Chapter 8: Confrontations

“Oropher’s pride was his own undoing!”

That had been the phrase, declared in a loud, haughty voice by Glorfindel, that began the argument now raging at the High Table.

It did rage. From the perspective of the lesser tables on the lawn, it appeared the noble elves were having an engaging conversation. If any of the Silvan elves had pursued a closer inspection, it would have been clear that the nobles at the High Table were trying to avoid engaging in open warfare. Speaking in the calmest voices they could maintain and with overly courteous manners, they battled verbally with clenched fists and flashing eyes.

Attacks on his father were one thing that Thranduil had never been able to tolerate—not when he lived in Sirion and Lindon where certain Noldorin lords took their pleasure mocking the displaced Sindarin prince and not since the war against Sauron when even Thranduil admitted in his heart of hearts that not all his sire’s actions had been wise.

They might not have been wise, but they were not prideful either.

Glorfindel’s slur caused the conversation amongst the elves from Greenwood to fall silent and Thranduil’s head to snap around the second it was uttered. Glorfindel had been speaking presumably to Galadriel or Elrond in Quenya, a language Thranduil had not heard since his childhood and would not customarily respond to per Elu Thingol’s edict. Indeed, Thranduil had been studiously ignoring the conversation to his left throughout dinner. Now he no longer would.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward at the table to engage Glorfindel. “By what right do you speak thusly of the dead? Did you know my adar? Not at all. How can you speak with such assurance of his motivations?”

Amglaur snorted. “Glorfindel may not have known Oropher, but I did. A more arrogant elf I never met.”

Before Thranduil could respond to that, Celeborn’s eyes had narrowed as well. “Your attitude, Amglaur, could not possibly be inspired by the fact that Oropher outstripped you at everything the two of you competed over, could it?”

Thranduil’s eyebrows rose at that and he made a mental note to quiz his cousin about the details of that assertion later.

Glorfindel laughed and spoke disdainfully. “Regardless of the specifics of Oropher’s enmity with Lord Amglaur, history teaches us that Oropher’s actions in Mordor demonstrate the folly of pride.”

Thranduil’s brow knit. “What action, motivated by pride, do you believe led to my adar’s undoing, Glorfindel?” he asked coldly. Of course Thranduil knew Glorfindel was referring to the first battle of the war, when his father had been killed.

Glorfindel looked at Thranduil with amusement and a palatable attitude of superiority. “I had always thought your family was a little dull, lord Thranduil. Apparently you have already forgotten the sporadic charge your adar led long before any of the rest of us were in position?”

Elrond and Erestor cast Glorfindel scathing looks. They agreed Oropher’s actions spoke for themselves, but there was no need to insult Thranduil. The elves from Greenwood tensed visibly. Oropher was not prideful, but he had a temper—one that his son had inherited.

Thranduil glowered at Glorfindel and spoke to him in a voice that shook with fury and grief. “Naturally I am so dull that I have completely forgotten the battle in which my adar died not a foot from my shoulder. Where I saw him fall and could do nothing to help him. I recall nothing of that, Glorfindel, for it was meaningless to me.”

He paused and all at the table were silent. Everyone present had lost family and dear friends in that war. Everyone still felt the pain of their loss. Glorfindel allowed his gaze to drop to the table.

After a moment, Thranduil continued in only a slightly calmer tone. “I will not try to argue that charge was disastrous. It clearly was. But pride did not motivate it. Loyalty did. Do you think the Silvan elves that my adar ruled wanted to meddle in the affairs of the Noldor or Man? When did they ever tolerate such interactions? Despite his people’s preference to avoid the conflict, my adar brought them to war because he was wise. He saw that peace would not return unless Sauron was overcome. He raised an army in Eryn Galen. He motivated Amdir to raise one in Lorien. And he led those people to aid yours in a war they had no desire to fight. They followed him because they loved and trusted him. They neither loved nor trusted Gil-galad so my adar would not leave his people under Gil-galad’s command.”

Glorfindel looked at Thranduil coolly. “More the pity then. They trusted him and he led them to death.”

Thranduil’s fists clenched. “More the pity indeed. He led the Silvan to aid Gil-galad’s host from the west. Where was your aid when my adar’s people needed it? Did you move to help him? You did not release a single arrow. Yet we stayed in that battle, did not retreat, stood by your force when it finally entered battle and that battle was ultimately won. Their king lost, my people stayed in Mordor with your forces, despite the fact that they clearly saw they were ill-equipped, and fought Sauron for seven years.”

“I do not fault your people’s valor, lord Thranduil. They fought well, sacrificed much and contributed greatly to Sauron’s destruction. It is Oropher’s leadership that I question. It was fool-hardy pride not to obey the orders of the High King.”

“And I say it was prideful of Gil-galad to assume he was the captain of the elves and pride that prevented him from accepting the fact that the Silvan elves would not be led by him. If my adar had submitted his army to foreign control, those elves would not have followed Gil-galad. Warriors must trust their captain. If Gil-galad was such a great captain, why did he not recognize that fact and accept that he would have to coordinate his attacks with another captain? If he had been willing to make better use of runners to communicate in that battle, the host of Silvan elves would have been better informed and the timing of the charge properly coordinated. There was plenty of blame to go around in that battle, Glorfindel.”

Elrond spoke before the conversation could degenerate any further. “Indeed there was. And afterwards we all strove to address the issues that were raised. No one here can deny, for example, that when Thranduil commanded the Silvan army he took it upon himself to carefully communicate with the forces from the west. It is my belief that rather than engaging in mocking invective, it is more useful to recognize that it is not uncommon for the first battles waged in a war of that scale to suffer a few problems. Oropher’s early charge was not the only aspect of that battle that merits criticism. It is certainly a tragedy that the King of the Woodland Realm paid with his life while we learned how to better coordinate our efforts. Perhaps we should honor that sacrifice and not speak ill of the dead.”

“Well said, Elrond,” Celeborn and Amroth said at once.

When Elrond began speaking, Thranduil had tensed and prepared himself to return attack against whatever the Lord of Imladris might say. By the time his peer had finished speaking, Thranduil was left staring at him not sure how to respond. Elrond’s speech had been very…sensitive.

Galadriel looked at her husband and son-in-law appraisingly. “Would that the lessons learned at Dagorlad might extend to the peace after it,” she said softly.

Thranduil’s eyes shifted to Feanor’s half niece. “What precisely is that supposed to mean, my lady,” he said coldly.

Elrond rolled his eyes and looked at his father-in-law. His expression pleaded for the silver elf’s intervention. Celeborn looked back at Elrond and laughed lightly. Celeborn had learned a long time ago not to get between his wife and cousin.

Galadriel regarded Thranduil coolly. “I simply mean that you have done nothing but glower at me since we first sat at the council table together. This council would certainly be more productive if all the current elven lords could at least feign amicability.”

Thranduil smiled at her. It was not a pleasant smile. “I am sitting at the table with you, am I not, my lady?” he replied pointedly.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Galadriel only laughed at that, sincere amusement in her eyes. “Indeed, Thranduil. I would make a joke about the fact that you have sat civilly and not even thrown a knife at me yet, but I think you would only remind me that it is not you but rather I to whom the term kinslayer refers. Is that not what you are thinking? Is that not what you still hold against me?”

Thranduil only raised his eyebrows, looking at her placidly.

Amglaur was less restrained. “It is not easy to look down the table at the last face my kin in Alqualondë saw before they died by elven hands, Galadriel. You should be thankful the Sindar are less like you.”

Now Celeborn leaned forward, eyes hard and cold. “Govern your tongue, Amglaur, lest you force me to teach you why the Noldor think the Sindar are less refined. My lady wife was in no way involved with the actions to which you refer. Dior was my cousin, for pity’s sake.”

As several Noldorin and Sindarin elves at the table glared at each other. Amroth shook his head. “No where is the power of the Evil One more evident then in his ability to divide those who by nature should be allies. Evil has been driven from the world by tremendous sacrifice, yet we still bicker over events that occurred an entire age ago. It is his legacy that we submit ourselves to by behaving this way. Can we not seek peace?”

Galadriel looked sadly at Amroth. “That was truly well said, lord Amroth.” She turned her gaze to Thranduil. “It is for that reason and not to seek a realm of my own that I wished to attend this council. I fear the Evil One has not been entirely eliminated. I strongly feel we must unite and remain alert, lest we fall to more suffering.”

Thranduil blinked at that statement. He also did not believe Sauron had been truly defeated. He returned Galadriel’s penetrating gaze evenly and with open curiosity. “Please do not take this question the wrong way, for I would never argue against a call for unity rather than suffering, my lady, but I cannot help but wonder why you believe Sauron was not defeated.”

She looked at him with piercing clarity. “I believe it was significant that Isildur did not destroy the One Ring. It still has power. I can feel it. And that makes me believe that Sauron was not entirely destroyed.”

All at the table fell silent at that and Thranduil’s blood ran cold. He did not like Galadriel. Not one bit. But he did respect her powers of perception. Hearing what she had said was all Thranduil needed to confirm his own suspicions.

“For the first time in two ages I find myself in complete agreement with a Noldo of Finwe’s line. Holy Valar, it must be a sign of the approach of the Final Battle!” Thranduil exclaimed softly.

Most of the elves at the table laughed at that muttered comment, which elven hearing had not misplaced. Galadriel looked at Thranduil with delighted amusement. Jaws dropped when Thranduil shook his head and winked at her in response.

Then the King of Greenwood the Great stood. “I think I will seek unity of a different nature. If you will excuse me, I see my steward on the lawn with some lovely ellyth. I think I will join them.”

Elrond and Celeborn looked at Thranduil’s retreating back, smiling in amazement as he descended from the dais and walked across the green to join his chief advisor. The son of Oropher might be more complex than they had truly realized.

Moments later, Hallion, sitting with Lindomiel and her friends, felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Thranduil gazing down at him with a smile but otherwise unreadable expression on his face. Hallion immediately stood and bowed slightly. “My lord,” he said, surprise evident in his voice.

“Lord Hallion,” Thranduil replied evenly, looking at him a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned his eyes on the ladies. All but Lindomiel were staring at him with undisguised awe and no small amount of admiration. It was not a reaction he was unaccustomed to.  “Lady Lindomiel,” Thranduil said, bowing in her direction and kissing the hand she offered.

Hallion saw the amusement dancing in her eyes and tensed slightly.

Thranduil finally nodded to the other ladies.

When Lindomiel said nothing, Hallion shook his head slightly and performed the introductions. “My lord, this is Amoneth, Gwedhieth and Mithrellas,” he said, supplying all the information he had. Thranduil smiled at them. They were too busy staring at him to have the presence of mind to offer their hands. Hallion had no doubt they would regret that when it occurred to them later.

Finally Lindomiel laughed. “Oh really, my lord, do you intend to stand there the entire night? Do sit down and join us. We are having a lovely conversation with Lord Hallion, are we not ladies?”

All the ladies confirmed this.

Then Lindomiel looked at Thranduil sidelong. “Thank the stars he came to entertain us. You, on the other hand, seem to find the High Table utterly fascinating. Though I cannot imagine why. Surely discussing Aran Oropher with my Adar is not a pleasant experience. Do you enjoy misery, my lord?”

Hallion looked anxiously at Thranduil, unable to imagine what his response to that would be. It had been millennia since anyone treated Thranduil with that sort of familiarity. Hallion’s eyes widened slightly when his king only laughed.

“I assure you, my lady, I will never dare to discuss any member of my family with any member of yours again. I fear another kinslaying if I do.”

Lindomiel laughed as well. “Too true.” Then she looked at Thranduil again. “Must I ask you to dance, my lord? Will you not ask me yourself? Your steward is the only person I have danced with tonight.”

The unreadable expression was cast Hallion’s way again. “Is that so? Well, we cannot have that,” he replied, standing and holding out his hand. Lindomiel took it and Hallion was left with Lindomiel’s friends.

He was shocked when he conversed with them through no less than five dances—Thranduil and Lindomiel did not return. Finally, Hallion decided the best course of action would simply be to ask one of Lindomiel’s other companions to dance. He did, and was surprised when he and his king spent nearly until dawn dancing and drinking wine with the four ellyth.

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Elleth/ellyth--Female elf(s)
Adar/ada--Father/dad
Aran--King