The Witch's Destiny || Thranduil

Chapter XXI

"Not your business," Thranduil hissed, walking away to a different portion of the room. He looked at the ellons working and said, "Did Heriion tell you to put those that low?"

"Thranduil," Elrond said, coming beside him once more. Thranduil ignored him, listening to what the worker had to say.

"No, my lord," the ellon replied.

"Put them up higher, please. People of my height could hit their head on that."

"Yes, my lord."

The Elven-king gave a slight smile to the ellon, bowed his head and moved on. Elrond fell into step with him once more and said, "Did you not see him watching you with concern just now? A simple ellon who most likely has never truly spoken with you before."

"Goodbye, Lord Elrond."

The Elven-lord pursed his lips, turning on his heel and leaving. Thranduil watched him with calculated eyes. The nerve of some people! To come into his home and lecture him with advice he didn't ask for.

"My fae is fine," Thranduil mumbled bitterly. He was purposefully ignoring the ache that had permanently settled in his chest. The only time it ever lightened was when one of four things happened: he saw Authanar, he saw Violet, he saw Flufflepuff, or he saw Legolas. Usually though, the ache settled back tenfold when he was reminded of what he had done by the look of hatred settled on his little leaf's face.

Legolas was always a happy baby. He giggled, and he giggled loudly, then giggled harder at the sounds of his own laughter coming off the stone walls. It's true, Legolas was a mama's boy, but he still had ginormous smiles reserved for his father and his father alone. Never had he ever looked disappointed to see his father. Never had he looked like he loathed seeing his father.

Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes to keep the tears from falling. He steadied himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He had done it a lot recently, and found it was the only way he could focus on getting things done. Heriion may have been the one to plan the feast, but Thranduil was still the king. Duties needed to be taken care of, and helping to direct the set-up of the feast was one of them.

"Feriion, the Great Hall does not need massive amounts of chairs!" Thranduil called, "Our people will mostly be standing for the entire night." He shook his head, looking at the ceiling. He mumbled, "You would think this was not a yearly event."

Thranduil watched for at least another hour, directing where to put things when they were put in the wrong place, while managing to only lose his temper once. He rubbed his temples with his fingers, removing the metal circlet from his head for a moment. Massaging his head the best he could, he continued walking towards the seamstress's room and put his circlet in place once more.

Because it was the day of the feast, the royal seamstress was ensuring nobody in the royal family needed any last-minute alterations. It was her job to make sure they always looked in tip top shape, and she was who Thranduil and Legolas went to when designing gowns for Violet. Originally, Thranduil had only meant for her to have enough clothes to keep her while she was here.

Then, he saw the way her eyes lit up at them and just how gorgeous she looked. Her joy was a contagious one. And now... well, now he would give her a new dress every hour if it pleased her, or a new pair of trousers, a new tunic, or any piece of clothing her heart desired.

Accepting the robes she handed to him, he stepped behind the changing curtain and moved quickly, not wishing to waste any time. He folded his old clothing and placed it gently on the stool at the edge of the curtain, before stepping around it and back into view of the rest of the room.