Part One:

Betrothal Blues

Thranduil paced impatiently back and forth across the small sitting room, at every turn casting his eyes surreptitiously, or so he believed, towards the dainty female elf who sat in the overlarge armchair that faced the window.

“Thranduil, please stop that pacing. Each time you pass in front of the window you block my light, which in turn delays the completion of your tunic.  Either take a seat and wait patiently or seek out your Adar’s company until I am finished,” said the young elf’s exasperated naneth who was skilfully embroidering the finishing touches on the forest green tunic she had sewn for her son.

“I apologise for disturbing you, Naneth, but will you be much longer? It is only two hours to sunset and I must make ready for this evening,” he said, his brow creased with consternation.

“As I have already told you each time you asked this day, the garment will be ready in ample time, that is unless you keep interrupting me,” she said pointedly. A look of alarm appeared in Thranduil’s eyes and he immediately stopped his pacing. “Perhaps it would be best if you retired to your chambers and tried to read a book or took a brief rest while you wait,” she suggested kindly.

“As you wish,” he agreed albeit reluctantly. As he bent to brush his lips across the beloved cheek, bright eyes smiled up at him and gentle fingers caressed his chin.

“Do not be concerned, it will be ready well before your appointment tonight, you have my word. Believe me, my son, I do know how important it is to you that you look your best,  but remember beauty  is not in the garment, but in the spirit of the wearer, ” Caille counselled him. Thranduil nodded acknowledgement of her compliment, and made his way to the door. She sighed with relief when she heard it close softly behind her departing son, and had barely sewn another stitch before a slight draught indicated someone else had entered the chamber. “What is it now, Thranduil?” she enquired without taking her eyes from her work.

“I am not our son,” whispered Oropher, his breath warm against her neck. Caille turned her head, all thoughts of embroidery vanishing in the wake of the soul deep expression of love that was in the lingering touch of their lips.

“Nay, you are not,” she agreed when the kiss ended. “What brings you here?” she asked curiously. Oropher rarely visited the sewing room when she was working and today of all days she could not afford another interruption.

“I noticed at the noon meal how tense Thranduil is becoming as the day wears on and I though you might need a reprieve form his anxious mood,” he replied as he casually lifted one sleeve of the tunic and inspected his wife’s handiwork. “I see this is almost complete, and the work is exquisite, as usual.” His praise was sincere and well received.

“Thank you. Did you not just pass Thranduil in the passageway? He left barely moments before you arrived,” she replied as she took up her work again.

“Aye, but he was so preoccupied that I was not even offered a greeting, and had it not been for the golden hair, I doubt I would have recognised him so swiftly did he pass by me,” Oropher commented light heartedly, his eyes glittering with amusement. Caille laughed merrily.

“I hardly think that likely, my love. Even a quick glance at his handsome face would confirm he is the son of the King, albeit a very nervous one. Perhaps you should follow him to his chamber and see if you can find the words to calm him. It would be most unfortunate if, in his anxiety, he stumbled over his words tonight.” She did not need to add ‘just as his Adar did’, but Oropher heard the unspoken words that spoke of their shared memory.

“You offer sage counsel my love, but perhaps you are merely trying to rid yourself of my company as well?” The twinkle in his eye belied Oropher’s feigned feeling of insult.

“Nothing could be further from the truth, but the sooner I have completed this task, the sooner I can give you my undivided attention,” replied Caille seductively as she reached up to caress her beloved’s face.

“I look forward to it, my wanton one,” replied Oropher as he captured her hand and kissed each finger. “I will be with Thranduil should anyone wish to know,” he said over his shoulder as he too left the chamber.

“Come,” the young elf called in answer to the knock at his door. He did not bother to rise from the bed where he was sprawled comfortably, making a pitiful attempt at reading one of his favourite books.

“So, Thranduil, I hear you have been annoying your Naneth,” said Oropher as he sat on the edge of the bed and took the book from his son’s hands. He was unable to stifle a chuckle of amusement as he realised the book had been held upside down a fact his son had failed to realise in his distracted state of mind. “It is very difficult to read this way,” he commented lightly.

“I am too nervous to read,” replied Thranduil with an uncaring shrug.

“Then perhaps you would like me to tell you a story?”

“Adar, I am not a child!” Thranduil declared, sounding exactly like an angry young elf to Oropher’s ears, but he wisely decided that such an observation was best kept silent.

“Nay, you are not. You are a mature adult, and a fine warrior who is scared witless at the prospect of asking the lady who has captured his heart to become his wife,” replied Oropher in all seriousness.

“I am not scared, just nervous, as I have already told you,” Thranduil replied testily.

“Then you are a braver elf than your Adar. I was so scared to ask your naneth to bind with me that when the time came I stumbled over the words.” Oropher admitted. Thranduil gaped in wide eyed disbelief at his Adar who was the most fearsome and courageous warrior he had ever met.

 “Were you not embarrassed to be rendered speechless by your emotions?”

“Shamefully so, however on reflection I think it was more a fear that she would refuse than of actually saying the words that caused me so much anxiety,” he said. “As it happened, I need not have been concerned for in her impatience to accept the offer I was trying to make, Caille had to ask me!”

“Surely you jest,” Thranduil managed to say despite his astonishment.

“Nay, and I am certain Elisiel will be as accommodating if the need arises, will she not?” Oropher asked. Thranduil smiled as he tried to imagine how his love would react in the same situation, and he knew she would do exactly as his Naneth had done, for there was no doubting that he and Elisiel were two parts of the one heart and soul. There was really no cause for fear, nor any possibility of rejection, and Thranduil vowed silently that he would not follow in his Adar’s footsteps when he met with his intended later that evening.

“Aye, she would be but I will not allow that situation to occur,” declared Thranduil proudly.

“Let us hope that is so and  drink a toast to your newfound courage after which I wish to and spend the rest of the afternoon discussing something else of great import,”  Oropher told his son as he stepped over to the wine cabinet and poured them both some of their favourite Dorwinion red. Thranduil accepted the goblet of wine, and desiring to enjoy the warmth of the late afternoon, he indicated that they should move onto the balcony that opened out from his chamber.

“What has happened Adar?” Thranduil asked when they had taken their seats on either side of the small table.

“Gil-galad has asked us to join in the march to Mordor, and I have agreed to do so,” Oropher said as he gazed out into the forest. “How soon do you think we can be ready?” Thranduil took some time to answer and soon they became so heavily involved in planning the requirements of an army that neither noticed the setting of the sun until Caille arrived, the completed tunic over her arm.

“I am not certain drinking wine is such a wise idea, Thranduil. It is almost time to meet with Elisiel,” she informed her son.

“So it is,” agreed Oropher. “Come, Caille, let us leave Thranduil to his preparations,” he said as he took his wife’s arm.

Almost an hour later, a freshly bathed young elf, stunningly attired in a full length forest green tunic with the cuffs and lapels embroidered with delicate gold leaves,  accepted the good wishes of his parents and took his leave, intent on proposing marriage to his beloved Elisiel.

It was not until he had walked almost halfway to his beloved’s home that he realised with horror that he had left the betrothal rings, a gift from his parents, back on his dresser. Unwilling to appear foolish and have to admit his error, yet also unwilling to arrive late for his most important appointment, Thranduil stopped walking and sat at the base of one of the large trees, his head hung dejectedly as he tried to decide what course of action to take.

“I believe you forgot these,” said the well known voice of the elf who stepped unexpectedly from behind the tree waving the velvet pouch he carried in the air.

“Adar! Thank the Valar!” exclaimed Thranduil joyfully hugging Oropher who smiled with pleasure at his son’s display of affection and relief.

“Nay, thank your Naneth, it was she who found them on the dresser where you left them in your haste to leave,” replied Oropher with a shake of his head.

“How did she know to look?” Thranduil asked curiously as he put the precious items safely in the pocket where they should have already been.

“It seems that at our betrothal ball, my Naneth informed her that I had done likewise and Caille was wise enough to realise you might have unknowingly followed my poor example!”

“Is there anything else I have failed to remember?” sighed Thranduil.

“Not unless it is that a kiss to seal your promise to each other is also customary,” teased Oropher.

“Adar! Surely you did not forget to do that, too!” he exclaimed.

“Of course not, but I did somehow forget to stop at one!”

Part two: The Proposal

The welcome sounds of elvish laughter and sweet music filtered through the trees, guiding Thranduil to his destination, the clearing favoured by the Silvan folk for their nightly revelry. The Wood Elves were possessed of carefree spirits, in love with life as well as their forests and all that dwelled within the natural world and it was of no consequence to the Sinda noble that some considered Elisiel’s kin to be in some way lesser Elves for he considered himself to be a kindred spirit and eagerly embraced their uninhibited way of life. Many a night he could be found, clad in only a loose shirt and leggings, his feet bare and his golden tresses unbraided and unruly as he danced gaily around the fire with his beloved.

As the merrymakers came in sight, Thranduil kept to the shadows of the trees and allowed himself a moment to observe Elisiel who was laughing merrily as she danced with the children as she always did whenever Thranduil was not present. One day he had asked Elisiel why she refused the many offers he was certain were made to partner her, and his heart had almost burst with love and humility when she explained that her love for him ran so deep and true that she could not bear to allow another’s touch, even one as innocent as during a dance.

The sound of a small child crying caught Thranduil’s attention and he cast his eyes in the direction of the commotion to see that a boy, a child of uncommon fairness, had fallen and scraped his knee during the dance and had promptly been scooped into Elisiel’s lap. The little one looked adoringly up at her as she dried his tears and tended his wound and when she had finished the child hugged her fiercely about the neck and kissed her cheek before rejoining his friends.

Thranduil stood unmoving, totally mesmerised by the heart warming scene and felt as if he was being granted a glimpse of a future he had not yet considered. Not only would he take Elisiel as his wife, but she would be the mother of any children they were to be blessed with and, judging by the look of longing in her eyes, it was a role she dearly wished to assume.

“Aye, my daughter is fond of the little ones,” said a voice close to Thranduil’s ear causing him to turn sharply to face Elisiel’s father who had approached without making a sound. He and his wife had arrived late to the evening’s merrymaking and had exchanged a knowing smile when they espied Thranduil standing alone and dressed with unusual elegance.

“How did you know I was thinking that, my lord,” Thranduil asked, placing his hand on his heart in the manner of greeting. Elisiel’s father was not a noble, but was addressed as such by Thranduil who used the title out of respect for one he esteemed highly.

“It was plainly written on your face for all to see. Of course, proposing marriage is the first step to becoming a father, as I recall.” he replied with an affectionate smile.  Thranduil accepted the teasing graciously, for it was often thus between Elisiel’s father and himself.

“Which is obviously his intention, I assume, dressed as he is in such formal finery. I think it is unlikely he is here to simply join in the merrymaking,” said Elisiel’s mother as she stepped up to Thranduil and kissed his cheek before turning her attention to the embroidery on his tunic. “Caille has much skill with the sewing needle.”

“Thank you, I will tell her you said so,” Thranduil said smiling indulgently as Elisiel’s mother straightened a few imaginary creases in the fabric. Satisfied that all was in order, she took her husband’s arm. “I expect you wish for some private time with Elisiel so please wait here and I will send her to you. Come, my love, shall we continue on to the festivities?”

“As you wish,” Elisiel’s father replied, pausing to offer a wink of encouragement before he dutifully escorted his wife into the clearing, for now that the moment was at hand, it was easy to see how unsettled the king’s son had become.

Thranduil watched with increasing nervousness as the couple approached their daughter, whose happiness at hearing her lover had arrived shone in her eyes as she cast her gaze in his direction. With a quick kiss for both her parents, Elisiel gathered her skirts and ran to the arms that were held out in loving invitation. Caring not who could see them, they greeted each other with the most  tender of kisses, then hand in hand left the clearing, heading by unspoken agreement to the secret glade they called their own.

“Why did you not join us in the clearing? I sensed you watching me from afar,” Elisiel told him as she melted into the embrace of her beloved.

“Did you? Then you must know I was enjoying watching you with the child,” Thranduil replied as his lips tasted the soft skin of Elisiel’s neck.

“And you were imagining he was our son,” she whispered into his ear, her warm breath on the sensitive sending shivers of delight right through Thranduil’s body.

“Aye,” he replied huskily before fervently claiming her lips.

“So was I.” All nervousness vanished at the implications in the softly spoken words and without further thought Thranduil gazed into the eyes that were the doorway to the other half of his heart and soul voiced the reason for his visit.

“Then bind with me in marriage, be my wife, my lover, the mother of my children. I love you, Elisiel, with all that I am and forever,” he said as he placed the betrothal ring on her finger.

“The only answer possible is yes, for without you I am nothing. I love you Thranduil now and forever,” she replied as she did the same with the simple silver band he handed her.

For a moment they stood and simply gazed into each other’s eyes, and then with exquisite tenderness, Thranduil bent to claim Elisiel’s lips. As the kiss to seal their vows became ardently passionate, he smiled inwardly, recalling Oropher’s words in the moment before they both became lost in their need for more.

“Indeed, Adar, this one kiss will definitely lead to many others before the night is draws to an end.”