does something that is, at this point, almost completely foreign to him, and gently pulls the despondent queen into a tight embrace.

She isn't crying, but Thranduil can tell she wants to. Her head rests on his chest just like it used to, and her arms are around his neck. She smells like she always has--nighttime and roses. He finds this fitting for her. Roses are beautiful to gaze upon, but they have their thorns, and night is a time when beautiful things emerge, but it also hides secrets.

"I swear we will stop this," he says, stroking her hair that, today, shines a shade that matches his exactly in the dim light of the dungeon.

"I trust you." This phrase hits him particularly hard. He had lost her trust after she left, and having it back gives him a longing to fulfill his task and decode this mystery. "And if this kingdom is shattering slowly, I can only imagine what is to come of my people."

"Don't think like that," Thranduil says. "We will fix this before it can break anyone."

"What if it breaks me first?"

"It wouldn't dare."

She pulls back ever so slightly to look at him. The worry still rests in her eyes.

Before he can restrain himself, Thranduil is lost in the past again. He leans in to rest his forehead on hers like he used to do when he was upset. They're so close their breath mingles, and their lips touch ever so slightly, the faintest brush, and they both pull away.

Thranduil's heart rate is up, something uncommon for an elf doing nothing but standing.

This is going to be harder than I thought.