Candle Burning Bright

Summary: In the midst of despair, there can be found a glimmer of light if one simply looks. Second place in the Teitho contest ‘Candles’.

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"How is he?" Glorfindel asked Galion, Thranduil’s Butler and Chief Steward, as he handed his cloak to a waiting servant.

The Wood Elf shrugged. "Much the same. He has not eaten or drunk in the last week and refuses to see or speak with anyone, even me." He gave the Noldo a grimace.

"My cousin has ever been more stubborn than a mule," Celeborn said as he gave his own cloak to one of the other servants. "Where is he?"

"I’ll take you to him," the Steward said. "It’s not in an area with which either of you would be familiar."

"Can you procure a couple of bottles of your best Dorwinion?" Celeborn asked.

"And some soft bread and cheese," Glorfindel added.

"I will see to them myself as soon as I show you where he has hidden himself," Galion said and gestured for the two Elf-Lords to follow him. They made their way through the main corridor, skirting the great hall that was Thranduil’s throne room and passed the way leading to the upper halls and living quarters for the Elves who made their home in the Othronn. When Galion turned a corner and headed down a set of winding stairs only dimly lit, Glorfindel balked.

"Where do you take us?" he demanded.

Galion, three steps down, turned and looked up at the two Elf-Lords. "To where Aran Thranduil is," he said simply and then continued descending into the gloom. Glorfindel and Celeborn glanced at one another and Celeborn shrugged, taking the stairs. After a moment’s hesitation, Glorfindel followed.

The stairs wound down for some way before leveling out. Here, torches were actually set in the walls, a feature that was not found in the upper ways where crystals were used to catch and reflect the light of candles. Galion continued along, and Glorfindel noticed passages scattered here and there on either side. "Where is this place?" he asked.

"The storerooms," Galion answered, "although they can be used as cells if necessary. Aran Thranduil has chosen one of the deeper ones, just before you reach the river, for himself."

"Whyever for?" Celeborn asked in confusion. "Does he hold court down here? It’s rather inconvenient."

"Not to mention damp," Glorfindel added.

Galion did not deign to answer. "Here," he said, stopping. "This is as far as I will go. The cell is directly to your left. I will return in a while with food and wine." And with that, he simply turned around and headed back up the corridor, leaving the two Elf-Lords staring after him in open-mouthed surprise.

Finally, Celeborn turned around. "Let us go see what my stubborn cousin is doing hiding away in a dank hole."

The two Elves made their way forward and found a stout oak door with metal bands and a grated window. They looked at each other, neither sure what to do next. Finally, Celeborn gave a huff of disgust and banged on the door.

"Thranduil, it is I, Celeborn. I’m coming in."

There was no answer and the once Lord of Lórien grimaced and pushed open the door, stepping in with Glorfindel right behind him.

"So, what have we here?" Celeborn asked rhetorically.

Glorfindel stifled a gasp. Thranduil sat huddled in a corner of the room, his arms around his knees, his head bent. In the dimness of the cell, it was difficult to see how he was dressed, but it seemed to Glorfindel that the Elf King’s wardrobe had seen better days, for the hem of the tunic was frayed and mud-spattered. His bright hair was dull and limp and he had obviously lost weight. Glorfindel nodded to himself: Thranduil, King of Eryn Lasgalen, showed all the classic symptoms of fading.

And if Thranduil knew they were there, he gave no sign.

Celeborn knelt before his cousin, gently running a hand through the Elf King’s hair. "Thranduil, Cousin, what are you doing?" he asked quietly.

For a long moment Thranduil did not stir or otherwise acknowledge Celeborn’s existence, then, speaking so softly that they almost missed it, he whispered, "He’s gone."

"Thranduil…."

The Elf King raised his head and they could see how sunken his face was from grief and lack of food, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"He’s gone," he repeated more forcibly, "and I’ll never see him again."

"Nonsense," Glorfindel said with a hint of exasperation, glaring down at the ellon. "If you sail…."

"And why would I do that?" Thranduil demanded.

"Why wouldn’t you?" Glorfindel retorted. "All your family is in Valinor or in Mandos waiting to be released. You have no family here. Legolas was the last."

"He deserted me."

"Oh, please. He left because he had to," Glorfindel said. "At least you have the knowledge that someday, the Belain willing, you and he will be reunited. I don’t have that much."

Thranduil gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean? You are not a parent."

"Not in the biological sense, no," Glorfindel admitted, "but I was as much Arwen’s father as Elrond." He paused, stifling a sigh, the pain he felt almost too much to bear. "I have not only lost a daughter, but a son, for I helped raise Aragorn as well. And Celeborn has lost a grand-daughter. Arwen will never be seen in Arda again and it is a grief to me, to us, that will never be fully assuaged, but do you see either of us skulking in the shadows like a couple of river rats?" He laid a hand on Celeborn’s shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze, knowing that the Sindarin prince was grieving no less than he.

"Why are you here?" Thranduil asked, avoiding Glorfindel’s question. "How are you even here?"

"You can thank Galion for that," Celeborn said, standing. "He sent a messenger bird to Imladris and we came as soon as we could. It looks as if we are just in time."

"Time for what?" Thranduil demanded.

"Time to watch you fade," Glorfindel replied sharply. "But really, you shouldn’t deprive your loyal subjects of the pleasure. You should be up above, sitting on your throne for all to see as you fade, taking the coward’s way out."

"How dare you!" Thranduil shouted, attempting to get to his feet, but lack of food had left him weak and he wavered dizzily. Celeborn grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Fading is for the fainthearted and the weak-willed," Glorfindel said, giving Thranduil a hard look. "I never thought I would see the son of Oropher act so craven. I can tell you that Lord Námo is not happy to have such under his care."

"Assuming I would deign to go to him," Thranduil shot back, a dim gleam of his old self shining through his eyes.

Glorfindel smiled thinly. "Yes, there is that. A coward and a refuser. Your son, your entire family will have to spend the rest of the ages of Arda with the shame of knowing you took the easy way out."

"You’re rather full of yourself, aren’t you, Noldo?" Thranduil said with a sneer.

"Yet, what he says is true, Cousin," Celeborn interjected. "I do not think Oropher would welcome the news that his son is a coward."

"Who asked you?" Thranduil demanded angrily.

Before either Celeborn or Glorfindel could muster a reply, they heard the sound of someone clearing their throat and turned to see Galion standing there, a tray of food and drink in his hands, looking decidedly uncomfortable being there.

"Good," Glorfindel said. "Set the tray down by the door, Galion, and then you may leave."

The Butler did as he was bid and with a stiff bow to the three lords, left them alone once again. Glorfindel stooped down and brought the tray over, placing it on a barrel that had been set in a corner, clearly forgotten. He poured some wine into a goblet, broke off a piece of the bread and handed them to Thranduil. "Eat and drink, my friend. If you think we came all the way here from Imladris just to watch you fade, you’re sadly mistaken."

"Is it not my choice?" the Elf King demanded, refusing the bread and wine.

"And how would your fading honor your son?" Celeborn asked. "Do you wish to place that particular burden of guilt upon him?"

"He’s not here," Thranduil snarled. "He deserted me."

"You lost him a long time ago, Cousin," Celeborn said, smiling gently as he helped Thranduil to sit on the floor, his back against a wall for support, for the Elf King was too weak to stand for any length of time. Celeborn settled himself next to him and Glorfindel crouched in front of them, bread and wine still in his hands. "It has merely taken a hundred and twenty years of the Sun for reality to catch up with fact. Legolas was lost to you the day he joined the Fellowship, though no one, least of all him, knew it."

"Legolas was in a great deal of pain, Thranduil, there near the end, though he would not let anyone see it, but it was there for those with eyes to see. Even Aragorn commented on it in his last letter to me before he accepted Eru’s Gift. Legolas should have Sailed with Frodo and Lord Elrond, but he did not until all his Mortal friends were gone, save Gimli, and we think he took the Dwarf with him when he left."

Thranduil looked up with a gasp of surprise. "He took the Dwarf?"

"So we assume," Glorfindel said with a nod, "for rumor has it that two were seen riding down the Anduin to the Sea and one was definitely Legolas, for he stood at the tiller and sang. The other with him could only have been Gimli. No other would have gone nor would Legolas have accepted another Elf as a companion. No, Gimli son of Glóin went with your son into the West and I have no doubt that that stubborn son of Dúrin was warmly welcomed by the Valar and the Lady Galadriel."

Thranduil snorted, absently taking the piece of bread in Glorfindel’s hand and idly chewing it as he thought about the Noldo’s words. Then he let the piece of bread drop from his hand as he sighed, looking defeated.

"It hurts so much," he said.

"I know," Glorfindel said in a whisper. "We know. Do not think you are the only one suffering, Oropherion. Legolas was loved by many of your people and now the Elves who followed him to Ithilien are without a leader and their hearts are no less heavy than yours. Your hiding here is selfish and unbecoming of the king I know you are. Here, have some wine, but drink it slowly."

Thranduil gave him a sardonic look. "Yes, nana. Whatever you say, nana," but he accepted the goblet and drank small sips, alternating with chewing on bread and then some soft cheese. Glorfindel poured more wine into a couple of other goblets and gave one to Celeborn and the three of them sat in silence for a time.

Finally, Celeborn asked, "What did you do when you returned from the Last Alliance?"

"How do you mean?" Thranduil answered.

"I do not recall you acting this way when others of your family either died or Sailed," Celeborn said. "Why is Legolas different?"

Thranduil shrugged. "I don’t know. I only know that when I received his last letter and the news that he had Sailed... it just all came crashing down on me." He paused to take a drink. "But to answer your question, I had a small grotto opened where anyone could go to light a candle in remembrance of those who were now lost to us."

"When was the last time you visited this grotto?" Celeborn asked.

Thranduil had a far-away look in his eyes. "I don’t think I’ve been there since... well, it’s been a very long time."

"Then I suggest we go to this grotto and place our own candles in memory of Legolas and Arwen," Celeborn suggested. "Though my granddaughter is lost to us as Lúthien was lost to us, still she is of Elven-kind and we will honor her, even as we honor your son." He stood, brushing the dirt from his tunic and breeches and Glorfindel helped Thranduil to his feet. Together, the three ellyn made their way out of the cell and back towards the stairs with Celeborn and Glorfindel giving Thranduil a hand. Their progress was slow but eventually they reached the upper chambers. Thranduil stood there blinking in the greater light.

"Which way?" Celeborn asked.

"It’s behind the throne dais," Thranduil answered and with a nod they set off again.

Now that they had reached the habitable part of the stronghold, they encountered other Elves who stood in shock at the sight of their King shuffling along between Celeborn and Glorfindel, giving them hasty yet heartfelt bows or curtsies as they passed. They met Galion just before the throne chamber, the ellon’s expression one of disbelief warring with unmitigated joy at the sight.

"We are going to the grotto," Celeborn informed him and the Butler nodded.

"The way is clear," he said. "I will see that none disturb you."

They entered the hall and passed the throne dais with Thranduil pointing to a dark opening on the other side of the hall. "Through there," he said and the three continued on. They found themselves in a tunnel that was narrow enough that they had to go single file with Celeborn leading. The tunnel curved around and they could see a soft glow ahead. They stooped through a low entrance and then stood there gaping, for the chamber was filled with candles of different shapes and sizes and all of them lit, save for a handful lying in a basket by the door.

"They are all for Legolas."

The three turned to see Galion standing at the entrance.

"Legolas?" Thranduil echoed.

"Yes, Aran. Everyone has come and lit a candle, even those who live in the forest itself and seldom venture into the Stronghold. They still come and I must needs find more tallow for candles, for we are fast running out."

Glorfindel smiled at the bemused expression on Thranduil’s face. "You see? As long as even a single candle continues burning in the grotto, Legolas will never be forgotten. Why don’t you light your own candle?"

"That’s an excellent idea," Celeborn said, "and perhaps Glorfindel and I can light a candle for Arwen while we’re here."

"You may light it for me," Glorfindel said. He reached down into the basket and pulled out two candles, handing one to Thranduil and the other to Celeborn. "Go and light the candles so that the memory of Legolas and Arwen burns brighter still."

Thranduil hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward, lighting his own candle from one already lit and placed it in an empty space after letting some of the wax drip to form a base. Celeborn did the same and the Elves maintained a respectful silence for several minutes before Thranduil began to sway, the lack of food and the heat of the many candles taking their toll on him. Celeborn and Galion took his elbows, lending him their support.

"Come," Celeborn said. "Why don’t we see about you having a proper meal and a proper bath. I hate to say this, Cousin, but you stink."

Thranduil’s reply was pithy and to the point, causing Celeborn and Galion to laugh. "Are you coming, Lord Glorfindel?" Galion asked.

"I will follow you shortly," Glorfindel replied and a moment later he was alone in the grotto. For a long time he merely stood there watching the candles burn, then he picked up a candle and lit it, letting some of the wax melt before sticking the base of the candle into the hardening wax beside the two candles Thranduil and Celeborn had lit.

"For you, Estel," he whispered. "For you, my son." Then he turned and walked out, never looking back.

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Words are Sindarin:

Othronn: Underground stronghold or city.

Aran: King.

Ellon: Male Elf.

Nana: Hypocoristic form of naneth: Mother.