TITLE: Nothing Special, Chapter Six
O.A.A. PROMPT: #173: Reason (500 words)
AUTHOR: Marethiel / ThinkingLady
RATING: PG-13 overall (for potentially disturbing images)
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em, drat it. I just take `em out to play. Many thanks to Professor Tolkien for creating these wonderful souls to populate my imagination.
NOTES: Sequel to Prompts #168: Special, #169: Careful, #170: Letter; #171: Question, #172: Foreign.
Mirkwood and Imladris Elves were positioned strategically; Thranduil's skill had tracked their quarry to these caves, deep within Mirkwood's borders. Further reconnaissance was needed before determining whether or not the two captives were alive.
The night was still but for the distant cackles of the fell beasts below. The golden warrior of Gondolin studied the King's silhouette framed against Ithil's radiance; silvery hair nearly blended into the beams spilling over the rocks and trees as silken fabric, clinging as to a body beneath it. Glorfindel sighed, seeing the proud neck sagged in despair.
Firming his lips, he walked toward the Elvenking, thus far left to his own devices. Though his men sympathized, even his oldest son and heir, in their weariness they could not find a way to commiserate with this ancient, great Elf.
But Thranduil held no fear for the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Glorfindel almost chuckled to himself; after slaying a Balrog, and then leaving Mandos' halls, little frightened him. "Hope is not lost. You have found them."
Thranduil might not have heard Glorfindel, so still was he. But slowly his eyes raised and he met those of the Balrog Slayer. "Why ‘Hope’?"
Startled, Glorfindel tipped his head to one side, inquiring.
"Why did Elrond choose `Hope' as the adan's name?"
Glorfindel's smooth motion was fluid and graceful as he crouched beside the King. "Estel has always brought us hope, Your Majesty," he answered softly. "He returned joy and laughter to Imladris, so long bereft since Lady Celebrían's sad departure. He made my friend laugh once more, when mirth was all but dead in his study. He brought the brethren Elladan and Elrohir faith that there might be a future without hate. Estel… is hope."
Thranduil nodded. "It is the same for us. My Greenleaf… he is Greenwood's hope, as well. After the death of my beloved Lady…" Thranduil's voice faltered, and he rubbed his hands over his eyes. "My Greenleaf is my Lady, living and breathing, offering my people her love and hope once more."
In silence, Glorfindel continued to crouch beside the Elvenking. They were all weary. But Thranduil's burden seemed far heavier than worry, or even fear for his child.
"Mellon nin," Glorfindel asked softly, "what was it that called Legolas home in such haste?"
Thranduil's features winced, as though struck; Glorfindel made no move, but his eyes carefully took in the agony of the Elf before him.
"I … missed him," Thranduil whispered, turning to the Elf Lord, his lips trembling, eyes haunted. Squeezing those eyes shut and bringing his hands to his face in an agony of shame, he groaned. "My son is in the hands of those fell beasts, suffering, Lord Glorfindel, perhaps even dead… May Iluvutar forgive me, I fabricated a problem in Mirkwood, because I … missed him!"
A sob strangled in the King's throat, and Glorfindel's heart ached for him. In silence, he reached, gripping the King's shoulder in comfort as he wept in agonized silence.
**To Be Continued**