King Thranduil was not joking when he said he would make sure Violet had decent swordsmanship before she left Mirkwood. By dawn the next morning, he approached her chambers with two guards in tow, knocking on her door to wake her up. Instead of his usual finery, he wore a forest green tunic and brown leggings. Brown boots were clad on his feet, extending up his long legs before ending right above his knees. The back of the boots ended below his knee to allow better movement. He had even braided his long, silky hair to keep it out of his face. A sheathed sword hung at his side in a scabbard and he grabbed hers before she could.
Violet dressed herself similarly, wearing the reddish-brown tunic and leggings that Elrond had given her, as well as the boots Gandalf had before she had even stepped foot in Middle-Earth. Her red hair was done in a French braid, as tight as she could make it.
Nearing mid-day, she still hadn't touched a sword. No, all she had done was send failed punches his way and gotten dirt in her hair.
"I swear," she said, panting out her words in tiredness, "I do know self-defense. It was required in the training for my job."
"They did not do well teaching you," he replied, raising one eyebrow and doing that look where he seems to see through her soul. She threw another punch his way, and he side stepped her, watching as she fell to the ground. The dirt flew up around her in a cloud of dust.
"It's not my fault I don't have six-thousand years of experience!"
"Six-thousand four-hundred, give or take a few years."
She glared at him, but he only seemed to find it funny, lacing his fingers together behind his back. Looking at the two was like looking at polar opposites. Violet was covered in dirt from head to toe, an irritated look on her face, and hunched over, like a cat ready to pounce. The Elven-king had a relaxed, open posture, though his eyes would constantly dart around to check for danger. He would laugh openly, smile openly, only for it to disappear if someone came to him with business.
"Oh how silly of me! I beg your forgiveness, my lord."
"Forgiveness granted," he said. She glared harder at him, whilst he only chuckled. Huffing, she finally pushed herself off the ground.
"My hair isn't even the same color it was when we started!" she exclaimed. King Thranduil looked at her head, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"I was going to ask you when you found time to change the color," he said, raising an elegant eyebrow. She glared at him again. "You know, if you keep doing that, your eyes will get stuck."
"Good!" she said, "Then maybe you'll finally learn what the glare means."
"Oh, I know what it means. I just don't care," he said. "Take a break for your mid-day meal. This will be one of few breaks you get, so use it wisely."
She pushed herself off of the ground, dusting off what dirt she could. Staring into the distance, she asked, "Would you mind if I tried a spell? I want to see if I can communicate with my brother."
"Of course," he said, "May I watch?"
"Of course," she repeated, "Expecto Patronum!" From the tip of her dark wand burst a badger, looking at her in anticipation. "Go to Harry Potter and tell him these words: 'I'm alright. I love you'."
Obediently, the patronus ran off behind her, shooting past King Thranduil. His mouth was dropped open, but a smile was beginning to form there. His eyes were full of curiosity and wonder, and his eyebrows were raised high. He looked back to her.
"What was that?" he asked.
"That, my lord, is called a patronus. It defends against dementors, can act as a guide, or send a verbal message to anybody. Though, whether they can send one back via patronus depends on whether they're a wizard or not."
"Do they all turn into animals?"
"No, the ones that do are called a corporeal patronus. Those that don't are non-corporeal; they can only defend against dementors and look like a large shield in front of you. In fact, many witches and wizards can't even produce a non-corporeal patronus. It's an extremely hard spell to manage."
"Do you choose the animal?"
She smiled. His curiosity was very endearing. "That would also be a no. The animal is a reflection of your personality. For example, badgers represent ferocity and determination. Badgers are also animals who tend to take on opponents much larger than themselves, which I think by now we know I tend to do." She laughed. "My brother's patronus is a stag, a reflection of his love for our father as well as being a protector of other's. My mother's was a doe, also a reflection of her love for my dad, as well as being protective."
"Your patronus is very fitting," he said.
She bowed her head. "Thank you. It used to be a European adder, a venomous snake that only bites when threatened."
"It can change?" She nodded. "Why did yours?"
"I grew into my destiny," Violet said, "I think it started around the time Draco Malfoy was tasked with killing Headmaster Dumbledore. He was only sixteen at the time, the same age as me. I was no stranger to death then, but the fear in his eyes and the tears streaming down his face made me realize that if Voldemort was going to die, then I was going to have to accept my prophecy and do everything I could to play my part."
"And now you must grow into your destiny again," he said. She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "I can tell you're scared."
"How?"
"You are horrid at hiding your feelings." He smiled slyly. "Plus, Lady Galadriel talks."
Violet laughed loudly, throwing her head back. "She never fails to surprise me."
"Don't tell her I said this, but me either," he said, "I'm... not certain if this is my place to tell you this, but you must learn to be more confident in your decisions and abilities. 'Tis something I have learned over the years. If you cannot be confident in your decisions, why should anybody else be? You are a leader in this situation, now it's time to inspire confidence in your followers. I will be here to help you, but I cannot do that for you."
Violet sighed. "I can try. I am just very, very aware that my decisions are going to affect tens of thousands of people."
"And so you should be. Don't ever forget that fact. And while you should never realize that you hold the power to make or break their lives, focus more on how you can change their life for the better with your decisions." He smiled at her. A genuine smile at that, before nodding his head back to the cavernous palace behind them. "Now, go find lunch. You have an hour."
Violet bowed her head in respect, taking her leave of the Elven-king. He watched her as he left, taking note of how Feren stepped up beside him.
"She doesn't seem to have much potential," the respected guard said.
King Thranduil didn't take his eyes away from Violet as he spoke, "But she does, and so much of it. She'll surprise you yet, Feren. Mark my words."
Feren side-eyed his king. The pair had been practicing since early morning, and she never even landed a punch. King Thranduil side-eyed Feren back, walking away from the conversation to take his mid-day meal himself. Training the woman works up quite an appetite.
Walking back to his palace always gave Thranduil a swell of pride in his chest. His palace was one of beauty, grandeur, woodland, and safety. The outside areas, like the training grounds, were built into the surrounding forest. Tall walls surrounded the areas connected to the forest. He built these halls in the side of a cavernous mountain to serve as a fortress to his people, and they have, through all the darkness in the world and no ring of power - which he didn't even want. His people had flourished. Every time they had been hit through whatever foe, they had come back stronger as a people. Their numbers had been weakened, yes. Many elves have been slain in battle over the years, and many were beginning to hear the call of the sea.
Still, Mirkwood could boast that they had the highest elven population on Middle-Earth, despite their close proximity to the dangers. For while the Silvan elves did hear the call of the sea, many didn't, wishing to live and fade in their trees.
Most would think that Thranduil would wish to fade into the trees like a lot of his kin, but instead he waited patiently for the day he would hear the sea's calls, which was still a piece of time from coming. His soul was not yet weary of this world, even if it grows more and more with each passing year. His soul longed to see his parents again. To see his aunts, uncles, and grandparents.
He got to his study and entered the room with a sigh. His shoulders slouched and his crown felt like it would cause his head to hit the floor with the weight of it. The burden of a crown was a heavy one, not meant to ever be taken lightly. One that he had not been able to share with anybody for a long time, even if he wanted to. Sure, he could talk to Authanar, Legolas, or even Galion, but he was the king and decisions regarding his people rested on his shoulders alone.
He found his meal sitting in front of the fire, but he grabbed the plate, moving it to his desk so he could catch up on his boxes.
Instead of paying attention to his work, his eye moved to his desk drawer, and he opened it, looking at a copy of the only family portrait he had made of himself, Legolas, and Esselyth. Legolas had only been around twenty-five years old in the picture, and had just lost his first baby tooth. So, he smiled as large as he could for the artist, proud to show off that he was slowly growing up. It was meant to be a royal portrait, no smiling allowed, but neither himself nor his late wife could resist smiling when they saw their little leaf grinning so proudly and so boldly.
Thranduil knew he would never see Esselyth again. Elves hold bonds with their lovers and rarely are those bonds severed or broken. Except, theirs was. What other explanation was there? Esselyth had horrible things done to her, he could not blame her for not having her soul and body reembodied together.
It weighed on his own soul knowing he would be forever alone.
-
"But Ada, I don't want to meet them!" Thranduil whined, holding both his mother's and father's hands.
"Son, one day you will understand the importance of the ways of nobles. This first meeting with Lord Gaerthir could start a friendship that lasts five thousand years," Oropher said, looking down at his son.
"I want to go play!" he said, looking back to where his toy sword lay abandoned in the yard of their home.
"You can play with Lord Gaerthir's daughter. She'll be glad to have the company. You know, her mother sailed from Middle-Earth just a few years ago," Mael, his mother, interjected.
"Alright, nana." The little elfling huffed. "But I still would rather play at home."
His mother and father laughed. Thranduil had never been shy, just reserved and more unwilling to make friends.
"Well, soon enough, you will have a built in best friend, my little spring," the elleth said, rubbing her protruding stomach.
"Are they a boy or a girl? What's their name?"
"Well, we will not know until they're born. But, we wish for you to choose their name," Oropher said, squeezing his son's hand.
"Authanar for a brother or Gûrthel for a sister!" Thranduil declared, a proud grin on his face. His parents laughed, sharing a loving smile over their son's head. "They will be a warrior!"
"And what will you be?"
"A king!" Thranduil puffed his chest out in pride, holding his head high, though he blushed when he heard his parents chuckling over his head. "Maybe not a king. An advisor to the king? An army commander? Both?!"
"You can be anything you want to be, little spring. Though, yes, a king may be a bit out of reach." Oropher used his free hand to knock on the door of Lord Gaerthir's home, smiling as it opened.
"Welcome, Lord Oropher!" the elf with long dark hair said, "Might I introduce my wife, Lady Celephinbes and my daughter, Lady Esselyth."
"We're happy to be here. This is my wife, Lady Mael and my son, Lord Thranduil." Oropher bent down to his son. "Go say hi to Lady Esselyth, son."
Thranduil went forward with a guarded face, but bent to kiss the hand of the young elleth nonetheless. "Hello, Lady Esselyth. I am pleased to meet you."
Instead of saying hello back, though, the little elleth said, "Do you want to go play swords?"
Thranduil grinned broadly back, before loudly exclaiming yes and rushing after his new-found friend.
-
Thranduil smiled at the portrait one last time, before tucking it back into his drawer. He did indeed make a new friend that day, and he did indeed gain a built-in best friend in his little brother, Authanar, who was younger than him by thirtreen years. It was almost unheard of to have elven children so close together, but their parents wanted them to grow and mature together.
The result had been a powerhouse duo who fought together, raised their children together, and lost their wives together. Authanar's wife had sailed across the sea to the Undying Lands not even twenty years ago, after having been attacked by orcs. He had a lot of cause to hate orcs, and the idea of an upcoming war made him nervous.
His brother had already shared his suspicions about Violet prior to the Council dinner, but Thranduil made his choice. His son trusted the woman, so he did too. Woodland elves were a suspicious people, and Authanar was a woodland elf. Regardless, Authanar would be the easiest elf to win over, being still Sindarin by nature and not having grown up with the Silvans.
The Silvan elves were distrustful of others, partly due to the influence Thranduil's father had on them, and partly due to the complicated relationship between the Teleri and the Noldorin elves.
Legolas had been born after most of the old grudges faded away, but Thranduil remembered the Second Sacking of Doriath. He remembered how the Noldorin elves attacked his kin and destroyed his home, forcing him to flee. They had become kinslayers, a level Thranduil would never stoop to for power, like they had.
He forgave, but he never forgot.
-
In her own room, Violet was spending quality time with Flufflepuff. Before their Middle-Earth adventures, the two spend more time together. Violet had been away on auror missions, but nothing had been as exciting as this, requiring much of their time.
The witch had a salad for lunch, sharing with her beloved puff ball, which he was grateful for. He adored lettuce, finding the treat a refreshing thing. Flufflepuff was the furthest thing from a picky eater - he did love to eat boogers, after all! - but he still had preferences as to what he wanted. He wasn't much of a fan of anything hot, and preferred room temperature or cold foods.
The pair ate relatively quickly, finishing as early as possible so they could have playtime together. Violet would take Flufflepuff in her hands and roll him across the floor as hard as she could, laughing as he ran back to her, squealing in delight.
Another game they enjoyed playing was hide and go seek. Flufflepuff was the only one who would hide, hiding his squeaks with his fur, though they led Violet to him each and every time.
"Ninety-eight...ninety-nine...one-hundred! Ready or not, 'Puff, here I come!" Violet stood up, looking around the room for any signs of movement. She searched for five minutes, albeit not very hard, and was unsuccessful in finding the little guy. Dramatically, she flopped to the floor, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "I can't find Flufflepuff! What if he is lost to me forever? Where, oh where, did he go?!"
Squeaks of delight were heard from near the bed, so crawling on her hands and knees, Violet went to the side she slept on and looked under the bottom of it. Seeing no sign of him, she put her head under the blanket and came face to face with the Pygmy Puff. He squealed once more and she put her hands to her ears, laughing.
"Not so loud, darling! I'm right here." She carried him to the door. "Now, off you go. Go find the king. I'm sure he'll be very happy to see you."
She watched him as he ran down the hall as fast as his little legs would carry him, running in the direction that he thought the king was in.
Closing the door, she went to take a bath. Her second of the day. Violet hated feeling dirty and grimy, and it felt good to have it all come off her body.
She was surprised at how many clothes she was borrowing. Somehow, whenever she needed new training clothes, they appeared on her bed, just waiting for her. Elves were very generous, as if she didn't know already. They had done so much for her, so much for her family, without even knowing her. All of it was based on the word of Gandalf.
Legolas had saved her Uncle Moony and Aunt Dora, just out of the love of his own heart. And it was clear the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. Sure, the Elven-king was rough around the edges, but he was also kind, generous, and inside of him was a heart of gold that just wanted to see his people flourish.
He could have delegated any of his guards to train her in the art of sword wielding, but instead he took her under his own tutelage. She would forever be grateful to the Elven-king, and she knew just the way to show it. Rushing to her bag, she grabbed the items she was looking for.
She hoped she could one day be worthy of their admiration in return.
-
Walking to the training grounds, she found King Thranduil standing in the middle of them with his back turned to her. There were multiple smaller arenas with one large one in the middle, where he has. More people were training now in the smaller ones, most likely for the army. Nervously, she stepped into the middle of the arena. Had she been late?
"Do you know why I haven't let you touch a sword yet?" he asked, "If you cannot land even one punch, how will you ever manage to strike someone down with a sword?"
"I've done it before," she said stubbornly.
"Because of adrenaline," he said, "Adrenaline will not always last you on the battlefield."
"The sword is just my backup plan," she pressed.
"And yet, you still needed to use it," he said, repeating what he's said from a prior conversation.
"I don't plan to use it again."
"The key word in that sentence is plan. I prefer my sword to my bow, but do I train with a bow everyday? Yes. Because should the day arise that I need it, I want to be prepared."
"I understand, my lord, but shouldn't I mainly rely on my strongest asset?"
"No one has said you aren't. I rely on my sword because it is my strongest asset, but as I said, I still train with a bow. Should a battle occur, you will walk onto that field with a sword attached to your hip, or I will have my guards escort you all the way back to these halls." He stepped closer to her with each word of the latter part of his speech, until they were almost nose to nose. Both were stubborn creatures by nature and sometimes the stubbornness of Violet overrode her logical nature. She was still only human, after all. "Do not let your pride rule here. You are the ruler of your mind and your emotions, not your pride. You know I'm correct, just accept it."
Violet acquiesced, stepping back with a bow of her head. She sighed, ashamed that her own insecurities and memories of the last war had almost bested her. She was an eagle: witty, intelligent, logical. She was the daughter of Lily Evans.
"You are right, my lord," she said, "I am yours to teach."
Flufflepuff came rushing up to the pair, happy that their argument was over. For the fieriest people he knew, the two seemed to make peace in their arguments easily. The Pygmy Puff, in the most intelligent thought he could muster, wondered if they would always acquiesce to each other, putting aside their pride for one another. He was fascinated how they already seemed to, with knowing each other for such a short amount of time.
Tilting his tiny head back, he saw two faces smiling down at him, as if life would never be better when he wasn't beside them.
A fire had ignited in the witch's heart. One that King Thranduil could see oh so easily. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to make him proud. Stepping back to how they were earlier, they fell back into rhythm. Violet would throw a punch towards the Elven-king, who would side step it, before correcting her on what she did wrong.
She was improving gradually with his instructions, but an hour into training again and her fists had not touched King Thranduil. She saw Feren watching, as he had been this morning. Beside him was Flufflepuff, who was practically begging for the attention of the elf beside him. The woodland elf would occasionally glance his way, stepping a bit closer with each step, though he was still wary of this newfound creature.
"Again!" King Thranduil yelled, dodging another punch from Violet. She swung and missed again. "Is that the best you can do? Pathetic."
"I'm trying, alright! Give me a break," she said. Using the back of her hand, she wiped sweat from her brow. If this is what it would be like everyday, she would be taking at least three baths a day.
"Do you think the orcs plan on giving you a break? No, they will fight mercilessly and ruthlessly. If they will not give you a break, why should I?"
This sparked a new fight in Violet and she threw a punch his way without hesitation. This one landed, turning his head to the side. She threw her hands to her mouth and began apologizing profusely, but King Thranduil kept his head to the side, smiling proudly. As she was asking if he was okay for around the tenth time, he grabbed her, spun her into his chest, and put his arm over her throat.
"I could choke you right now, in this very moment. What did you do wrong?" King Thranduil asked, a deadly calm in his voice.
"I... I don't know," Violet said. This version was the infamous Elven-king. The one who could strike fear into any man, woman, or child. The one who was cold, calculating, and had a temper. She knew in her heart that he would see no harm brought upon her, but she still punched a king!
"You panicked. You could have won, but instead you gave me an opportunity," he said, letting her go. She looked to where her punch landed on his jaw, thankful there was no bruising. He smiled softly. "Have no fear, my lady. I do not bruise easily."
A stag came racing towards them at full speed, skidding to a stop in front of the rather close pair. The patronus gave a look between the two of them, turning his head to the side in confusion before ultimately settling on Violet, who took a step back.
"Brilliant!" Harry's voice said through the stag, "Though, you could've said so earlier. We've been worried sick about you. Lily Luna is already seven weeks old! Can you believe it? I love you!"
The patronus dissipated into thin air after the message played, and Violet smiled. Her little niece was growing up. Seven weeks old already!
"Who is Lily Luna?" King Thranduil asked the witch.
"She's my niece, my youngest and only biological niece. She was born a week before I left to the day. The last time I saw her, she had a chubby face and scrunched up like all newborns do. I wonder what she'll be like the next time I see her. Will her hair be red or brown? Will she have the light blue eyes of her father or the darker blue eyes of her mother?"
"Well, no matter what, I'm sure she'll be beautiful, like her aunt," King Thranduil said, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder, "I remember being excited to see Legolas grow up too."
"What was he like?"
"Curious," he said, a loving smile shining on his face, "He would run all over the palace, trying to see what everyone did. He wanted to see the kitchen staff, the maids, the guards. He even followed around Galion. One year, he decided he wanted to be Galion's apprentice. He followed him for that entire year, acting as Galion's shadow."
"And you allowed him?"
"Yes," he stated, "Does that surprise you?"
"It does," she admitted, "I thought you would have wanted him to train in his princely duties."
"How can he serve the realm if he does not know the people?" he asked, "I've always wished for Legolas to speak his mind. I've always been allowed to chase my dreams. Why should my son not?"
"You remind me of what my Uncle Padfoot would tell Harry and I. He would always encourage us to speak our mind, like our father always did."
"Would?" he asked, "Past tense?"
She nodded, sitting on the dirt ground of the arena. Feren left, not wishing to intrude on the woman telling part of her life. Looking at his army training, King Thranduil followed hesitantly. "He died when Harry and I were fifteen. Harry had been tricked by a dream given to him by Tom Riddle, claiming that Sirius was trapped at the Ministry of Magic, or the government office. We raced there, hoping to save him, only to find out that it was all a ruse. His cousin Bellatrix killed him, using an Unforgivable Curse. The Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra." The Elven-king thought the woman beside him looked a deadly shade of pale as she whispered the name of this 'unforgivable curse'. "Harry and I chased her afterwards. He shot The Torture Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, at her, but nothing happened. To use one of those curses, you have to mean it. You have to want to cause pain to your enemy."
"What happened next?"
"She didn't expect me to shoot the Killing Curse at her. Unlike Harry, I meant it, and she knew it. She barely moved out of the way in time and for the first time, Bellatrix Lestrange felt fear in her heart. I promised her that day that I would be the one to kill her when the time came, and I delivered on that promise."
"I do not rejoice in the killing of another creature," King Thranduil said, "But I've been in your position before. I made sure the orc who killed my adar was slayed and I carried his severed head back to my army, so they knew what happens when you harm the House of Oropher under my watch. Sauron has caused far too much pain in my family, and I shant rest until he lies dead once and for all." (father/dad.)
"Speaking of that war, I have something for you." She got up, brushing her pants off. Violet jogged over to her bag, pulling out something that was wrapped in a piece of cloth. She carried them back to the Elven-king, hiding them behind her back. When she sat down, she held out the wrapped cloth in front of her.
King Thranduil cocked his head to the side. "What is this?"
"Open it," she said. He listened, his breath hitching as he saw a beautiful pair of twin daggers lying in his hands. The blue diamonds that sat in the hilt still held the same shine they did all those years ago.
"The daggers my mother gave me for my coming of age year," he said, running his fingers along the carefully engraved details on the hilt and shaft of the weapons. Tears came to his eyes, but he dared not to let them fall. "Wherever did you find them? And how did you know they were mine?"
"Mithrandir, Thorin, the dwarves, and I stumbled upon trolls in Trollshaw that had come down from the Ettenmoors as we traveled along the Great East Road. The bloody gits had many swords of Elvish make in their hoard. I carried them with me and used them until we came to Rivendell. It was there that Lord Elrond told me of their origin and how they had been named. I am happy to inform you that they do in fact live up to their names and the wielder who named them. I regret to inform you that this means Lord Elrond has held them and twirled them."
"I told him to keep his hands off my daggers," King Thranduil grumbled. Violet laughed.
"He was almost giddy with glee. He mentioned how much he begged you to hold them and how you never let him," Violet teased. The king threw a half-hearted glare her way, but Violet could see he wasn't serious with the tears that threatened to spill down his perfectly sculpted cheekbones.
He looked back at his daggers and whispered with reverence, "Helegalagos." He looked at the woman beside him and sat the daggers back on their cloth. Reaching forward, King Thranduil yanked Violet into a hug, cradling the back of her head as if she had just given him the greatest gift he has ever received. "Thank you, mellon nîn." (Ice Storm.) (my friend.)
"Of course," she said, rubbing her hands on his back, "They are yours and you deserve to have them back." Flufflepuff, never one to be left out, ran up the back of Violet, nuzzling himself into the Elven-king's neck and into Violet's hair. He let out a content sigh and the pair chuckled at him. Violet pulled away from the hug, her Pygmy Puff using his toes to grip her hair to stay upright. "What does mellon nîn mean? I keep hearing others say it. Mithrandir to Elrond. Elrond to Galadriel. I even heard Legolas say it to me ten years ago, though he liked to tease me by never telling me what it meant. The only word he ever taught me, indirectly, in Sindarin was adar because of how often he referred to you with it. I just guessed what it meant."
"It means 'my friend'," he said, before letting a teasing smile take the place of his seriousness, "Now, mellon nîn, let us get back to work. A few more punches and you shall graduate to a wooden sword!"