Impulsive and young, Thranduil brings back Aerneth to Doriath as his wife, making his abusive father furious. Through the Ages their hasty marriage is shadowed by war and death, dragons and dark lords, betrayal and kinslayings. How can they ever fin...
~Lúthien and Beren returns unexpectedly, easing Thranduil's worry about death.~
oOo
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Melian and Thingol by Sara M. Morello
Rebirth
Menegroth, Doriath, First Age 467
The burial grounds of Doriath were located in a calm and beautiful spot north of the city, not far from the tree where Lúthien had been imprisoned. Aerneth was not sure if she liked the place or not. Sure, the white daisies planted on the grave mounds were pretty, and the surrounding beeches, now covered in tiny, new leaves were somber and polite when she reached out to them with her mind, but she hated to be reminded of death. It was unnatural, yet lately so many had succumbed to it.
Only last year she had been at her previous funeral, when Beren had been honoured with a spot among the elves, and not long before that had been the mass burial of all those who had died when Captain Mablung's unit was attacked by the werewolf. And then of course she was always reminded of the first funeral she had ever been to, in Eglarest, after Thranduil's mother's tragic accident.
Now for the fourth time she had to witness the tear streaked faces of the mourning as another body was lowered into the ground and covered with stones and dirt.
Today it was the most famous elleth on Middle-earth who had departed; Lúthien Tinúviel, princess of Doriath, fair of face and voice, a powerful and unafraid heroine. Grief had done what even Morgoth himself had failed, and taken her life. The past year she had wasted away, her soul slowly fading until her body was naught but an empty shell, and now even that did not remain.
The king looked to be still in shock. His face had almost the same colour as the garment that had given him his epessë – Thingol, greycloak. Beside him Melian was much more calm and collected, she had known her daughter would die since shortly after the burial of Beren, and had had time to come to terms with it. She had seen it in Galadriel's mirror – a foreboding of this, of Lúthien's funeral.
The afternoon was chilly and Aerneth pulled her cloak together. She glanced at her husband, he only wore a tunic but the cold seemed not to affect him. His face was pale and smooth, forming an expressionless mask, one that he very rarely dropped nowadays. She loathed it.
Still, even with Thranduil so closely guarding his feelings, she could read him. The slight slumping of his shoulders, the tenseness of his jaw, his clenched hands; all told the same story: that the loss of Lúthien affected him deeply. In addition, his sleep had become troubled again, much like the first year after his mother's demise. It was strange, for surely Lúthien had not meant that much to him? He had always claimed he only courted her out of convenience, to placate Oropher. But why else would he be so troubled now?
