~Lúthien and Beren returns unexpectedly, easing Thranduil's worry about death.~
oOo
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?
A couple of years back the suspicion that he may have harboured warmer feelings towards the princess would have made Aerneth jealous, but now she realised she actually did not care. Not many things about her husband affected her anymore, not even his foul moods and tendency to stay away from home until late. Even his bad dreams and nightly crying which had worried her so much before had become merely a nuisance that disturbed her sleep. Did she even love him anymore?
She wanted to believe she did, that deep down, her feelings were the same. That not only desire remained between them. But with every passing day it was harder to remember the ellon he had been.
Thranduil must have felt her eyes on him for his gaze met hers. Calm, unblinking eyes, all emotions locked behind their clear surface. It angered her, and unlike him, she knew she showed it in her face.
He looked away.
Around the supper table a while later, Oropher made it clear that he did not think highly of the late princess.
"I am sure she was doing it on purpose – refusing to eat, moping every day, of course it led to her death. I do not hold with it. Thingol should have seen it coming and put a stop to it before it was too late."
Thranduil did not reply, but Aerneth noticed his knuckles paling around his spoon. Strange.
"And all this for the sake of a human that she will not even meet in the afterlife! Where he goes, she cannot follow." Oropher shook his head. "That she would rather be dead than live without him is a sign of weakness, of feebleness of mind."
"I would not call Lúthien weak," Aerneth protested. "Quite the opposite."
"Of course you would not. You ellith always hold each other's backs," he sneered.
"That is not true. I hardly knew her." Aerneth tried to restrain her annoyance at her father-in-law's scorn.
He did not notice. "I wonder if she will be held accountable for killing herself, when she comes to the Halls of Mandos? Will the Valar disapprove? I think they might."
Thranduil hastily rose, turning to Aerneth. "Thank you, the soup was lovely. I have to... be somewhere." He left the table and soon they heard the door close.
Something about all this obviously disturbed him, but by now Aerneth knew he would not share whatever it was with her.
oOo
The commercial part of Menegroth was busy as usual in the morning. Aerneth stood at the fish stall, examining a few striped tails critically. She had come too late for trout again and only a heap of sad looking perch remained. The problem was, she hated perch. They tasted mud and smelled like sewer, and in addition they were so full of bones they were a bother to eat. In her opinion, the only acceptable freshwater fish were trout or salmon, which tasted more like the saltwater species she had been used to back home. Those were fished upstream of Menegroth, where the Esgalduin was still clean, whereas perch, carp and pike were fished in a dam the beavers had built some miles downstream. All the city's wastewater ended up there, and in consequence the water was coloured a sickly, greenish brown. But there was no helping it, it was winter and the food stores were almost empty, this time of year one had to settle with what food one could get.
She had just paid for the fish and put the package into her shopping basket when a commotion from the city gates caught her attention. Two familiar looking persons had entered Menegroth.
She blinked. Was that... But no, they were long gone. Surely it could not be them...?
Aerneth walked fast towards the newcomers, hardly noticing where she placed her feet. Among the shops and stalls around her, others were staring too, murmuring in disbelief, a roar of bewildered voices filling the air.
Lúthien and Beren... The princess... Back from the dead... Returned from Aman.
It really was them, alive and healthy looking, but also changed somehow, especially the princess. Something about her eyes... Aerneth could not say what it was.
"Lúthien! Lúthien!" King Thingol's loud wail echoed between the stone walls when he came running from the direction of the palace in a mad dash, carelessly throwing aside any elves in his path. He wore no cloak and no crown, not even boots on his feet, as if he had just risen. Perhaps he had, rumour said the king had not been himself since his daughter passed away, and that he would spend entire days in bed sometimes.
The princess came to meet her father, who caught her in a bear hug that seemed painful. Then he held her out at an arm's length, scrutinising her as if he could not believe it really was she, his eyes overflowing with tears.
"You came back... you really came back..."
"Aye. I did." She fondly touched her father's wet cheek, smiling, but it was a sad smile.
The king grinned, and then he began to chuckle. "Oh my dearest daughter, I am so happy! Thank the Valar! Blessed Mandos who allowed you to return to me." He was laughing now, a hearty, rich laugh that Aerneth had never heard from the ruler before.
The queen had arrived as well now, silent and composed as always, and like her husband she hugged her daughter close before holding her out to look at her. However, unlike Thingol, Melian did not laugh or even smile. As she gazed upon Lúthien her eyes filled with a deep sadness.
"So, this is the path you have chosen."
"I am sorry, Naneth," breathed Lúthien. "It was the only way."
Thingol's laughter abated when he noticed their grave appearances. "What is wrong? Tell me what is wrong," he demanded.
"Can you not see it?" Melian shook her head.
"Adar, I... I had to give it up. For Beren." The man still stood some yards behind, looking demure and troubled. What had she given up?
Aerneth realised it at the same time as the king. His eyes grew wide and hurt, and he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. "What have you done? What have you done?"
"I have become mortal."
oOo
Aerneth rested her head on Thranduil's moist chest, listening to his heartbeat slowing down, enjoying the fact that he had not turned away immediately after intercourse like he usually did nowadays. He seemed relaxed, content even, and had been so ever since Lúthien returned to life.
She and Beren had only stayed a few weeks in Doriath, Aerneth was not sure why, but maybe being the only mortals in a city of elves was reason enough. Or perhaps it was too painful for Lúthien's parents to see her, knowing that she would begin to age, and that soon they would be forever separated when she died. She now had the Gift of Men – the ability to die and not be reborn – and it was said that even the Valar did not know where a mortal's soul would go after their death.
Aerneth mused over Lúthien's choice and all she had given up to be with Beren – her life, her home, her parents. Would Aerneth have done the same for Thranduil? She wanted to think she would. In moments like this he was easy to love, when his arms were around her and she felt his fingers comb through her hair.
"I think it's very romantic," she said. "What Beren and Lúthien did for each other, I mean." Looking up at the tiny crystal stars in the ceiling, she remembered how romantic she had once thought her husband was. But they were newlyweds then, he had wanted to impress her, now she could not recall when he had last given her anything.
"Dying is not romantic." His fingers stilled their motions.
"Of course not. I meant their sacrifices. That Beren waited so long in the Halls of Mandos for Lúthien instead of leaving for his unknown afterlife adventure, not knowing when or if she would come. And Lúthien's love must be really strong for her to choose him over her family, opting to never be with them in Aman. Even Mandos himself took pity over her when she sang about all she had gone through to be with Beren. The depth of her feelings impressed him."
"Stupid, I would say, to give up one's immortality." Thranduil's peaceful expression took the edge of his words, for once his mask was down. "They will hardly have any time together anyway. I mean, how long do mortals live? Rarely even ten decades."
Aerneth only smiled. She thought ten decades was better than nothing, but refrained from saying so, not wanting to ruin Thranduil's mood by arguing – especially not about an elleth he had used to court.
"I am glad Mandos liked her enough to humour her, and sent her back," he added thoughtfully. "I was... I never quite dared believe Galadriel's stories about reborn elves in Aman."
She turned to face him, meeting his eyes imploringly. "You worried you would never see your nana again? That was why you slept bad and... all that?"
He tensed and broke eye contact, his gaze becoming guarded.
Aerneth quickly changed the topic before he could push her away. "Now that Lúthien and Beren are married, they have all sorts of fun things to learn. All alone in the wilderness too." She stroked circles on his chest with her fingertip, pinching his nipple.
He chuckled, relaxing again. "Indeed."
"I wonder if Lúthien's babies will be mortal." Humans appeared to generally have many children, and get them at a young age too – even before their second decade sometimes, but obviously they must reach maturity much sooner than elves. An elf of twenty was still an elfling. Perhaps humans compensated for their short lifespan by an ability to give birth early and often?
"Probably. If they are compatible to breed."
"Compatible... hm. I wonder how Beren looks naked. Do you think he is hairy all over, like he is in his face? Maybe even on his–"
"Hush." Thranduil placed a finger over her lips, indicating the wall. His father might be listening.
Aerneth licked his hand playfully. She loved the taste of his skin. "I am just curious," she whispered, nipping her way from his fingers up along his arm.
"You should not think such thoughts about another... male, even if it is only a human," he whispered back, frowning like only he could – but his enlarged pupils were proof he did not entirely disapprove.
"When Lúthien strokes him like this maybe it will feel like petting a bear," she breathed.
His lips quirked up involuntarily. "You have such a dirty mind."
"Sorry. I shall practice my virtue and purity." She rolled away playfully.
"Don't." He came after her, pressing himself against her buttocks. "Now you made me think of bears mating." He kissed her neck and slid a hand forward to her breasts.
"I dare say your mind is dirtier than mine," she decided. And then she was too preoccupied to speak for some time.
❈ ❦ ❈
A/N:
Death and how unnatural it is for elves is a prevalent theme in this story, and Thranduil will sadly see a lot more of it. If you've read the Silmarillion you know what a deadly time he lives in...
Image Credits:
Melian and Thingol, artwork by Sara M. Morello. Samo-art on DeviantArt, https://www.deviantart.com/samo-art