But Thranduil could not bear to watch his wife's soul depart Middle Earth; his gaze remained ever on her face. When at last her light faded entirely into greyness, he hid the view from his eyes, pale hands shuddering upon wet cheeks.
random for me, but i need to motivate myself to keep working on this ;-;
As much as Alphes enjoyed time spent swept up in motion, when twilight waned into night she made her excuses and slipped from the dance circle. It was not right of her to allow a celebration for another to be derailed by a royal presence.
Weaving through the gathered villagers -- accepting a steaming cup of spiced wine from a very insistent ellon on her way -- she settled against the bark of an ash tree bordering the clearing. Shadows swayed aloft the mossy floor, leaf and elf lurching between moon and firelight. Here, she could observe and admire their energy, yet leave them undisturbed.
How important it was, as darkness clawed its way ever deeper within the guts of the forest, to celebrate. To forget one's worries, and foster joy. Even for just a day. Too easy it was to be worn down.
Predictably, it wasn't long until Tauriel found her. Ever an eye scanning the crowd.
completely self-indulgent for ✨✨me✨✨ activities one might share with the greenwood princens :)
>---|-
🦌 Laerion teaches you how to play his lute. All smiles and encouragement, he's so pleased to see you getting the hang of it.
🪶 Alphes takes you hiking deep into the forest, showing you beautiful hidden spots far from known elf paths. She delights in the nature around you.
🌿 Legolas teaches you archery tricks, always away from prying eyes so you can practice without the pressure of an audience. He praises your every shot.
🦌 Laerion sneaks with you into the kitchens, then pulls you into an untouchable hiding spot when you're inevitably discovered. Gasping from the sprint, he reveals food rescued from a vengeful cook.
🪶 Alphes takes you to meet the Lasgalen elk -- a rare and precious herd. Their great antlers dip as they allow you to feel the softness of their fur.
🌿 Legolas climbs trees with you: up and up until you break through the canopy to see the blue sky and green lands mapped out before you, cool breath of wind on your faces.
🦌 Laerion sings for you his favourite elf-songs, of stories forgotten or entirely unkown to other races. And to you he sings his own compositions.
🪶 Alphes shows you her favourite place in the forest: a waterfall in a hidden glade on the cusp of the mountains' foothills. Brazen, she dives in, clothes and all, and welcomes you to join her with a playful splash in your direction.
🌿 Legolas reveals to you in the midnight sky constellations the elves have named, and tells you the stories behind them. He is warm in the cold of the night.
ok, time to bite the bullet. i've been putting off sharing this forever, mostly because i don't have a good track record with long-form fics and i want this to go somewhere. but it is something i'm proud of so far.
Candathar's character is all about exploring Mirkwood through the eyes of a stranger, and one with a bias against it to boot, instead of the usual familiarity. partly so that i can show off what it is about Mirkwood i like so much, partly because writing someone who doesn't like exactly that is fun. (don't worry, she comes around eventually)
i don't have a name for this, yet. at least not a good one lol
Seedling Arc
word count: 3.1K
summary: Lothlórien's ambassador arrives in the horrifying, deadly forest of Mirkwood.
TW: spiders, alcohol
>---|-
Yelping, Candathar stumbled, then quickly followed it with a curse. Her boot must've caught on a root, or a rock. How embarrassing.
The ground failed to appear beneath her feet. Well, how could it, if one could not make the distinction with one's eyes?
Gracelessly, she crashed and rolled. Downwards. Leaf litter and soft crumbling soil cushioned her fall. Still going down, gaining momentum.
A hardy tree caught her in the arms of its roots; her back slammed onto unyielding bark. Disoriented, Candathar laid by the tree for a few minutes, waiting for the ringing in her ears to dissipate. Curse this place.
Getting up slowly, aching, she brushed herself off. Brown leaves and twigs stuck to her clothes and were probably caught in her hair. Checking in with her body, she found, to endless relief, nothing but material aches.
Frustrated, Candathar groaned to herself in the songless quiet. This might as well have been an alien world. Not even the poise her race knew like a second nature seemed to apply here. The air was thick and heavy, coating her lungs with something that could only be evil as she breathed.
Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, at least. Nonetheless, she walked carefully, watching every step, hoping she was headed in the right direction. No sun or stars to navigate by. How could any elf manage to live in such a cage?
Appropriately for her run of luck, rustling emanated from somewhere near, echoing off strange walls of shadow between straight trunks. Unsure whether to expect her long-overdue escort or some hidden predator, Candathar's hand drifted to the hilt of her dagger.
A lone spider -- a scout, she could imagine, or as a worker was to an ant colony, sent to gather food -- burst from the foliage to her left.
Ramming into her side with the full force of its massive weight, the breath was knocked from Candathar's lungs in a startled gasp, and again she tumbled among blackness.
This time the ground was flat: she stopped quickly, getting her limbs under her. Many eyes flashed ahead, glassy dark beads the size of her fist glinting in fragile twilight. All at once, they rolled to fix on her.
In the brief reprieve while it scrambled to coordinate eight gangly jointed legs, Candathar reached behind her for her bow and drew the string taut. The spider charged as she let the arrow fly.
She missed. Hundreds of years to perfect her aim, and she had missed when it mattered. The arrow whistled away into darkness lamely.
Thankfully, her blunder made no difference.
A long dagger of auburn metal -- as if never quite cooled from its forging -- drove between the eyes of the spider. It ground to a halt and stilled before Candathar's feet, ugly in solid silhouette. It seemed even larger up close.
Reclaiming the dagger with a harsh tug that ripped flesh in a horrible squelch, Candathar's rescuer turned, only to point the dagger's bloody business end in her direction instead.
Crimson braids framed the elleth's fine face, hanging in loose curls as far as her waist. Her armour was simple, practical: deep green cloth and russet leather. She looked as part of the forest as a spider does its web.
"State your business here," She demanded sharply, levelling the blade to Candathar's throat.
"Please!" Candathar yelped, "I am a messenger of Lothlórien." She held out her arms so that her assailant could see she was not arming any weapons.
"You're the ambassador?" The elleth blinked, then winced, appearing at least to regret her rudeness.
Candathar deflated a little. "Yes, by Lord Celeborn's order."
For some unfathomable reason, Celeborn had taken a liking to her, and brought her under his wing when she had moved away from her family to live in Caras Galadhon. Why he had chosen her for this task above others more practiced was beyond her, and looking warily into shadows of dark pines, she wished deeply that he hadn't.
"I apologise," The elleth said, and sheathed her dagger at her side. Something oddly formal overtook her, and she bowed. "I am Captain Tauriel. It is my honoured duty to be your guide during your stay in Eryn Galen."
Candathar slumped a little in relief. "Then I am glad. It seems I was not so safe travelling alone."
Brows drawing a fraction tighter, she gestured to a game path Candathar hadn't seen before. "Follow me. The Elvenking is eager to meet you."
Offering what she could muster of a polite smile, Candathar fell into step with the Captain. Still unnerved by the forest, she stayed close, watching the bushes vigilantly. She had no wish to encounter another of Shelob's spawn, even with valiant company.
Tauriel noticed her caution. "You must think us savages who revel in darkness."
"That's not true." Ultimately, Candathar's purpose here was to find out if they were or not. She hoped Tauriel had something convincing to say.
"The forest has been sick for many years. A poison infects it. Once, it was Greenwood the Great, and it was like nothing else on Middle Earth.” Tauriel looked up into the cloying canopy. Briefly, her eyes glazed with memory, then her gaze dropped. "Now, it is as you see it."
"It is... different," Candathar admitted vaguely, not wishing to offend her, for this was her home and she was sure to be defensive of it. "I have never left Lothlórien before."
"There are many stories told of Lothlórien in my home. Our knowledge, alas, is from long ago. One could still hear tales of the Greenwood and be surprised."
She shrugged. "I do not think my home has changed, nor do I expect it to. Not much touches Lothlórien."
"That is what we thought of Eryn Galen."
She cringed. "I suppose it was."
Tauriel eyed her in her periphery. "If I may, would you tell me what Lothlórien is like?"
She thought of the walks she and Celeborn would take beyond the city at night, where the idea of fell things waiting in the dark was incomprehensible.
"It is beautiful," Candathar said, wistful, happier to think of home than of this darker place. "Golden mallorn trees grow taller than anything in any other forest, and in their canopies we've built our homes. At night, the hill of Caras Galadhon glows with a thousand lights, as if the trees are bearing fruits made of stars."
Oh, how she wanted to be home already.
"It sounds like a dream," Tauriel said, bitterness thinly veiled. In a place such as this, she supposed it would.
In time they came upon Felegoth, swiftly now that Tauriel was leading. Swiftly because she knew the way, and swiftly because she stepped surely. Candathar followed in her footfalls to avoid any other roots or rocks.
The forest lightened ever more the closer they drew, air lifting into a sweeter fragrance. Eventually, even sunlight stung her eyes, filtering weak through cracks in the canopy. She had never been so glad to find ferns growing thick and green at her feet.
All too soon, Tauriel led her within stone, past great looming doors and epic pillars of breathtaking craftsmanship. Bridges weaved like stretching roots over the Forest River tumbling below. Light emanated from the same vague place as the music.
King Thranduil was Sindar, and he looked as one who would be at ease beside Galadriel and Celeborn. More than a little awed, Candathar bowed deeply before his throne.
"Elvenking, it is an honour to be granted your audience. I am in your service henceforth."
A long beat of silence choked the sweet air as Thranduil looked upon her. His gaze seemed to see right through to her very heart. Chillingly comparable to Galadriel's ability, though sharper and perhaps less unsettling.
"Speak what it is you are commanded to say."
This was something she had mulled over the entire journey, but she still found herself hesitating now. She had dreaded this encounter. Thranduil's reputation was not overly kind in Lothlórien.
"My presence here, Highness, is in hopes to better the relationship between our peoples. In dark days we have grown separate, though we are kin. My Lord and Lady wish that I might foster an exchange of culture and understanding between the elves of Lothlórien and Mirkwood once again."
Glancing up at the King, she found his eyes still piercing. "They expect me to remain in Mirkwood until such a time as I am summoned home. With your permission, that is."
Thranduil crossed his legs and adopted a more relaxed posture on his throne. "You have it. Indeed, we should strive not to be isolated from one another, especially in these times."
Though he spoke kindly, there was a steel beneath his words that could not be missed. Unsure what else to say, Candathar bowed again.
"Once you have had the chance to rest, Ambassador, I would like very much if you could join our feast tonight. I am confident there will be much there you may find inviting."
Truthfully, all she wanted right then was to sleep through to tomorrow. She had travelled a long way -- left by Lórien escorts at the border of Mirkwood -- and had never undertaken such a journey before. Her back still ached from the earlier fall.
Nevertheless, she was bound by duty. The request was superficial. "I would be honoured to attend, Highness."
"Good. Captain Tauriel will show you to your quarters, then fetch you later. I trust she will tend to any needs you have."
Tauriel cast a yearning look at the gates through which a unit of armoured soldiers were leaving. For the brief moment she considered Thranduil, Candathar could see the debate playing out on her face.
Finally, she beckoned for the Ambassador to follow her deeper into the halls.
>---|-
It was the knock at her door that awoke Candathar. Accustomed to living in platformed talans high up in the trees, the unexpected rapping sound startled her out of dreamless sleep. The concept of doors and knocking was entirely new, and she did not find it attractive.
Before climbing into bed earlier, she had thrown open every window. Curtains waving in a cool evening breeze were just familiar enough to disorient her upon waking. Fighting to get free of the tangle of blankets she had become cocooned in, Candathar stumbled to the door, fumbling with the handle.
It opened to reveal Tauriel. A cloak of tumbling autumn leaves wrapped around her shoulders, skirting the floor like live flame. Boots polished, her belt was stained a deep umber, and was buckled with shining silver. Her position as Captain must've been of high importance in Mirkwood's hierarchy for such an outfit.
She regarded Candathar with a quirked brow. "Forgive me if I've startled you. Perhaps you would like a few moments to prepare for the feast?"
“Spare me a moment."
The door shut again, Candathar splashed her face with fragranced water from a basin and changed into packed formal wear. Unseen grime from her journey still lingered on her skin, but she had no desire to keep her hosts waiting.
Playing with the amber brooch that affixed her cloak, Tauriel was still outside when Candathar opened the door again. At the creak of hinges she looked up. For the first time, Candathar noticed her eyes were hazel, shifting colour in torchlight.
She smoothed over her qipao - something traditionally suited for a gathering home in Lothlórien, so with luck it was appropriate here. “I apologise for the delay."
The Captain was already turning, gesturing for her to follow.
If not for Tauriel, Candathar doubted she could've ever found her way. Trying to memorise each corner as they went, she wondered how she would possibly navigate back when the gathering concluded. The tail of Tauriel's cloak rustled over endless smooth pale stone.
Eventually, tall gilded tunnels opened into a large multi-tiered space. Elves in many colours moved back and forth across weaving paths, and tables lined tiered platforms. Belatedly, Candathar realised they had returned to the throne hall – now decked in festive strings of dried plants – when she saw the huge set of antlers framing Thranduil's high seat.
Instead of his throne, however, the King sat now at the head of a table dressed with cornucopious foodstuffs. Holly berries alight like blood, his crown of twisted wood glimmered in firelight, and his robes were more impressive than all those around him: verdant silk inlaid with gold patterns like netted leaves.
Holding Candathar's arm to slow her as they ascended the steps, Tauriel murmured, "I must warn you, this feast is expected to grow rather merry. I advise you watch how much wine you drink. Our King is quite proud of his cellars."
"Thank you for the warning, Captain. I will take your advice to heart." Thranduil's love of wine was well known to Candathar. She doubted she could keep up with it, nor did she want to try.
Approaching the table, Candathar's heart settled firmly into her stomach. Though some ignored her presence entirely, many elves broke off conversations to stare. Small under their attention, she favoured watching each step rise beneath her feet.
Tauriel guided her with a hand between her shoulder blades to join the King. He gestured for her to take the empty seat immediately to his left while Tauriel sat beside her.
On Thranduil's immediate right was a young ellon picking at a dish of roasted vegetables. Candathar recognised him as Legolas, youngest of Thranduil's three children. A head-piece of twisted roots adorned his pale brow, set with emeralds like budding leaves. Hair dulled into blond by Silvan influence, he did not share the radiance of his father, and looked utterly bored – having heard what rumours she had, Candathar could only assume he was here for his father's benefit.
Thranduil leaned over to get the Prince's attention. "Legolas, this is Candathar, the ambassador from Lothlórien.”
Stirring, Legolas greeted her with a nod and a tight smile, which she returned in kind. Thanks to the table's curve they had a good view of each other over mountains of fruit.
"Welcome. I can only hope you enjoy your stay with us as much as my sister expects to in Lothlórien.”
Candathar bowed her head to hide a smile. "Thank you, Highness."
Standing, Thranduil raised his cup in a toast, his voice strong. It reverberated off the walls in a booming echo. "To friends and allies," He declared. "To our two kingdoms. Let us eat and be glad."
A cheer of 'hear, hear!' rose up throughout the hall as everyone agreed heartily. Candathar raised her cup alongside the others and sipped where they drank with vigour. The wine was definitely potent, carrying a sweetness of berries, as well as some melody of spices she couldn't identify.
Having not eaten since long before her arrival, Candathar dug in eagerly. Following her companions' lead, she picked small portions off platters for her own plate. Though she did not admit it when pressed for opinions, she found some meals shared with Lothlórien better made here, and their own dishes more exquisite. Or maybe she was simply tired of travel rations.
Conversation died around her when a group of elves took to a large open space: a sunken stone platform, the centre of an auditorium. The Forest River ran right through it, falling sharply off the edge so that a fine mist rose behind the performers. A buzzing excitement filled the air. Aware of Thranduil's and Tauriel's eyes on her, Candathar leaned forward with interest. Sweeping tones of music began to drift up to the high ceiling of the hall.
Legolas had disappeared a little into the feast. Finally she saw him now -- one of the dancers. A bright smile split his face as he moved in sync with them, not leading the group but at peace as a component, a vital puzzle piece.
When the main performance concluded, most other elves stood from the tables and filed down to the stage. Leaping over the river, they twirled amongst each other, laughter and song quickly filling the hall.
Tauriel glanced over. "Not going to join in?"
Pushing away her plate, Candathar forced a breath through her nose. "I've never quite gotten the hang of dancing."
"Oh. Perhaps Legolas could teach you? It's about the only thing he enjoys these days."
Though she did not look at Tauriel, favouring watching the elves below twist and sway, her lips ticked down. "Maybe. Some other time."
“I'll see to it.”
Doubt introduced itself. Was there some social blunder she was making here? Technically, it was her duty to honour their ways, not excuse herself from them.
"Is there anything in particular you're celebrating tonight?"
Shrugging off her cloak and draping it instead over the back of her chair, Tauriel shook her head. "Simply that we are alive, and well, and blessed with light."
That was as valid a cause for celebration as anything, Candathar thought. As long as she was not disrespecting a commemoration important to them.
As the evening wore on, the dancing ebbed and swelled between calm and vigour. Songs of voices and instruments alike called up to the brightening stars through cracks of moonbeam in the high rock ceiling. Elves retired, returned, rested and participated as they wished.
Tauriel herself left for a time, dragged away by her friends. They all referred to her as Captain, but she smiled around them, talking and drinking with an ease she did not allow at the King's table.
Slumped in her chair, Candathar disguised a yawn behind her wine cup. Thranduil, who had been coerced into a number of dances, draped his top layer of robes over a chair, face flushed and pale eyes alight.
"Are you bored, friend?" He asked breathlessly.
Candathar shook her head. Every action carried consequences, made ripples, in political settings. Celeborn had warned of that. Unbidden, she yawned again, behind her hand this time.
Surprisingly, Thranduil's gaze softened. He sat again beside her and gestured out to the thriving hall. "This shall continue until morning. You should prioritise your rest; we will not think less of you."
Pulled from her stupor by his words, Candathar managed to stand, thanking him with a low bow instead of words. Her eyes were heavy, thoughts sluggish.
Thranduil gestured to someone; Tauriel approached. Her light touch on Candathar's arm steered her through corridors and atriums and more corridors. She hardly saw them.
Somehow, she ended up in front of the door to her chambers.
