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Summary: Elrond suspects Thranduil uses magic to protect his kingdom and sends Erestor investigate. Erestor will learn more than he ever expected or wished for.
Author’s notes: From Encyclopedia of Arda: The text of Appendix B to The Lord of the Rings seems to imply that Thranduil was himself the founder of the kingdom of Elves in Greenwood the Great. However, later writings challenge this assumption, suggesting that Thranduil travelled eastward with his father, Oropher, who was the original ruler of the woodland realm. According to this source, Thranduil did not become king until the loss of Oropher in the War of the Last Alliance at the end of the Second Age. Whether this account should be considered canonical is open to question; for full details refer to Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth II 4 The History of Galadriel and Celeborn Appendix B. I chose to go with the assumption that Thranduil was the founder. For a reason.
Also , this story will be my first on fanfic100, where I’ve claimed Thranduil. I won’t post it there before the stories are up on SlashySanta.
*~*
Erestor was sure he had gone mad. At least, there must have been a serious lapse in his logical thinking when Elrond had asked him to travel to Mirkwood and investigate Thranduil’s alleged magic. He remembered laughing, and saying something along the lines of Elrond’s task being as simple as stealing a sugar pastry from an elfling. In retrospect it was easy to say that had been a mistake. In fact, as he was surrounded by a dozen of Mirkwood guards and escorted towards Thranduil’s caves, Erestor was certain that agreeing to this must have been one of the least intelligent things he had done during his long life.
Once the words were out, there was no way of taking them back, for Glorfindel had been present. So, Erestor had made a wager with him, against his usual policy. One more piece of evidence in favour of his insanity. In Glorfindel’s opinion, not only would Erestor fail in his mission, but Thranduil would send Erestor back in some embarrassing way, hopefully in one piece. After all, Thranduil was not known for killing the messenger and that was, in fact, what Erestor was. A messenger, on a mission for his lord. Erestor, in turn, promised to find out about Thranduil’s magic and to bring him voluntarily to visit Imladris. A miracle, for Elrond and Thranduil were not particularly fond of each other, and though Elrond had once a long, long time ago visited Greenwood, Thranduil had never stepped inside the borders of Imladris.
In the end, Erestor blamed boredom - both his and Elrond’s. Things have been too peaceful around Imladris and the whole of Middle-Earth lately and so Elrond had time to ponder about things that were basically none of his business. Erestor made a mental note to make sure something was always happening in Imladris, even if he had to orchestrate that himself. That would keep everyone busy.
Like here in Mirkwood. Thranduil’s courtyard was full of elves, and everyone was occupied doing one thing or other. Everyone except the guards around him. They stood perfectly still. So still that, for a brief moment, Erestor felt he needed to poke one of them to see if they were enchanted to stay unmoving. To turn to stone when they had fulfilled their task. In the end he decided not to. He had done enough foolish things to last a lifetime and angering one of the stoic and armed to the teeth guards would not be one of them. So he kept looking around, comparing every little detail with what he had learned before the mission from intelligence reports and maps and books from Elrond’s library. Very little had changed since Elrond had been here for the first, and so far the last, time.
The day wore on, and just when Erestor was sure Thranduil would leave him to rot on his front yard with the stone statue guards, the very heavy looking metal doors to the caves flew open and the king stepped through them with panache, his hands still in the air from the pushing and his head down like a charging bull. He lifted his head and looked straight to Erestor with a smile on his face. A smile of a cat who has just seen a jug of fresh, heavy cream unguarded.
“Welcome, Raven child. I have been waiting for you.”
The king was a magnificent sight. His platinum blonde hair shone in the sunlight, and his eyes sparkled like emeralds. He wore black leggings, and a long, deep green coat of velvet. The front of the coat was embroidered with images of trees and leaves. Erestor observed all of this in the brief moment before his brains realized what Thranduil had called him. Raven child - a nick name his mother had given him. He had been born with pitch black hair on his head. The colour of his hair, rare even among the dark-haired Noldor, had reminded his mother of raven’s feathers and that is how he had gotten the nick name.
“I see everything, Erestor of Imladris. And this beautiful, fitting endearment was there, at the forefront of your mind, just waiting to be found and brought to daylight. You have not told anyone about it?”
Erestor had not. It had been something dear and sacred between his mother and him, and when she had left to sail West, the nickname had gone with her. Oh, of course he talked about his past, like everyone did, but that had just been too personal, too private to share with anyone.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting. I had things to attend to. And unfortunately I have to leave you again right away. I shall be back by dinner, and expect your company. Until then you are free to enjoy the hospitality of our modest realm. My counsellor will show you to your chambers.” With a small bow Thranduil dismissed Erestor and continued to address his men. “I sense a female spider with young near… We must hurry if we are to kill it before it lays its eggs.”
The guards started to move swiftly towards a door that judging by the ornament on it had to be to the stables. As they got there, the doors opened and a stable boy ran to the yard leading a magnificent stallion and carrying Thranduil’s battle gear over his shoulder. Before the boy had the chance to help the king out of his fanciful velvet robe, Thranduil snapped his fingers with a flourish and the robe took to the sky as countless butterflies in a rainbow of colours.
Erestor gasped at the unexpected sight.
Turning to Erestor, the king asked in a hushed voice, so low that Erestor barely heard it, and would lately argue to have heard incorrectly, “Or would black birds be more appropriate?” Mid-flight the butterflies turned to ravens and quickly disappeared into the surrounding woods.
Erestor’s gaze followed the birds, and when he turned back to the yard it was empty save for himself and Thranduil’s counsellor who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to stand behind him.
“I am Daeron, Mirkwood’s chief advisor. My lord, if you are ready, I can show you to your rooms. I am sure you would like to unpack and rest a little after your long journey.”
Erestor nodded and they started towards the caves. A million questions flashed through his mind , but he did not know how to ask them. Looking over his shoulder repeatedly, he made up his mind. “Does he often do that?”
“Does what, my lord?”
“That butterfly trick. And please, just call me Erestor.”
“Oh, that,” Daeron laughed. “It is rather extravagant, is it not? It is reserved for sceptics. None remain as such here for a very long time. You will see soon enough. Now, Erestor, please follow me.” With that he continued through the main cave doors and disappeared into the dimness, not waiting to see if his guest followed. Erestor took a last astonished look at the courtyard and rushed after Daeron.
*~*
Despite Thranduil’s invitation, Erestor had spent the day in his chambers. First he had taken a bath; he wanted to wash away the filth of the trip. Then Daeron appeared with a lunch tray and they spent an enjoyable moment on the balcony facing the royal gardens behind the caves. Erestor had asked about the counsellor’s name, and had learned that Daeron was a great grandson of the famous Daeron, the loremaster and minstrel of Thingol of Doriath. They talked about old times, of Doriath where Daeron had never lived, but heard many stories about and where Erestor had visited a few times. Erestor wanted to know about many things considering the king of the Wood-elves, but since he was almost sure the discussion would be reported to Thranduil word-for-word, he refrained from asking and concentrated on making friends with his fellow counsellor. Daeron was very smart, insightful and an extremely good story-teller, and the afternoon hours flew away in good company.
The sun had moved behind the trees when Erestor woke up. He had gone to the bed after Daeron left and thought about just resting his eyes for a moment. Obviously he had fallen asleep.
A knock sounded from the door and before Erestor had time to get up and open it, Thranduil barged in. There was no other way of putting it, and Erestor wondered if any doors in Mirkwood could stay together for more than a fortnight if the lord of the realm treated them all in a similar manner. It was as if the king was always in a rush.
“It is time for dinner, Erestor. We shall walk some distance and enjoy the wonderful summer eve. Wear boots.” And with that Thranduil swirled around and left the room.
As he followed Thranduil through the seemingly endless corridors, Erestor pondered his host. He had heard all the stories about the Mirkwood king, but none of them did him justice. He was often portrayed as detached, cold and harsh, and well, Erestor could definitely see why that happened. But he could also feel that there was a lot more to Thranduil than he let strangers see. His people seemed to adore him, and would they if their king was anything but devoted to their well-being? No, he did not think they would. Elves were no fools. So, it was safe to assume that the king was wise and caring, and even Elrond had said so, although he might have used slightly different, less gracious terms. And Thranduil’s legendary beauty? No matter what the stories said, they were not even close to the reality. In the dimness of the caves Thranduil shone like the sun, as if every beam of light had found its way to him, being drawn like moths to a flame.
Now where had that come from? Erestor was beginning to feel slightly uneasy in his assessment of Thranduil. He could not remember when anyone had made him so… poetic. And poetic he was not. He decided to start thinking about something else, when they finally made it outside the caves. Thranduil’s charisma was not as overwhelming here in the open air as it had been in the narrow underground passages and Erestor was thankful for the fresh air. As they walked across the yard, Ithil took its place in the sky. It bathed everything in clear, blue light, making the world around them look ethereal. However, deep in the woods where Erestor and Thranduil headed the moon’s illumination was not enough. The trail they treaded was only barely visible, and Erestor stumbled on something a couple of times, cursing quietly. Then it suddenly became brighter, and Erestor noticed small fires that looked like marsh lights lit up along the path.
“It is still some distance to the place. I thought it might be more comfortable to walk with something to light the way since you are not accustomed to the Mirkwood forest and its peculiar ways.”
Thranduil looked over his shoulder while he spoke and Erestor made a small gesture signaling a bow. Since the king obviously preferred silence, Erestor did not want to annoy him with small talk. Instead he concentrated on the forests around them. Many books described Mirkwood as a hostile place, but he did not feel threatened by the trees. If that was because he was in the company of the lord of the forest, Erestor did not know. He could hear the trees whispering, but could not tell what they spoke of. He thought about asking Thranduil, but when he lifted his head he noticed they were close to a clearing.
Lights started showing through the trees as they approached their destination. The trees on the edge of the clearing were full of fireflies, and as unusual that was, for some reason Erestor was beginning to feel comfortable with all the bizarre things that happened around the king of Mirkwood. Elrond had Vilya, and he took the responsibility of it very seriously. He would have never ever used the ring’s power for anything as trivial as a picnic in the dark. There was never any magic done during parties or festivities and the ring was hardly ever even mentioned. Imladris was not used to magic, yet its borders were protected by it. But here the magic did not feel out of place or disrespectful. It was as if Thranduil had taken him to another world, somewhere beyond everything that was ordinary and dull.
Thranduil laid a blanket on the ground next to an apple tree in bloom, and motioned Erestor to sit on it. “I hope you are not starving yet. I would like to take a swim in the pond and wash the day’s grime away before we start eating.”
“By all means. The night is lovely. I shall be happy to enjoy it a few minutes more.” Erestor did as suggested, and sat down. With the fireflies and the moonlit pond the clearing looked magical. Erestor smiled to himself at the description. Was there something about the king that was not magical?
“Would you like to join me? The water is warm here throughout the year and always refreshing.”
“Oh, no. But thank you, I took a bath earlier and too much water is not good for elves.”
Thranduil looked slightly perplexed at Erestor’s answer, but nodded. “As you wish, I shall not be long.”
Too much water is not good for elves? If Thranduil had been further away, Erestor would have smacked himself. As it was, he was embarrassed enough without having to explain why Imladris elves slapped themselves silly just for the fun of it. He turned to look in the vague direction of the pond, and tried to observe Thranduil discreetly from the corner of his eyes.
Erestor felt his breath catch as the king took off his clothes and waded in the water. He had an uncontrollable urge to lick his lips, but bit them instead. Thranduil must be doing something to him. It was not normal for him to feel this much…desire towards a completely stranger. For Erestor sex was normally an act of physical relief achieved with a friend. He wanted to know the person he shared his body with and had never gone for casual one night stands. Why he had not settled down with one person, he did not know. Perhaps he had just not met the right elf yet, and it was not as if he was in a hurry, because elves lived forever. Did not immortality as a concept negate any sense of urgency by merely existing?
No, it did not, Erestor had to admit to himself as he continued to watch Thranduil, now with open admiration. Droplets of water clung to the king’s strong frame, and they twinkled like tiny stars in the flickering light of the fireflies. They beckoned him to touch the smooth muscles, to caress the platinum blonde hair that cascaded like heavy silk down the king’s back. Erestor had never wanted to kiss anyone as much as he wanted to kiss Thranduil.
When the king showed signs that he was getting out of the pond, Erestor forced himself to look the other way and tried to calm his racing heart. He quickly arranged his robes, hoping that was enough to cover his erection.
Thranduil had dressed in a new set of clothes. This time it was a pair of green loose pants, and a tunic of the same colour, only a shade darker. As he walked closer to the place where Erestor still sat, his hands in his lap and a blush on his cheeks, he braided his hair in two thick plaits.
“It seems I am constantly apologizing, and I must do so once more. I feel like a bad host for taking you here in silence. Let me explain. It was a long and tiring day. We encountered more spiders that we anticipated and they seem to grow stronger with each passing day. Sometimes it gets tiring. Nothing empties the mind like a walk in the forest benighted, listening to its soothing sounds and I needed that. I needed to clear my head.”
“No reason to apologize. I understand perfectly. Although I am merely a bureaucrat these days, it has not always been so. Warriors would not be able to go on if they did not have some way to get rid of the filth and darkness they encounter. I hope the hunt was successful?”
“It certainly was. We managed to empty one den and kill the spider before it could produce more offspring. But enough of that. I trust you are hungry. I shall ask for the food to be brought.”
Again, Thranduil snapped his fingers and did the little gesture with his right hand Erestor had witnessed earlier. To Erestor’s astonishment a queue of white lambs appeared from the edge of the clearing, from the same direction he and the king had arrived only moments earlier. On the back of each of the lambs but one was a tray full of food and drink. The first lamb arrived next to their blanket, its back empty, and it rose to stand on its hind legs and motioned to the next lamb to approach. Once it had, the first lamb took the tray off of it, laid it down on the blanket and then motioned the lamb to move along. This continued until all the ten of them had brought their trays. Thranduil thanked the lambs, and they walked back from where they came from.
As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, the king filled two glasses with wine so red it looked almost black. He offered Erestor one of them, “Please, help yourself. Our cook has done his best for a rare Imladris guest. He will be offended if you do not taste everything.” The king smiled, and Erestor felt his heart melt.
“In that case I better get to work.” Erestor laughed, a little out of breath. “Oh, but it all looks so delicious, tasting everything is exactly what I want to do.” His thoughts returned to his host, and tasting his skin, to tracing the contours of the king’s body with his tongue. He shook his head to dispel the image from his mind.
“So, Raven child, tell me. Why do we have the honour of a rare guest from Imladris now when one of your kindred has not stepped inside our borders for ages?”
Erestor had been waiting for the question ever since he had arrived, but when it came he was speechless for a moment. He had prepared a very credible story with Elrond, but it was clear to Erestor that Thranduil did not lie when he said he saw everything. He had probably known that Erestor was coming before Elrond had even asked him to accept the mission. So, he readied himself to tell the truth, but Thranduil did not give him a chance to do so.
“Did you know that I did not choose to leave Lindon and come here? No, I did not think you did. Very few do, and many of them conveniently forget. It seems to serve a purpose to consider me a recluse, somewhat hostile leader of my barbarian followers. Of course, the Battle of Last Alliance did its part in widening the divide between us and the rest of elvenkind. I am not bitter, Erestor, never think that. For I knew it would happen. It was inevitable, that is what the Valar told me. Inevitable, if I was to serve them as I was supposed to. We had to leave Lindon, I and my people and distance ourselves from the rest. So we did, for nothing is too high a price.” Thranduil took another sip of the wine, and continued.
“Knowing that, do you really think, you whose wisdom is renowned throughout our kind, that the Valar would have sent me here, in this spider infested forest and not have given me the tools to do the job properly? The Valar are not fools, counsellor.”
Erestor did not know what to say. And because Thranduil could read his mind, he did not have to. They discussed the promise Thranduil had given the Valar, and how in return the magical abilities he had possessed since his birth were made much more powerful. They talked about what Thranduil’s promise meant for Middle-Earth. The king asked Erestor to hold silent, for if too many were aware of his promise, it would change the course of history and no one knew how, if it would be for the better or worse. While they spoke they finished their main meal and were now up to dessert. Thranduil took a large silver bowl of heavy cream from one of the trays and then seemed to be looking for something.
“Ah, they must have forgotten.” He spoke to himself, and then addressed Erestor. “I think heavy cream tastes best with something tangy, like currants. Do you prefer black or red?”
“Red, my lord, but where are you…” As he asked the question he realized how stupid it was. There seemed to be nothing Thranduil was not capable of. If he wanted currants, he would have currants.
Thranduil laughed, and lifted his hand and a bunch of red currants dropped into his hand from the apple tree. He gave it to Erestor and retrieved another bunch in the same manner.
They ate the berries and cream in silence. Erestor could sense a change in the king’s mood. The temperature was falling. All of a sudden, to Erestor’s wonder, it started to snow.
“That is not my doing, counsellor. Not my magic. The forest senses how I feel and responds to it. Although I knew why you came, I cannot help but feel sad and disappointed by it now. Perhaps I grow tired of always being mistrusted.” Hairs from his braids had gotten free, and he pushed them behind his ear with a weary gesture. “Do you have enough information to take back to Elrond?”
When Erestor nodded, the king got up and brushed snow from his tunic. “I apologise, again, dear counsellor, but I believe I have to retire. Tonight I feel all the long years of my life, and yearn for my comfortable chair in front of the fireplace. The dishes will be taken care of, and the fires will continue to flame until you have returned. Good night, Erestor.”
The king turned to leave, and Erestor rushed to his feet and grabbed Thranduil’s arm.
“And what have you done to me, king? Do you think it serves the insolent spy right to make him fall for you?”
“Oh, no, Raven child. That is all your heart’s doing, for love magic never really works,” the king smiled regretfully. “But I could tie bells to my name and from here on, wherever you would go, if you heard their sound you would think of me. Whether it would be with love or hate, I cannot say, but you should never again be free of thoughts of me.”
“I do not think I would mind that, my lord. For I find that thoughts of you are most appealing, and if that will be all I shall have of you, then I will gladly take the bells. I do not want to forget the beautiful king of Mirkwood.” Erestor saw Thranduil hesitate, and he hurried on. “Could I escort you back, my king?”
Thranduil put his hand on Erestor arm and looked in his eyes. Snowflakes were slowly falling somewhere from above. “I thank you, but I have to decline. When I am in a mood like this it is better if I go alone. Will I see you tomorrow, or will you return to Imladris immediately? I would enjoy your company and I would learn more about the famous chief counsellor to Elrond. How did you become who you are? I will not beg, but this I can do to help you decide.” The king lowered his lips to Erestor’s and gently kissed him.
The kiss was everything Erestor had ever dreamed. The king’s mouth was soft, gentle, and demanding. Despite his desire, Erestor could still taste Thranduil’s sorrow and he felt his heart breaking. If it was in his power to make the king forget, he would give all he had.
“I will stay, my king. Go safely.”
As the king walked away, the snowflakes turned into pale pink apple flower petals and Erestor was sure he heard the distant sound of bells following in the king’s wake.
The end