Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

32. Laurenendë

"I know it would require a dwelling larger than a mountain to give him ample space, but I hope he is allowed a daily walk."

Thranduil motions for a groom to help him saddle the beast. "Two walks, in the morning and evening."

It is with some trepidation I hold out my hand and allow the elk to smell it. If he desired, he could swallow it with one bite.

Thranduil reads my mind. "He eats only grass and trees."

"How big are these trees, my friend?" I ask the elk.

He seems friendly enough, grunting softly when I touch his muzzle. Sensing no irritation in his eyes or manner, I stroke his coarse brown coat. Perhaps he is like his master: intimidating in appearance, but gentle within.

As long as it is on his terms.

"What do you call him?"

"Gilroch."

"You named your elk Star Horse?"

Thranduil looks up from fastening the monstrous saddle. "He believes he is a horse."

A smirk passes over the ginger-haired stablehand's face, gone before his King can notice. I bite the inside of my lip, trying not to make the same mistake. If Thranduil so much as thinks I am ridiculing him, I can forget accompanying him anywhere.

I consider the reasons for Gilroch's name. Does he oft try to join the other horses? Has he attempted to mate with them? It is not as though there are other elks his size in the vicinity, at least not that I have seen.

"Legolas gave the name to Gilroch's sire when he was an elfling," says Thranduil, interrupting my thoughts. He looks down again at the saddle, inspecting it to ensure it is secure. "I kept the name."

Warmth spreads through me at his discreet sentimentality, and that he has admitted it. The young groom bows to us both and steps back.

"Are you ready?"

"I...yes, I suppose."

With the casual grace of having done it countless times, he climbs atop Gilroch and grips the reins in one hand. With his other arm he pulls me up behind him as if I am made of naught but air.

It is a strange sensation to have such a massive beast beneath me. He is much wider than a horse, and my legs stretch out almost painfully. I take a deep breath. My lack of control is unsettling. If Gilroch wished it, he could sling us into a tree like a child's plaything.

"Why in Arda did I agree to this?"

"I told you to come, and you followed."

"That is not at all true. You – oooh!"

We set off. My stomach swoops with the sudden movement. The ground is a world away, like I am riding on a fast-moving Ent. The bustling village soon becomes a distant outline as Gilroch takes us south, towards the heart of the forest. Towards Dol Guldur.

"You can still hold on without blocking the air from my lungs."

I loosen my grip. "I do not believe the fall down would end well."

"You are not going to fall."

Willing myself to relax, I lean forward and rest my cheek on his back. His sage green cloak smells clean, with a vague hint of hearth smoke, and something familiar I cannot place. But it is distinctly Thranduil.

Feeling more comfortable, I raise my head again and take in the stark landscape around us. The tall oaks are blackened skeletons, their long, twisting branches blocking most sunlight. The forest has darkened since I last came this way, and even then it was festered with evil. Now it is consumed.