"I shall not try to persuade you to stay, Ada."
"I know." My father touches the unfolded map of the Grey Havens on his lap, his fingertip tracing the river Lhûn until it meets the Gulf. The candle casts a yellow light on the already yellowed parchment. "But I sense you are not ready."
I shift in my chair. My eyes dart from his to the stacks of folded maps on his cherry-oak bookshelf. There are maps of Dwarven halls, of the Shire where the Halflings dwell, of the hidden city of Gondolin, and of the forest realm of Doriath, all of them as reliable as my father's intuition.
"If you wait for the day when I look forward to your journey over the Sea, you will wait too long. It is a matter of wishing you to stay, not needing."
"You do not need me anymore, iell nín?" His tone is teasing.
"Always. But I am capable without you. No longer am I an elfling in need of your counsel with every step."
"It is not that I believe you incapable." He begins to refold the map. "But too stubborn to see what afflicts you."
"I was not aware I had an affliction?"
"Loneliness, Rîneth."
I give a tight smile. "I know you are hinting at marriage again, Ada. I see through your words."
"I see through your façade."
I stand, the sudden twist in my chest too unpleasant for sitting still. His delivery was gentle, but his words were dull blades, cutting deep to expose something which feels uncomfortable. Something which wishes to stay buried.
Walking to the hearth ledge and back, I stop behind my chair and rest my hands on the soft upholstery. It is surely his unfounded assumption causing me to feel exposed. When will he accept I do not require marriage for happiness?
"You are wrong for once," I say, my words measured. "I assure you I am far from lonely, Ada. I have friends to keep me company once you leave."
"I have oft witnessed through my years the ones who seem the least lonely are, in truth, the loneliest."
"That is not always so."
"No." He softly taps the folded map on his knee. "But I see a distant look in your eyes when you believe no one is watching."
"I am in my head often. What do Men call it...daydreaming?"
I remember my friendship with a farmer's wife, a mortal woman, who spoke of daydreaming. She often forgot her daily chores, and at times forgot supper. Her husband would come home after a long day in the fields anticipating a warm stew and end up with a bowl of leftover porridge instead. Mattie laughed and laughed when recalling such evenings, but I had doubted her husband found it as humorous.
"Yes, daydreaming," I emphasize. "I envision places I have never been and things I have never done. I do not think my loneliness is what really concerns you. It is my protection."
"Rîneth--"
"If Thranduil cannot offer me sufficient protection, who can? Certainly not a noble's son."
The loud knock is a welcome interruption. I give him a softened glance before walking to the door. Disagreements between us are few, but when the topic of my well-being arises, he is relentless in voicing his concerns. I only hope our visitor's presence will pour water on the growing flames.
"Punctual as ever, my lord."
Thranduil bows his head to us both. "Rîneth. Gailon. How do you fare?"
"We were discussing my future journey over the Sea," says Ada after standing. "But perhaps a change in subject matter will lighten the mood."
His brow raised, Thranduil slides his eyes towards me. "By all means, let us continue the conversation. I may even board the ship with you."
His hardened jaw and humorless expression are telling signs of a troubled day upon the throne. Is it Gollum again? Or bad tidings from afar? Perhaps his darkened mood will fan the flames rather than put them out...
"Then come and sit. I have even brought out my maps."
"First I must speak with Rîneth." He gives me a pointed look, his eyes sharp glaciers. "In private."
"Of course." Ada gestures to his bedchamber. "Please."
Without further discussion, Thranduil makes for my father's cherry-oak door, expecting me to follow.
My stomach twists into an unpleasant tangle. When in our presence, he always feels at ease to remove his crown. The fact it still graces his head is a bad omen. A glance over my shoulder at Ada gives no further clues; he appears just as perplexed.
I close the door behind us. "What is the matter?"
"Sit down."
"Not until you explain."
Ignoring me, he points to the high-backed settee on the side opposite my father's bed. After several moments pass and his cold gaze remains fixed on the seat, I know he will wait until dawn if need be. Surrender is against my nature, but it is far better for Thranduil to believe he has the upper hand. At first.
I sit down. "This is uncalled for."
His stare is more befitting for someone caught stealing wine from his cellar. I do not avert her eyes from his, even once.
"You are not one to cause trouble, but this time your match-making has gone too far."
The unpleasant tangle in my stomach forms a knot. "My match-making?"
"Gwendes."
"Has something happened to her?"
The room's low amber light gives Thranduil a shadowed twin on the stone wall, the many branches of his crown transformed into tall and sinister spikes. "You may feign ignorance with me, but you are not very good at it, Rîneth. You know of what I speak."
Stung, I raise my chin. "I do not. Nor do I appreciate your tone, my King."
Thranduil narrows his eyes. "While I will overlook your familiarity with me since you are a close friend, I will not ignore your disrespect. My duties as King are trying at the best times, but especially when trouble brews from the unlikeliest of sources."
"Tis against my nature to sit quietly when you accuse me of feigning ignorance over something I know nothing about."
It is the second time in one evening I am accused of pretending, both from my closest confidantes. I know the sarcastic emphasis of Thranduil's title was a poor choice, but so was his hurtful accusation. If only I had not left the comfort of my chambers...
"What of Gwendes?" I will my voice to hold steady.
"She rejected an offer of betrothal today, from Sírdor, son of Sídhon."
The knot in my stomach tightens. "I did not know..."
"The news reached my ears, not from Sírdor, but his mother. She has long been a harpist in my halls," he says with cold calmness. "At noonday, she requested my audience. Can you guess why?"
"No."
"She wished to inform me she would be unable to play for a season until she recovered from despair. So certain had she been of Gwendes' acceptance, she informed her kin in Lórien of the betrothal last season."
I stand, my height no match for Thranduil's. "I assure you Gwendes said she harbored no love for Sírdor, that what she felt for him remained in the realm of friendship. She speaks of love for another."
"Elros."
"Yes..."
"Of course, my Keeper of the Keys." Thranduil sneers. "The very one you steered Gwendes towards on the night of Yestarë, though it was obvious he would not have her even if she offered all the gold in Erebor."
His menacing shadow twin is distracting, but I keep my gaze fixed on his eyes, their color black sapphire in the dim light. "I have no control over Gwendes. I admit I nudged them in each other's paths at the beginning, but she did not seek my counsel on this. Tis the first I have heard of it."
"But you discouraged her from the lowly gardener from the start."
"I only suggested there was the potential for better options. She is young and without much experiences in matters of love, Thranduil. I--"
"You speak of matters of love as though you are an expert."
I blink, momentarily losing the ability to speak. His words are unexpected, like a knife tip to my heart. Does he not realize I already know, better than anyone? Or perhaps he intends to be cruel. I sit back down.
"Rîneth--"
"I do not presume to know much about it," I say, determined not to show he has wounded me. "But I know Gwendes underestimates herself. My actions were...wrong. But I was thinking as a friend. I was thinking of her future. I still refuse to believe Gwendes must settle for less because she is Silvan. She may have anyone in the Kingdom if she so wishes."
Thranduil sighs and sits down beside me, the shadow disappearing. "Your belief is idealistic but naïve."
"I have lived nearly three-thousand years, longer than your son. I am not naïve."
"I never said you were, only your belief. When you become half my age, perhaps then you will realize there are many who will not betroth potters' daughters with no grand lineage. That includes my Keeper of the Keys. He hardly knows of her existence."
"How can you be certain?"
"He only has eyes for you."
I look away, my vision landing on the familiar oil painting over my father's four-poster bed.
"But you have suspected it," he says.
"I did not know...for certain. Nor did I wish to believe it."
"Why would you? He is arrogant, vaunting himself as though he is heir to the throne rather than Legolas. The only reason I tolerate him is because his kind-natured mother was the Queen's friend."
If only I had listened to my conscience. When once passing Elros on an evening walk from the village, his eyes lingered on my chest far too long to be accidental. I ignored it, wishing to see the best in someone who offered such kind words. But those words were a ruse.
I study my mother's painting, the proud ship at harbor waiting to sail West. The light from the sun kisses the foamy water, and I can almost see the gentle waves moving. Never have I been able to achieve her skill.
"If I had known his true nature I would never have considered matching them. But I cannot deny I...hoped an interest in Gwendes might end his blatant stares."
"You have been selfish." His voice lacks warmth.
"Do not speak to me like I am a mere child."
"In this instance, your behavior has reflected such. I am fond of Sírdor's mother. From what I know of her son, he is far humbler than Elros will ever be. Your Gwendes was fortunate to have been offered a place in his family."
"But what of Sírdor? Would he not be fortunate, as you say, to be in Gwendes' family? They are good, hard-working people. And Gwendes...she is full of life with many creative talents."
"She is also your friend."
I look at him, incredulous. "Friend or no, she should not marry someone without love, regardless of how perfect they appear to be."
"You know well she loves Sírdor."
"I cannot read her heart. I have little knowledge of their relationship before I befriended her. But tell me, if she loves him, why does she speak of Elros incessantly? I tire of it."
"You deserve it for leading her astray."
"You believe I have complete control of her feelings. If I have a power which I am not aware, I beseech you to tell me," I say, my voice taut. "I did not make her reject Sírdor. It was her own doing."
"She thinks highly of you, values your opinions...you are older."
"I assure you, she has her own mind."
"And it is easy to mold."
I shake my head, wondering if he will not relent until the final days of Arda. "Do you agree with Elros in his thinking? Do you believe her Silvan blood should keep her from looking beyond the village? Perhaps that is truly why you are angry with me..."
"No."
His voice is little more than a whisper, but its acidity strikes my core. I believe him.
"But there are many who do." His tone loses its sting. "Including Elros. If you had to nudge her towards another, you could have made a better choice."
I can hear a faint shuffling of parchment from the other room; likely Ada is putting away his maps. Does he hear our raised voices as easily as I hear him?
"An entire family sits in despair tonight," Thranduil persists. "And soon will Gwendes, once she realizes Elros will never have her. I hope your friendship can withstand the storm, and that you will be there to dry her tears."
"I shall. But I shall not tell her to love Sírdor."
"You succeeded in turning her sights on Elros."
"And I regret it."
"Then convince her to return to Sírdor and accept his proposal."
"I shall do no such thing."
His glacier stare is penetrating, but I hold it without flinching, returning a fiery gaze. A few moments pass in unyielding silence until his expression softens, the heat of my flame melting the ice.
"For all your good intentions, you are yet stubborn. I expect you know what you should do. But I shall not argue with you further on this matter, Rîneth."
"I am relieved, for I was beginning to think you would never cease." My hand brushes against the moss green fabric of his robes as I sweep a stray curl from my face.
"Let us join Gailon before he grows concerned."
If Ada is not concerned by now, I will believe anything possible, even an alliance between Elves and Dwarves. After the thorny direction the evening has turned, my only desire is to leave. The sting from Thranduil's words pains me still.
I watch him head towards the door, his back rigid, and wonder if he has forgotten our friendship. If the accusations were from anyone else, surely the vicious sting would not persist...
Not wishing to worry Ada further, I stand to follow him.
A/N: Hmm, whose side are you on? Both had good points. More Thranduil and Rîneth interaction next chapter! Again, thanks so much for reading, and if you're enjoying it at all, a vote and a comment would make my day. It would mean so much to me, and encourage me to keep posting. :)
Lovely artwork by deseo-0shi on Tumblr, commissioned by Maggie