Feigning Diamonds (A Thranduil Fanfic)

Chapter 9: Garnet

"Each of us is carving a stone, erecting a column, or cutting a piece of stained glass in the construction of something much bigger than ourselves." -Adrienne Clarkson

***

"My lady!" A guard bursts in before either elf can say anything to one another. He is panicking and distressed, talking too fast. "My lady you have to come to the dining hall right now there is an emergency!"

"What is it?" Idriel asks calmly, following the guard out of the dungeons with Thranduil on her heels.

"I don't know!"

Idriel gives Thranduil a confused glance that he returns. How could they not know what's going on?

Before they can get to the dining hall, Thranduil asks for a word. Idriel consents and tells the guard to go ahead.

Once he is gone, Idriel turns to Thranduil. She hates how she has to look up to see his eyes, if only slightly. They would always compare height in the past, and they measured that Idriel is four inches shorter than Thranduil, which he would constantly tease her about.

"I just wanted to apologize for my behavior back there," Thranduil starts smoothly. "I think this deal we have is going to be more difficult for me than I'm predicting, and I understand if you do not wish for my help anymore."

Thranduil waits for her response and thinks about how much he wants to continue helping. This is the only way for him to spend time with her without any questions being raised.

"You shouldn't apologize," Idriel says. "It was me, too. I think it is the thrill of being around you again. I keep getting thrown into the past, and I forget myself. And I still want your help. I'll always want it."

Thranduil nods with a smile of relief and gestures for her to lead the way to the dining hall to see what could possibly be happening. He can tell Idriel is nervous to see, but she hides it well.

When they enter the hall, it is empty and everything appears to be in place. All the silverware and dishes are glass of course, along with the tables and chairs which are decorated with silver embroidery. Fairy lights serve as illumination; they are pure white, almost blue in color, and reflect off the glass beautifully.

"What is the problem?" Idriel asks the guard, just as Thranduil sees it.

He grips her wrist to get her attention and points upwards. She follows his gaze and gasps.

Elves, at least two dozen of them, are floating. But this is not a whimsical, magical-flying sort of floating. They appear to be unconscious. Their arms are spread-eagled; some eyes are wide open while others are shut tight; mouths are either agape or glued together; heads are lolled to the side, front, or back.

Idriel finds her voice. "What is going on?" she asks heavily.

"I don't know!" the guard cries. "I came in to join, and this is what I saw!"

Thranduil squints at some of the elves as he notices something peculiar. They are very high up, almost touching the grandiose ceiling of stained glass, but he swears he sees something about them shaking.

"Are they in a trance?" Idriel wonders aloud. "Are they poisoned? Is it a spell?" Thranduil knows she rambles when she's nervous.

"Idriel, take a closer look at them," Thranduil advises her. "Is it just me, or is something trembling around them?"

Idriel walks around and nods as she does. "I see it too. It is the glass they are wearing. Some have it on a piece of jewelry, on their clothes, or in their hair. It is shaking, vibrating."

"Why would it be--" Thranduil's question is cut short. All at once, the glass that had previously been quivering breaks free of wherever it had been. It floats in the air next to the elf it belonged to, and Thranduil swears he hears whispering.

A quick glance at Idriel sets off a panic in him. She looks as if she is about to faint. "Idriel, what is happening?"

"It's not possible," she whispers. As soon as the last sound leaves her lips, the shards all jerk in a random direction and grow in size. The shards are now as big as someone's palm.

"What do we do?" the guard asks. Thranduil sees his hands shaking.

"We need to get them down," Idriel says, coming back to Thranduil's side.

"But--" The guard starts to protest, but before he can, the unspeakable occurs.

All the glass shards fly in the direction of their owners at tremendous speeds and succeed in planting themselves right in each elf's heart. Every elf gasps or cries out and drops to the floor simultaneously with a loud thud.

Idriel shrieks as they fall, and tears swim in her eyes. Thranduil is frozen, horrified. The guard has fled.

"Thranduil," she whispers, kneeling next to someone and starting to cry. "They're all gone. Just like that. This shouldn't be happening."

Thranduil pulls her away from the body gently, enveloping her in another hug and letting her cry as he reflects. What just happened? What's been happening to this place? What will happen next?

Guards flood in the room and Idriel, as their queen, composes herself impressively well.

"What should we do, my lady?" someone asks.

"Notify the kingdom. I want every elf alive in the Great Hall," she orders. "Take the bodies down to the dungeons for claiming and possible autopsies."

They nod grimly and get to work.

Idriel is deathly pale and guides Thranduil out of the dining hall, trying to hide her shaking hands. Thranduil sees though and grips one tight--a wordless reassurance.