Chapter XXIII: (EXT) Êlenuil Everstar (Pt. II)
Mirkwood became quiet again after the skirmish with the Easterlings. I knew it would not last and my council prepared for war. The guards at the southern border were multiplied and my army spent their days preparing to fight. Randúmîr recovered but rather than return to the southern borders, he was appointed to council with Aldáros. With uncertainty looming, many elves decided to begin the long journey to Mithlond.
Elenadar sent his wife Elarían away with their sons Sîrandír and Sîrandor. Her sister, Elenlúin decided to accompany her. Her husband Elenatar sent his sons Sílrandor and Sûlrandír. Fëaluin tried to convince Linurial to accompany them, but she refused to leave him.
At dawn, I watched a family tearfully say farewell once more. I thought back many centuries—now wishing Êlúriel had left with my mother and her father.
“I would never have left you,” I heard Êlúriel say to me.
“Must you always read my thoughts,” I asked smiling. “They are my last bastion of solitude.”
“Your thoughts are as loud as you are,” she said. “If not more so.”
“I know I could never persuade you to go to Eldamar,” I said. “You are too stubborn.”
“No more than any other wife,” she said. “But I am also the queen and I belong with my people.”
We looked at each other—a wave of commonality washed over us.
“You know of the attack by the Easterlings on our southern borders,” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered. “Fëaluin told me not long after Randúmîr was brought in.”
“What do you think of it,” I asked her.
“I know you have reinforced the southern borders as it is the most likely to be compromised,” she said. “That will not be enough, for the western borders' greatest weakness lies in the lack Beornings left to help defend it.”
She smiled and left me standing on the bridge in wonderment. As I prepared to go inside, Sildôr approached.
“Sildôr,” I said. “The elf I wanted to see.”
“Yes,” he asked.
“I think we should reinforce our western borders,” I said.
“It is done,” he answered. “I have made Arawë aware of it just now.”
“Oh,” I said surprised. “How did you know to do it?”
“By order of Queen Êlúriel,” he said, smiling. He bowed and went on his way.
I smiled to myself as I went on about my duties. By the afternoon, I was in my study with Eldôr, Elranduil and Ardôr discussing what had transpired evening last.
“The presence of even a few Easterlings means that Dol Guldur may rise again,” Elranduil said. “Though they will not pass this way, evil rises and will come from many places.”
“We are not nearly as vulnerable to attack as others,” Eldôr said. “There is much trepidation about entering our borders. But whatever remains at Dol Guldur will only attack those beyond our borders. It is as much a curse as it is a blessing.”
“What remains at Dol Guldur is precisely the reason there is much trepidation,” Elranduil added. “You know as well as I that we are no more or less vulnerable from an attack than anyone outside our borders."
“We may be able keep some things at bay, but not others,” Ardôr said, nervously. “Father, why can you not demand Mother to leave? If she left, I know Ninyáre would follow.”
“I cannot persuade Ardúin to anything she does not wish to do, son,” Elranduil said. “Should she decide to leave for Mithlond, it will be when she is ready.”
“We need her,” I said. “There are few ladies left to attend to the wounded. That is the reason she stays. For now, they are far safer within these halls than they are traveling to Mithlond.”
“The numbers of elves willing to remain grows less and less,” Eldôr said.
“Between here, Rivendell and Lothlórien, our numbers dwindle as war grows ever closer. They spoke of it when I returned from Mithlond after I saw Nimeithel and Valdúril on their way. Círdan spoke of many waiting upon his return from Dagorlad.”
“It is good to know they are safe,” I said softly, thinking of my mother. “I want them to remember things the way they were, not as they have become.”
“They lived through much worse, Thranduil,” he answered. “So have I. I have come to realize that evil is as much a part of the world as good.”
“There is far too much evil,” Ardôr said. “It is all around us.”
“It is here to be heard,” I said. “There is far more good in this world than evil, but it must speak louder to get our attention and we give it fully because it is easier to hear the howling of a warg than it is the fluttering of a butterfly. We should fear what we become from what frightens us. Fear is the life blood of evil—it cannot exist without it. We cannot give evil what it wants if we are to defeat it.”
“You have become wiser with age, Thranduil,” Fëaluin said as he entered.
“Pardon my intrusion, but you have more pressing issues to deal with just now.”
“What might that be,” I asked. “What could me more pressing than planning for war?”
“You are needed in audience,” he said.
“Who seeks an audience with me,” I asked, wondering whom had come into my kingdom.
“I am afraid it is you that is being called to have an audience,” he said smiling.
“I was told that you must come straight away.”
“Who dares command me,” I said angrily.
“Nenduîl and Tárimë,” he said. “They are in their chambers waiting to speak to you.”
Immediately, I calmed down and light laughter filled the room. I looked at Ardôr.
“Do you know what this is about,” I asked him.
“No,” he answered, perplexed.
I left my study and went toward their chambers. As I approached, the guards opened the doors and I entered to find Nenduîl and Tárimë standing with Eärluin in the middle of the room together calmly.
“Nenduîl. Tárimë. Eärluin,” I asked. “Is something the matter?”
“Who are we,” Nenduîl asked softly. “Why are we different from others?”
“What do you mean,” I asked walking to them and kneeling before them. “Who told you that you were different?”
“Aranduil,” Tárimë answered. “He said that we were not like anyone else. So I hit him and sent him away.”
“Tárimë, that was not nice,” I said. “You should never hurt another—especially your cousin. I do not think he was teasing you.”
“Then it is true,” Nenduîl said. “We are different.”
“I do not want to be different,” Eärluin said frowning.
“No one likes us anymore,” Tárimë said sadly. “Do you like us?
“What are you saying,” I asked. Everyone loves you and so do I.”
“Then why are we different,” Nenduîl asked.
“You are a boy,” Eärluin said. “I do not want to be a boy.”
“You will never become a boy, Eärluin,” I began. “And you are not different, Nenduîl. You are elves. Like Aranduil and Auríel and all the other elves in the kingdom. But you also have some of your mother inside you as well. A small part of her will always be with you.”
“We are mortal,” Tárimë said. “We will die like Nana.”
“No,” Nenduîl said angrily “I do not want to die!”
“What is die, Ada,” Eärluin asked.
“Ada,” Tárimë asked. “You are our Ada now?”
“Ada and Nana,” Eärluin said defiantly pointing at me.
That took my breath from me. How does one explain immortality to ones so young. I was given the responsibility of their care but tried to keep their parents in their memory.
“You are,” Nenduîl said. “Ours is not here. He left us with you. Now you are Ada.”
“Yes,” Tárimë agreed. “May we call you Ada?”
“If you wish.”
“Good,” Nenduîl said. “Are we going to die?”
“I do not want to die,” Eärluin said. “What is die?"
“Die is when you sleep forever,” I said. “You can never wake up.”
“Like our other Nana,” Tárimë said. “She died.”
“What other Nana,” Eärluin asked. “Why is she died?”
“Your other Nana was ill,” I said as I struggled to explain things well beyond their understanding—even as they tried to understand. “She went to sleep, Eärluin. Forever. That is what mortals do when they fall ill or grow old.”
“Are we mortal,” Tárimë asked. “Is that why we are different?”
“You are not fully mortal, Tárimë,” I said. “The smallest part of you is mortal. The part that comes from your mother.”
“What is mortal,” Eärluin asked.
“It is what we are not,” Nenduîl said. “We will never die.”
“Elves can die as well,” I said. “By many ways, Nenduîl. But I will not let that happen to you or your sisters. You have my word.”
“That is good,” Tárimë said.
“Why do you say that,” I asked.
“Because if we were to die, we would never see you again, Ada.”
They embraced me. I felt happier than I had in a very long time. I was in love with Nenduîl, Tárimë and Eärluin as I was with Tarthôn, Legolas and Isílriel.
“Now, go find Aranduil and apologize for hitting him,” I said to Tárimë. “I must go have a word with your Nana.”
“Tárimë hit him,” Eärluin laughing. “She hits like a girl.”
“Eärluin,” I said. “Go on with your brother and sister.”
She giggled as she ran out of the room with her siblings. I stood up and walked into the hall to find Êlúriel. I saw Isílriel speaking with Êleníel, daughter of Sildôr. She was as beautiful as Isílriel—with long golden hair and spritely blue eyes.
“Your Majesty,” Êleníel said bowing.
“Hello, Ada,” Isílriel said. “You must be looking for Nana.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Her Majesty is above us,” Êleníel said, motioning upward.
“Thank you, Êleníel,” I said. “Isílriel.”
I continued to the end of the hall and up the spiral stairwell leading to the rooms above the thrones. I noticed evening was upon us as I could see evening’s twilight revealing the first stars of night. Several elves had begun the nightly ritual of lighting lanterns throughout the palaces. I glanced right to see Êlúriel standing by a window overlooking roaring falls starting to gleam in star and lantern light. She was wearing a long white gown with long delicate sleeves of sheer muslin; her long waves flowing behind her. She turned to see me and smiled as I approached.
“Is there anything you cannot do,” I asked her.
“How do you mean,” she asked.
“You raise our children, command our armies, keep our court and somehow manage to always look breathtakingly beautiful.”
She smiled at me then started to laugh.
“Oh, Thranduil,” she began. “You are quite possibly the worst liar in all of Arda.”
“I am not lying, Êlúriel,” I said. “I was paying a compliment to the queen.”
“To what do I owe such flattery,” she asked.
“Everything,” I said, caressing her face. “That is what you are to me.”
“And you are everything to me,” she whispered before I felt her lips on mine.
We allowed ourselves to escape the agony and pain we had endured for months—knowing it would not be long before I saw battle again—one last time.”––TKWR:BII The Saga of Thranduil (EXT. VER.) by J. Marie Miller 12-18-17
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