Chapter 17: Some people never learn

Marti knew she was missing dinner but she did not care. Instead of eating, she sat in the courtyard as she had that morning.  She had gone to the archery range to try to meet the king only to see him marching off the field with three guards and the Prince of Lorien. She followed the king discreetly and watched a strange procession of people go in and out of his office. First the king, the prince of Lorien and the guards entered the office. Then one of those guards literally fled. A few moments later, the rest of the guards left solemnly. And then Conuiön had come and gone. Bizarre. She would like to know more about that incident, but not now. The king was emerging from his office. As she had that morning, Marti stood and smiled.

“Good evening, my lord."

This time he barely acknowledged her, nodding his head slightly. She raised her eyebrows. He seemed very peturbed about something. She also noticed the way the prince of Lorien glared at Thranduil as they walked.

‘Interesting,’ Marti thought. Apparently the maiden’s father was less than friendly with the king. That was useful.

Marti decided to skip dinner. She could pinch something from the kitchens later and it was obvious the king and his guests would be in the public dining room that night. She did not want to watch him with the little princess. Instead, she walked along the paths in the twilight, trying to distract herself in the beauty of the stars.

She passed by the pools and saw one of Thranduil’s guards sitting on the rocks. On closer inspection she thought it might be the guard that had left the king’s office so quickly. He was throwing rocks into the water. And sticks. And basically anything he could get his hands on. He did not appear to be in good humor. She wondered why.

Marti sidled up to the guard while singing a tune softly to announce herself. He looked back at her and frowned. Seeing she was approaching, he stood and moved to walk past her on the path.

“Excuse me, my lady. I am no fit company. I will leave you to enjoy the pools,” he said in a strained voice.

But Marti was not to be put off. She wanted to know what had happened to upset the king. Given what she had seen, Tulus knew something.

Her eyes widened innocently. “My lord,” she began, purposefully addressing him in a manner above his station to flatter him,  “I only mean to comfort you. You are clearly upset. How can I help you?”

He took a deep breath. “You cannot help me, my lady. You can let me pass, if you please.”

“Oh but I cannot leave you so obviously distressed. Come talk to me a moment and you will feel better.” She pulled him back to the pools with one hand in his. The look she gave him was very solicitous. He lowered his eyes.

“Really, my lady, you need not…”

“Oh, but I want to help…Tulus, correct?” she asked wracking her brains for his name. She was good with names.

He brightened slightly at that. “Yes, my lady. I am afraid I do not know…”

She smiled and supplied her name before he finished. “I am Marti,” she purred. “You are one of the king’s guards, are you not?”

She looked alarmed when his expression darkened. “I was,” he growled.

She widened her eyes in exaggerated dismay. “Was? What ever happened?”

“The king is unhinged over this little tart from Lorien,” he replied bitterly, visibly regretting his words as soon as they were spoken.

Marti did not regret them. She wanted to know more about Tulus’ reasons for calling the little princess a tart. That could be very useful. “She is a little tart, is she not?” she fished.

It did not take much to encourage Tulus. He was bitter over the king’s punishment—unjustified in his mind. “Indeed. Only a certain type of woman strips naked on the shores of the river right in front of the king and his guard.”

Marti had some difficulty controlling her reaction to that tidbit. The little princess had done what at the river’s edge? They must have gone swimming. But even so, why had the little princess done such a thing? She did not know enough about her to judge that. No matter the reason, if this story became public, it would make the environment in Eryn Galen considerably less inviting for the interloper.

“Well of course everyone who has heard thinks the same thing,” Marti replied smoothly.

Tulus raised his eyebrows. “Everyone? No one would know about this but me…”

She laughed lightly. “Do not be silly. The king and his guest were not the only people seeking the comfort of the river.  There were a few of us down the bank slightly. We saw it all too. Disgraceful behavior on her part. Throwing herself at the king like that,” she ventured and watched for the reaction.

“Well said,” he agreed enthusiastically.

Marti frowned at that. Had Lindomiel actually done something so extreme to attract the king's attention? Marti thought she had better spend some time getting more information from Tulus. The conversation so far had been very productive.

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Dinner at the Royal Table had been a fairly subdued affair. Hallion, Dieneryn and Aradunnon looked with concern at Amglaur and Thranduil when they entered the dining room both with such grim expressions. Their curiosity only increased seeing Lindomiel studying her father and the king sharply as well. When dinner ended, Lindomiel suggested a walk and Thranduil tried to hide exactly how grateful he was to escape his own halls as he offered her his arm and excused himself.

Lindomiel entwined both her hands around his arm, leaning close to him as they walked slowly across the courtyard. They walked in silence until they reached the canopy of trees on the far side of the courtyard and for several more moments along the paths. Then Lindomiel looked at Thranduil seriously.

“May I assume from the atmosphere at dinner that ada is upset about something?” she asked softly.

Thranduil lowered his eyes. “He is," he confirmed quietly.

"May I ask what? It seems more serious than simply losing an archery contest."

Thranduil grimaced. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with Lindomiel. It is resolved."

Lindomiel frowned. “I would like to know what you and ada discussed so that I know what to expect when I return to my talan tonight.”

Thranduil studied her with concern now. He was not accustomed to censoring information. On the contrary, he never thought that was a good policy. But he did not want to hurt or offend her. They had arrived in a small clearing. Thick grass grew here, decorated with summer wild flowers. Throwing his cloak on the ground, he pulled her gently to sit on it with him. As he spoke, he kept her hand between his. “One of my guards gossiped to some of his friends about our activities yesterday. Your adar and I heard their conversation as we were approaching them on the archery range. I apologize, Lindomiel. You will not be subjected to similar conduct again, I assure you.”

Thranduil was surprised when Lindomiel only laughed lightly. “Gossip does not offend or frighten me, Thranduil. I can handle myself." She smiled at him affectionately. Withdrawing her hand, she caressed his cheek. Her smile only deepened when he drew a quiet breath at the contact. “Though I do appreciate the gallant protection of the king.”

Thranduil laughed as well, recapturing her hand and kissing it softly.

“Did ada hear enough to be angry?” she asked quietly.

“I fear he did.”

“Did he direct his anger at you?”

“To some extent.”

Lindomiel grimaced. “Disregard whatever he said to you. He is much too overprotective of me.”

“He only wants to shield you, Lindomiel. That is one desire both your adar and I share.” She looked at him with a disgusted scowl, but he shook his head and silenced her with a finger on her lips. “At the risk of sounding condescending, and I assure you that is not my intent, you have no concept of the horrors your adar has seen. He does not want his child to see such evils because he loves you.” Thranduil frowned. “I do not want you exposed to anything that might rob you of your innocence either, Lindomiel.”

“I do not need two adars, Thranduil,” Lindomiel replied firmly.

Thranduil laughed and looked down. “I definitely do not look upon you as a daughter, Lindomiel.”

Lindomiel smiled mischievously at that and moved closer to him. “I am glad to hear that,” she said and paused for a moment.  “I mentioned to adar that I truly like Eryn Galen. He did not seem very pleased with that.” She leaned against Thranduil's shoulder as she spoke and felt his body shake slightly as he laughed.

“He told me that himself and he was definitely not pleased. I do not believe he has a good impression of Eryn Galen at all after what he heard today. But you have been here for only a few days. I am certain that he still has hope that you will learn to hate it.”

She laughed. “I will not.” Lindomiel was leaning against him with her head on his shoulder, looking up at the stars. “It is simply beautiful here,” she added softly after a moment.

Looking down at her, Thranduil had to agree.

She studied the sky. “The stars seem bright tonight,” she whispered, tilting her head back further.

Thranduil closed his eyes. As she adjusted her posture to better see the stars, her head brushed his cheek. Without thinking, he leaned into the caress, purposefully laying his cheek against her hair. She did not move.

“You do not remember the Time of the Trees, do you?” she asked, a curious tone to her voice.

He shook his head slightly and her hair tickled his cheek. “No. I was born in the First Age, towards the end of it. I was only forty when Elu Thingol was slain.” She felt him smile. “I love nights like this. I remember sitting with my adar on nights when the stars were bright as they are tonight and looking at them outside the caves at Menegroth. We would lie on the grass and he would sing. He told wonderful stories. No one who did not know him well would have ever guessed it, but he could easily have been a minstrel rather than a warrior.” Thranduil smirked. “And my uncle Engwe plays the harp. Perhaps I should make him play it for you. As you have seen, he is very likely everything your adar warned you he is…possibly worse. I often find the idea that he plays the harp difficult to reconcile with his personality.”

Lindomiel laughed lightly and turned a bit to look at him. Her face was inches from his. Thranduil stopped breathing, looking into her eyes and trying to prevent his gaze from falling to her lips. “Do you sing, my lord?” she asked with amusement in  her voice.

He grinned. “I sing decently well, my lady.”

He felt her hand against his chest and before he realized what she was doing, she had pushed him onto his back in the grass.  Before he could protest, she settled herself next to him on her back, still looking at the stars and pillowing her head on his shoulder.

“Sing something,” she said softly.

Thranduil let out a short breath. He would be lucky to speak much less sing. The warmth of Lindomiel’s body along side his took his breath away. The arm that belonged to the shoulder now being used as a pillow stuck awkwardly out to the side for want of a place to occupy that would not result in far too intimate contact. With a laugh, Lindomiel seized the hand attached to that arm and held it in hers on the grass. Thranduil could feel the delicate fabric of her gown with his fingertips.

He took a calming breath. With his free hand, he reached to smooth some of her long hair that was tickling his neck. He found himself immediately addicted to the feel of it, so he continued to stroke his hand through it absently.

“Will you sing something?” she asked again after he remained silent for several minutes.

By that time Thranduil thought it was possible that he had recovered enough to do so. “As you wish,” he answered softly.  After a moment’s thought, he began to sing.

In the starry night so soft,

Listen to the whippoorwill,

Forest shades repeat his song,

Sadness fills and thrills his lay,

Singing all the summer away...

Whippoorwill, sad whippoorwill.

It was a haunting ballad that told of distant memories evoked by the sad call of the whippoorwill. It was uniquely Silvan, one of the songs he had learned since coming to live in Eryn Galen. When he finished singing it, she turned towards him and propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over him.

“Such a melancholy song,” she observed softly. “It sounds Silvan in its theme, but I would not expect something so sad from these merry elves.”

He looked at her seriously. “Even here the long memory of elves remembers some sorrow too.” He looked at her a moment, her face hovering over his. Then he pulled her against his side again, this time holding her firmly. “But I will sing you something silly to lighten your spirits again.” He paused again, thinking a moment as she again made herself comfortable on his shoulder.

Sweet as the flowers in springtime,

Sweet as the honey dew,

Sweet as the bluebells in the bowers,

I am thinking tonight of you.

Sweet as the verbena in the garden,

Sweet as the dew on the rose,

I would rather be somebody's darling,

Than a poor elfling nobody knows.

This song was a jaunty, foolish tune about a young elf’s first experiences courting ellyth. It was also a Silvan invention, mildly racy and definitely comical. It had Lindomiel gasping for air, her lyrical laughter mixing with the music. When Thranduil broke into a third verse, Lindomiel again pushed herself up on her elbow and put her hand over his mouth playfully.

“No more, Thranduil, I beg you. That is scandulous! Tell me none of those incidents were inspired by personal experience.”

Thranduil pulled her hand from his mouth, trapping it under his own against his chest as he affected a somber look.  “Certainly not, my lady. My youth in Menegroth was dedicated to serious study, not misspent with such ridiculous adventures.”  He barely finished the sentence before laughter claimed him. “I swear though, none of those stories are my own. You will have to work much harder to hear stories about me. I will never willingly tell them.” He paused and Lindomiel saw his eyes twinkle mischievously. “Part of that song was based on something Aradunnon did a very long time ago. I will leave you to guess which part. Nana almost fainted the first time she heard the minstrels sing this song at a festival. She recognized the event.  Fortunately for Aradunnon, adar did not.”

Lindomiel was still laughing. “You know all I have to do is ask my naneth to talk to your naneth and I will have all the stories I want of you.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows to that. “I will swear nana to secrecy in the morning.”

Lindomiel snorted. “Oh that will certainly work,” she replied mockingly.

They lay in the grass, talking, singing and looking at the stars until well into the night. Thranduil was perfectly aware that nothing about this situation was entirely proper, from the way Lindomiel was pressed against the length of his body to his arm about her waist holding her against him. And he did not care. He could not have taken his hands off her if Amglaur suddenly walked into the field. He simply savored the feel of her in his arms.

The king would have been horrified to know that he had an audience. Marti stood behind a tree along the path where she had first spied them after being attracted by the sound of Thranduil’s singing. She glowered at the sight of them—the first evidence she had seen with her own eyes that her king was truly interested in the little princess from Lothlorien.

She would never have him.

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AN: The little snippets of song that Thranduil sings are folk ballads I learned in grade school. That is all I remember of them and I do not remember the authors to give them credit, unfortunately.

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Adar/ada--Father/dad
Naneth/nana--Mother/mum