Damsel (Part 4)
Pairing: Thranduil x fem!Reader
(GIF by @iridescent-fingertips)
Summary: Your father, chief of a dwindling Dúnedain faction, betrothed you to King Thranduil of Mirkwood in a last-ditch effort to save your tribe from extinction. But those plans become severely upended when Smaug kidnaps you and holds you captive in Erebor.
Now sixty years later, after Thorin’s company liberates the mountain from Smaug, Thranduil, surprised to find you alive, has every intention of picking back up where you left off.
Somehow, you didn’t get that memo.
Catch Up: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
A/N: Another big one...buckle up. I've tried my hand at writing Thranduil's perspective, but I struggled quite a bit. There isn't much source material to work with, so I've taken some liberties with his character. I hope you like how I've interpreted him! Also, all the dragon lore is totally made-up, so please take this entire series with a whole salt mine.
Mae Govannen King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen,
I am pleased to inform you that your son and your betrothed have safely departed Lothlórien and are continuing on their journey to Imladris. I greatly appreciated their visit, and I thank you for encouraging them to come to our borders. I particularly enjoyed meeting your betrothed, the young Lady of the Dúnedain. She is a tenacious woman with an aptitude for diplomacy. Her calm and pleasant demeanor belies her eternal strength. I had always considered your decision to take a second wife, let alone a human one, peculiar. But I will admit, she is a wise choice and will make a formidable queen.
I spoke with her at length about her experiences in the captivity of the dragon. I have found that she is modest. She claims that she survived primarily on luck. I rarely meet anyone, elves, men, or dwarves, who possess the proper courage and steadfastness of heart to survive such an encounter. She has not succumbed to dragon sickness because of the goodness of her heart and the strength of her soul. I believe this is what attracted Smaug to her in the beginning. She is his sole opposite…someone he cannot be and cannot hope to attain, but try he did.
I believe this is why even in death Smaug cannot let her go. Dragon magic is old, mysterious, and dark, and I believe that Smaug fused his life essence with hers so that he may keep her for eternity. If he had not perished, she would have remained in his physical captivity for all time. Even now, Smaug’s remains lie imprinted on her soul, and this she must fight. She is strong and has fought for so long, but I fear how much longer she will be able to.
The dark forces that reside in the lands of Dol Guldur will rise once more, and this time, they will be led by Mordor. Until this evil is defeated, I fear no one can be free, and our Lady of the Dúnedain must continue to struggle against these forces, as we all do. While you fight the spiders in the woods, she must fight the dragon in her heart. Neither of you can do this alone, and you must take strength from each other.
I hope you are prepared to undertake this great task.
Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien
Thranduil leaned back in his chair and contemplated the letter with a slight frown. He was glad that you and Legolas had made it safely past Lothlórien and beyond pleased to hear that you had impressed Lady Galadriel. She rarely sent such frank letters describing her encounters, so the fact that she had taken the time to point out several of your beneficial qualities meant that you had done well in your first meeting. Thranduil had felt slightly guilty at not informing you of the usual elven protocol in cases of high profile marriages. Normally, Lady Galadriel, as the greatest of elven rulers, notionally approved or disapproved of these marriages. She rarely gave her disapproval, but in the case of the Elvenking marrying a human, nothing was certain.
Thranduil was puzzled by Galadriel’s parting line. He knew that she may have some insight into your condition, but as was typical of her, her words elicited more questions than they answered. Thranduil was well-aware that Smaug’s hold over you was serious and that you had been actively fighting against it. You waged a war every day and you had yet to take out your frustrations on anyone who did not deserve it. Thranduil did not think he could admire you more, as he knew firsthand how difficult such a feat was.
The idea that you would be fighting this evil until the forces of Mordor were finally defeated, while unsurprising, did not sit well with him. He had hoped that sending you on this journey would help you find a way to get rid of Smaug and eliminate his presence from your life so that you could move forward and take on your new position as queen with fewer troubles. But perhaps it would be possible that between Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel’s guidance, you would find a way to better manage the dragon’s curse.
Thranduil silently vowed that he would provide whatever aid you needed in your enduring struggle against this evil. He may not have been able to help you while Smaug was alive, but now that he was dead, there was a lot more that Thranduil could do.
Provided that you would be willing to accept his help.
Trust was still a problem between the two of you. Thranduil could sense in every interaction with him that you were holding back, not fully feeling comfortable in his presence. He did not take it personally as he understood deeply where the mistrust came from. After the passing of his beloved wife, Calathiel, he found it very difficult to trust anyone, particularly outsiders.
But, you were making progress. When you had first emerged from the mountain, finally free of Smaug’s captivity, you had managed to avoid him for a whole year, despite his incessant attempts to contact you. The King Under the Mountain had provided you cover, and in the early stages of repairing such a rocky relationship, not even Thranduil had dared to cross him simply to seek an audience with you. Thranduil was nothing if not patient, he was willing to wait as long as it took for you to begin to trust him and he you.
Thranduil’s gaze shifted to the box that sat on his desk which held the White Gems of Lasgalen, the gems of pure starlight that he had commissioned for Calathiel. He kept them in his study as a reminder not just of her, but of you. Specifically, he was reminded of your kindness, your generosity. You had gone to great effort to ensure that the gems were returned to him and his people, venturing deep within the mountain of Erebor, undoubtedly relieving the trauma of your captivity in the process. You had done it all to show that you were willing to meet him halfway and to work with him. For the first time in millennia, Thranduil was unsure of himself…unsure if he deserved such kindness, considering how he had failed to come to your aid in your hour of greatest need.
You were so very unlike his wife, Calathiel. She had been a noble maiden of Lothlórien and a trained warrior. She was passionate, unreserved, very much unlike himself, but that was why he had fallen deeply in love with her. She had been opinionated, challenging him at every turn, and encouraging him to become a better king. She was not a woman afraid of confrontation, which was so desperately needed in a kingdom plagued by darkness. She had fallen in battle, defending her kingdom from an orc ambush, when Legolas was merely five hundred years old.
Unlike Calathiel, you did not fight on the battlefield with a sword. No, your battles were in the court, and words were your weapons. Your father had taught you to open your ears and sharpen your mind, how to read your opponent and gauge what he wanted before he himself knew. You knew when to push and when to pull back, conceding a small point so that you may be able to score a larger victory in the long run. You did not rush into anything headfirst or impulsively. Instead, you sat back, carefully calculating and considering your options, evaluating how others may respond before you made your decision. It was this skillset that you had honed during your captivity under Smaug, and your diplomatic way with words had allowed you to survive.
Smaug was never going to be an enemy that you could physically defeat. You had known this from the very beginning. To survive, you had had to be clever, and that cleverness was what had allowed you to accomplish what so many powerful human and elven warriors could not.
Thranduil found himself wholly agreeing with Galadriel. You would make a valuable addition to his court and a formidable Queen of Mirkwood. Whereas Calathiel had been impulsive but inspiring, you would be pragmatic but loyal. Thranduil knew that your respect and loyalty were not freely given, but if he could earn them, he would unlock a partnership that would indeed be capable of banishing the evil from the forest for good. He had chosen well in selecting you as his second queen, even if others could not see it yet.
The question was how to earn that loyalty. Thranduil knew that you cared deeply about his kingdom…and himself, perhaps to a lesser extent. The dream you had shared with him, the one where Smaug burned down the forest and killed him, had disturbed and shaken you. You had become emotional at the thought of something like that happening in the real world, and up until that point, you had not shown such vulnerability with him. The fact that you were willing to open up to him had inspired him to reveal his scar, something he had not planned to show anyone else.
Thranduil was…cautiously optimistic that this relationship could work. More optimistic than he had been when he had ordered his advisors to approach your father to suggest the match. He had not known you at the time, and had had little information to work off of when making the decision. Your father’s ambassador had described you as a pensive, hard-working woman with a penchant for diplomacy. His own ambassador had corroborated that description and remarked that you were quite beautiful, for a human.
When Thranduil had briefly met you for the first time, now over sixty years ago, he had agreed. You were very beautiful, and if the descriptions of your personality were true, he would not find it difficult to get along with you. However, he had not taken the initiative to know you further, and had summarily lost his chance when Smaug kidnapped you. He regretted that he would never truly know who you were before your kidnapping. He could not be certain if your personality had been fundamentally altered as a result of spending sixty years in captivity. While he did not think that was the case, it saddened him that he would never know for sure.
One thing that he had picked up was your penchant for sarcasm, a very human trait. Elves never communicated that way, preferring to speak plainly. The only elf he had ever met that occasionally used sarcasm was Lord Elrond, but Thranduil had justified that on account of Elrond’s human parentage. The one time you had used sarcasm in Thranduil’s presence was to make a…joke…about your death.
Thranduil hated it. Merely thinking of your death caused his chest to constrict and panic to rise in his throat. He had barely survived the death of one wife. He was not sure he could survive another, even if he had only known you for a short time.
It was ironic then, that he had selected a mortal to marry. At the time, Thranduil had felt that it was his only option. While he would mourn the loss of a human spouse, he had assumed that he would not be as devastated as he had been when Calathiel had passed. Because elves only loved once in their lives.
Yet, Thranduil was beginning to realize that that was a foolish thought. Thranduil had not known you for very long, but if you suddenly died tomorrow on your journey to Rivendell…
…No, he could not think about it. He already felt his chest begin to constrict at the thought.
Thankfully, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He bid the person to enter, and his valet, Aeron, approached and bowed.
“Aran nin, the council awaits your presence,” Aeron informed, and Thranduil let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Normally, he found council meetings tedious. But at least in this moment, matters of state would provide a welcome distraction.
Your four-week journey to Rivendell after your detour in Lothlórien was utterly exhausting. The quickest way to Imladris was to backtrack, at least part of the way to Mirkwood, until you reached the Misty Mountains, and then cross those. Although this leg of the journey could be feasibly made in three, maybe even two, weeks by an elf, you were absolutely incapable of traveling quite that fast, no matter how many times Legolas encouraged you to keep going.
Crossing the Misty Mountains was the worst part. The elves of Lothlórien had given you additional stock of food and blankets to keep you warm, but while that would have been sufficient for Legolas, you struggled with the snow and cold. At one point, the two of you had to dismount and walk next to the horses because of the amount of snow on the mountain pass. The snow came up to your thighs—not as bad as it could have been, but certainly not fun—and you were forced to wade your way through it while Prince Legolas just glided over the damn stuff like it was no big deal. He never gave you a hard time about your limitations, but you could tell that traveling with humans was not something he was used to, and it irked him slightly.
But being human meant that you were predisposed to being a tenacious little shit, so you tried your best to still your chattering teeth and force your way up the mountain pass, cursing in as many elven dialects as you could think of.
You had survived sixty years of a fire-breathing dragon. You were simply not going to let some snow get the best of you.
Eventually, Legolas found a small cave in the mountain pass for the two of you to rest. Thankfully, the cave was not deep and dead-ended about twenty feet in, so the two of you were reassured, for the most part, that nothing unpleasant lived there. You led the horses inside the cave and tied them to some rocks jutting out of the wall. Legolas did his best to light a fire, and he managed to get a small one going, but most of the kindling that you had brought with you was damp from the snow. Still, a small fire was better than no fire at all. You pulled one of the blankets tightly around your shoulders and stared at the small flame.
“My Lady,” Legolas called, “Are you all right?”
You sniffed.
“Oh yes, fantastic,” you mumbled, grumpily, staring at the flames again before realizing Legolas hadn’t responded. You looked up, and he was frowning at you.
Damn. This elf really didn’t understand sarcasm. Hanging out with the Rangers of the North was going to be an absolute chore if he didn’t figure it out eventually.
“What I mean is, no, I’m not feeling great. I’m cold and tired, but I can handle it,” you clarified, “Thank you for agreeing to rest for the night. I would not have been able to navigate the snow with my limited night vision.”
Legolas nodded.
“Do not fret, we shall be through the mountains by tomorrow’s eve,” he assured, and you could only nod and hope that that was true.
The rest of the journey, though taxing, was nowhere near as eventful. The worst that happened was that Legolas had managed to pick up the trail of a nearby orc scouting party, and the two of you were able to hide in the trees while they passed. You counted yourself lucky that you hadn’t faced more perils on the road, because that was certainly not normal.
Rivendell was absolutely magnificent. You had always wanted to visit, having heard tales of its beauty, and you had anticipated that you would have plenty of opportunities to do so during your marriage to King Thranduil. After your kidnapping, the hope of visiting lands beyond Erebor had faded, but hadn’t died out completely. You were glad that you found the internal strength to push through each day of the last sixty years. You would not have had the opportunity to see such a spellbinding place if you didn’t.
The legendary elf, Lord Glorfindel and one of Elrond’s sons, Elrohir met you at the gates of the city, along with a few guards. You supposed that given Legolas’s status as a Mirkwood royal (and yours for that matter), it would only be proper to be received by high ranking members of Lord Elrond’s court.
“Welcome, my friends,” Elrohir said as you approached, “I imagine your journey was long.”
He didn’t even know the half of it, but you kept your mouth shut. Thranduil would probably be displeased if you mouthed off to the son of the Lord of Rivendell. Truth was, you were grumpy and tired, and you hoped beyond hope that you didn’t have to meet Lord Elrond immediately.
But hope was futile. After Legolas and Elrohir exchanged greetings, Lord Glorfindel turned to address you.
“Your Highness, welcome to Rivendell. Lord Elrond is most eager to meet you. I have been instructed to take you to him, once you have had a moment to rest,” he said with a smile.
Joy.
You politely returned the smile and as if on autopilot, parroted off some response that you hoped was acceptable before following them into the city. Your horse was taken to the stables and an attendant escorted you to your quarters, where you found fresh clothes and a bath were laid out for you.
Although you had been used to some creature comforts, being the daughter of a Dúnedain tribe leader, a hot bath smelling of lavender was not something you came across often. You thanked the attendant who returned later to find you clean, dressed, and ready to meet with Lord Elrond. The attendant surveyed your appearance for a moment before frowning.
“Is everything all right?” you asked, checking your dress to make sure that you had tied it up properly.
“Your Highness, were you not given a diadem to wear?” she asked, confused.
You were in fact given a headpiece, one suitable for a visiting elven queen…or rather the queen of an elven realm. But you weren’t exactly a queen yet.
“I was,” you clarified, “But King Thranduil and I are not yet married. It…did not feel appropriate to wear one.”
“Your Highness, it is only proper for a member of a royal family to wear one,” she insisted.
You had to refrain from rolling your eyes. Elves had such rigid decorum and procedures, so much so that even Prince Legolas found it difficult to deal with. And if he, who had grown up in this culture, found it tedious, then certainly you were allowed to be impatient about it too. But you had absolutely no energy to argue with her, and if wearing a damn headpiece got you through this process faster, then so be it. Reluctantly, you placed the silver circlet on top of your head, its presence foreign to you. You wondered how Thranduil managed with those heavy crowns that he wore while holding court.
Finally, after what seemed like forever (which you supposed you were just going to have to get used to with elves…they were never in any rush), you were escorted to Lord Elrond’s study.
“My Lady,” he greeted, warmly, as you entered his study, “Welcome to Rivendell. I trust your journey was not too taxing?”
You smiled as you approached Lord Elrond. You had never met him before, but he had a presence that made you feel at ease instantly.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” you returned, “This is my first time on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and I am very grateful that I had the opportunity to travel this far and visit your beautiful city.”
You might be grumpy, hungry, and tired, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t put on a pleasant face and schmooze when you needed to. Dáin would not have appointed you as an ambassador if you couldn’t.
“I am glad that you are here,” Lord Elrond said, genuinely, “Please, sit.”
He gestured to one of the chairs, and you took a seat while he sat across from you. An attendant came in and brought the two of you some tea. You gratefully accepted the cup, and Lord Elrond waited until the attendant had left before speaking again.
“I received a letter from King Thranduil many months ago describing some rather serious symptoms that you have been experiencing,” he began, getting straight to the point, which you appreciated, “But I would like to hear from you how I can be of service.”
You nodded and set your mug of tea down, before taking a deep breath. You had not expected to get into your trauma so quickly, but something about Lord Elrond made you feel as though you could trust him. You supposed that this was why he was so renowned as a healer. He had the correct aura about him.
“I’m sure, My Lord, that you have heard of my story by now. It has been something of a legend, I’ve heard,” you started, “But while the dragon Smaug has left this mortal plane…he has not left me.”
Elrond frowned in concern but did not interrupt you, and sipped at his tea.
“At first, I would have nightmares of my time in captivity,” you explained, “Mostly memories…things that were traumatic to relive, such as one of the many times I tried to escape and Smaug burned the soles of my feet. I could not walk for days.”
Elrond remained stoic, expression not changing, and you wondered if you were overwhelming him. But that thought seemed absurd. Elrond was an experienced warrior, several millennia older than you. You doubted that much could overwhelm him anymore.
“But as of late…” you continued, breath becoming shaky, “The nightmares are…lucid. They are not memories. It is as if…Smaug can control what I see. He…he can talk to me…and he tells and shows me awful things.”
You could feel the emotions rise as you remembered the latest crop of your dreams, but you clamped down on your tears as hard as you could.
“The nightmares have gotten worse. I feel as though I cannot escape,” you mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment, “It was this…behavior that concerned King Thranduil. I thought this was something I could handle on my own, but he disagreed, and encouraged me to come here to seek help. I found that I could no longer argue with him on this.”
Lord Elrond nodded, but remained silent.
“I do not know what has happened to me,” you said, “Smaug is physically gone, but he still remains inside me. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. All I know is that I want to be rid of him, he has tortured me for long enough. Will you be able to help me?”
You felt very meek, as though you were begging. But you could simply not handle this anymore. Smaug continued to disturb your dreams, even while you were on the roads with Legolas. He hadn’t noticed because of your uncanny ability to hide your suffering.
Instead of frowning or sighing in exasperation at the monumental task ahead of him, Lord Elrond gave you a reassuring smile.
“My Lady, I thank you for telling me all of this. Believe me when I say that I understand how difficult it must be for you to constantly relive your pain,” he assured, “Both Mithrandir and Thranduil had described to me the seriousness of your condition, and I have done some study in preparation for your visit.”
It was your turn to nod and remain silent while he spoke.
“I am sorry to tell you that I fear that some of the effects from prolonged exposure to Smaug’s black magic may be permanent,” he lamented.
Your heart nearly stopped at his words, but Lord Elrond was quick to clarify what he meant.
“I am of the opinion that Smaug used his magic to bind his lifeforce to yours. In essence, he has bonded his soul to yours,” Elrond said.
That…made you feel a whole lot worse actually.
“Wait…” you breathed, “Does this mean…I am permanently tied to him?”
Elrond shook his head.
“No,” he said firmly, “Smaug could not have accomplished this on his own. He needed to ally himself with the dark forces of Mordor to achieve this power. I believe it is those forces that are allowing him to maintain this connection with you, even in death.”
You let out a shuddering breath and clenched your teacup so hard, you wondered if the porcelain might shatter.
“So, what you mean is that in order for Smaug to leave me, the evil of Mordor must be defeated,” you summarized.
Elrond nodded.
“I am sorry, My Lady, but yes. Unfortunately, I do not believe there is an easy fix to this,” he apologized, “But, we may be able to formulate a plan that will help you manage these symptoms and fight Smaug’s influence.”
That sounded exhausting. But you didn’t really have a choice, did you?
“What about side effects?” you ventured, “Gandalf believes that the dragon’s magic may extend my life. I am Dúnedain, so it is natural for me to live longer than most humans. But exactly how much longer am I to live?”
Lord Elrond sighed.
“That, My Lady, I believe, is one of the permanent effects,” he explained, “Dragons are immortal beings. Smaug was not planning to die, so to keep you, a mortal being, with him, he needed to bind his life force to yours so that you would match his lifespan.”
You stilled at his words.
“My Lady, I believe that you may have inadvertently become immortal,” Elrond said.
You barely heard the sound of the teacup shattering as it fell from your grasp.
The wind blasted your face as you urged your horse to go faster and faster. You were almost to the end, to victory. Suddenly, you heard hooves stomping beside you, and you quickly turned your head to find Arwen, Lord Elrond’s daughter, gaining on you, until the two of you were side-by-side. And that distraction was your fatal mistake. She smirked and with an Elvish command, urged her horse to soar past yours and cross the threshold of the gates of the city just before you.
You groaned as you encouraged your horse to slow to a stop. You had lost. Again. You were sure that you had had that race. But once again, Arwen’s centuries of experience had given her an advantage.
“Do not despair, mellon nin,” she assured, “You performed very well today. I almost thought that I would surely lose.”
You grumbled. You weren’t normally a sore loser, but keeping up with the elves was starting to get to be a little frustrating, and you tried not to let it show.
“Frankly, I also thought I was going to win,” you admitted, “Alas.”
Arwen laughed, her voice melodious.
“Shall we go again?” she challenged, and you lamented that you would have to refuse this time.
“I apologize, but I do have a meeting with your father this afternoon,” you informed her, “He set me an…assignment, and unfortunately, I have yet to complete it.”
Arwen laughed again and shook her head.
“What sort of assignment?” she asked, and you shrugged.
“One of his usual reading assignments,” you sighed, “About dragon magic. I am to come prepared to discuss it with him. Normally, I find most of the books he gives me quite interesting. However, I have been…procrastinating on this particular one.”
Arwen narrowed her perfectly manicured eyebrows in an expression of concern.
“Are you certain that you are ready for an assignment of that magnitude?” she questioned.
It was a fair question. You had been in Rivendell for about six months, and your weekly sessions with Lord Elrond were becoming more difficult to get through. The assignments he had given you involved mostly reading or speaking with experts on various topics from medicine to magic to history. Additionally, Lord Elrond would have you record the days you had nightmares and include a brief description of each one, if you could remember. If you could not, he had you describe what you felt upon waking. It helped him monitor your progress at combating Smaug’s influence. You had been grateful at Lord Elrond’s attentiveness throughout these past six months. You were not his only patient, but you knew that he had promised Thranduil that he would oversee your recovery personally. You just hadn’t expected him to be so generous with his time.
Lord Elrond had devised a three phase plan to aid in your recovery. Phases one and two would be completed in Rivendell simultaneously, where you would work on both your mental and physical ability to fight Smaug’s influence, and by extension, the growing evil within Middle Earth. Phase three would require Thranduil’s help, but Elrond had not offered specifics as to what that would look like. You really hoped it didn’t involve some type of…couple’s sessions. You would voluntarily lock yourself back up in Erebor before talking about your feelings with Thranduil in front of a third party. No way.
You turned back to Arwen and offered a tired smile.
“He seems to believe that I am ready for it,” you explained, “I am not sure I believe it, but I trust your father.”
Arwen nodded, and gracefully dismounted her horse. You followed suit and the two of you led the horses back to the stable where you passed off their care to the stablehand.
“We are expecting a visitor later this week,” she said, “I imagine that Ada will speak to you about it further.”
You frowned. You wrote to Thranduil on a regular basis; surely he would have told you if he had planned to visit you and Legolas in Rivendell.
“My husband?” you asked. You had finally caved and began referring to Thranduil as your spouse because that was what everyone else called him, despite you not being officially married yet. You couldn’t deny…it had a nice ring to it.
You would sooner jump in Mount Doom than admit that, however.
Arwen shook her head and gave you a smile.
“No, not him,” Arwen said, “Someone else. He is coming specifically to meet you.”
Well that was…concerning.
You were unable to pry any further information out of Arwen, and you spent the rest of your afternoon stewing over her words rather than complete the assignment Lord Elrond had given you. You knew that he wouldn’t be upset as you had diligently completed any work assigned to you thus far, but you felt guilty at the thought of wasting his time. You kept wracking your brain trying to figure out who, other than your betrothed, would possibly want to travel all the way to Rivendell to see you. The only person you could remotely think of was Mithrandir, but if that had been the case, you assumed that Arwen would have just said as much.
When it was time for your scheduled appointment with Lord Elrond, you made your way over to his study, as usual, and waited until he finished his previous meeting before sitting down in your usual chair. Once again, his attendant offered you tea, which you accepted, but you always made sure to set the teacup on the table after each sip. You had no desire to break one of his teacups again.
“Good afternoon, My Lady,” Lord Elrond greeted, sitting down across from you, “How did you find the book I gave you?”
“Please forgive me, My Lord,” you lamented, “I’ve only completed the first two chapters before I got…distracted.”
“Oh?” Elrond asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Lady Arwen informed me to expect a visitor later this week,” you clarified, “I’m afraid that I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to work out who it could be and have fallen short.”
Lord Elrond chuckled lightly at this.
“Ah yes, I meant to discuss this with you today after our session, but I suppose it is no hardship to discuss it now,” Elrond conceded, “I received a missive last night from one of my former wards. He has spent the past few years in the north as a ranger.”
You blinked in surprise.
“A Dúnedain?” you asked, heart pounding in anticipation, “One of the Rangers of the North?”
Lord Elrond nodded and gave you a small smile.
You leaned back in your seat and stared out the window for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You had not seen your people in over sixty years, and you were not sure if you ever would again. Growing up, the Dúnedain had been severely divided without a leader and very little loyalty to one another. Even though Legolas was seeking out the one they call Strider, you hadn’t truly believed that you would ever meet one of the Rangers of the North again.
You took a quick sip of your tea before turning back to Elrond.
“May I ask…who is this ranger?” you inquired.
“He is called Strider,” Elrond revealed, “I believe you knew his father. His true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn—”
“Isildur’s heir,” you interrupted, voice quiet, “Gods above. He is alive.”
“Yes,” Elrond affirmed, “He has been under my care since his father passed.”
You closed your eyes, remembering the bright and vibrant child Arathorn used to be. It had saddened you deeply to learn of his passing a few years ago. He was very young.
“King Thranduil told me that nobody knew of his whereabouts,” you remembered.
“Yes, we have kept his identity hidden all these years for his safety,” Elrond explained, “King Thranduil is one of the few that knows him both as Aragorn and Strider, but Aragorn is constantly on the move, once again for his safety. He only tells one or two people where he can be found at any given time.”
You nodded.
“Yes, that is wise,” you concurred, “I suppose then he will be coming to reunite me with my people, as my new chieftain?”
Elrond smirked.
“Yes, that, but do you not need his permission to continue with your marriage?” he questioned.
You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes and hung your head in embarrassment.
You had forgotten about that.
You were sitting outside in one of the many alcoves overlooking the waterfalls of Rivendell, quietly reading one of the tomes Elrond had selected for you. You heard soft footsteps, and looked up from your book to find a young human man with dark, curly hair approaching you. He had a kind face adorned with a smile.
This must be Aragorn. You returned his smile, set your book aside, and rose to meet him.
“Lord Aragorn,” you greeted, “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“I must say, the honor is entirely mine, My Lady,” Aragorn returned, bowing as he approached you, which made you chuckle slightly.
“My Lord, you are my chieftain and my king. If anything, I should bow to you,” you insisted.
“My Lady, you bow to no one,” he said, his expression serious, “I apologize for not greeting you when you first arrived in Rivendell. I have been tracking an orc stronghold up north. I came as soon as I heard that you had arrived in the city.”
You tilted your head in curiosity, and gestured to the alcove, inviting Aragorn to sit, which he did.
“There is nothing to forgive,” you assured, “However, I confess that I am surprised. I was unaware of how far my story has spread. I was unsure if the remaining Dúnedain tribes realized that I was still alive. Indeed, you are the first of our people that I have seen in some time.”
Aragorn’s expression softened at your words.
“Several surviving members of your tribe eventually made their way past the Misty Mountains, and swore allegiance to my father, after yours passed,” Aragorn explained, “I was of course not yet born when you were kidnapped, but your story was well-known to both my grandfather and my father. You knew them both, did you not?”
You nodded.
“Yes,” you reminisced, “I used to tend to your father on occasion when my father and your grandfather held long meetings. He was a child at the time.”
Aragorn’s expression brightened.
“What was he like?” he asked, excitedly.
“Oh, he was a very sweet and precocious child,” you replied, smiling, “And quite mischievous. He liked to slip my watch and wander off to areas he wasn’t supposed to go. I remember once, we were playing some game, and he ran off and found a frog that he tried to stick in my pocket! Imagine the fright I had when I noticed what he was doing.”
Aragorn laughed heartily at your story, likely discovering a completely new side to his father from what he was usually told.
“Thank you, My Lady, for indulging me,” he said, gratefully, “My father passed away when I was young. I did not have the chance to know him.”
You nodded.
“I am very sorry, My Lord. It is my understanding that Arathorn was quite young,” you consoled, “I was deeply saddened to hear of his passing from Mithrandir.”
Aragorn sighed.
“There are few Dúnedain alive these days who remember him,” Aragorn murmured, “Our numbers are dwindling fast.”
It was your turn to sigh and shake your head.
“That was the case sixty years ago. It does not surprise me that this continues to be an issue today,” you lamented, “I am glad to hear that some of my tribe members survived Smaug’s desolation. I was under the impression that our tribe was extinct.”
Aragorn shook his head.
“No, My Lady, I believe several descendants still live,” he confirmed, “But we are becoming more scattered every day.”
“How many of them know that the line of Isildur is still alive?” you ventured, cautiously, trying to work out just how desperate the situation had become.
“Few,” Aragorn mumbled, “Lord Elrond insists that it is for my own safety.”
He sounded frustrated, and you couldn’t blame him. But you also knew that Lord Elrond was quite correct in this regard. If someone like Smaug, an ally of Mordor, had known of Aragorn’s existence…well…you weren’t sure that the two of you would be sitting here today. You hoped that the small piece of Smaug that still existed could not commune with the forces of Mordor…that was probably something you should have asked Lord Elrond a while ago.
“I am afraid that I must agree with him on this matter,” you said, “Smaug was but a symptom of a larger problem. The evil of Mordor grows stronger by the day. It would not be wise to reveal yourself until you are truly ready to assume the mantle of King of Gondor.”
Aragorn clenched his jaw, teeth grinding in frustration.
“And what if I do not wish to?” he hissed.
You blinked at his words, slightly taken aback by the harsh tone of his voice. You had to remind yourself then that Aragorn was young. He was exactly the same age that you had been when Smaug kidnapped you. How little you had known of the world at that age, and how naive you had been to your role in the cosmic order of things. You had never been fond of the idea of destiny, a concept that the elves seem to revolve around. But spending time with Thranduil and Elrond had made you more open to the idea that things happened for a reason…whether you liked it or not.
“You know, I was never particularly keen on being Queen of Mirkwood,” you stated, “In fact, just a few short years ago, I would have rather jumped in Mount Doom than marry King Thranduil. I managed to avoid him for a whole year after being liberated from Erebor.”
Aragorn raised an eyebrow, curiosity plain on his face as he tried to work out where you were going with this.
“Practically speaking, I needed the Elvenking’s support, as I had problems that only he was equipped to solve,” you continued, “But as I moved forward with my betrothal, I began to realize that perhaps being queen was exactly what I was meant to do. It was certainly not the role I had envisioned for myself at your age, and even as recently as a few years ago. However, I soon understood that as much as I did not want to, I still had a role to play. And it was important that I played it, as much for my own sake as that of Middle Earth.”
Aragorn didn’t look convinced, and you couldn’t blame him.
“Perhaps your betrothal now is your choice,” Aragorn commented, “But what about your first one? Why would you go through with a marriage with so much uncertainty? Particularly one on which you were not keen.”
You tilted your head and considered his question for a moment before replying.
“I’m sure I don’t need to explain this to you, My Lord, but sometimes in life, we just have to do things we do not want to do,” you parried, “And when you are in a position of leadership, it is more pronounced.”
Aragorn nodded.
“Exactly,” he asserted, “What good does it serve to be thrust into a role that you do not want?”
You sighed.
“Well,” you continued, “Oftentimes the best leaders are the ones who do not want to lead, but who rise to the occasion when called. I did not want to marry King Thranduil sixty years ago, and I can assure you that he was less than enthused about marrying me. But both of us had our reasons for going through with the marriage, just as we do today. I suppose my reasons are less altruistic these days, but even if I personally stand to gain something now, there is still the issue of Mirkwood needing a queen. I have found that it is not useful to dwell on what could be and focus on the hand that the Valar have dealt.”
Aragorn looked a bit more contemplative.
“You could choose to abdicate your birthright if you wish,” you said, “I would certainly not judge you for it. But it would not solve the problem of reuniting the race of men and defeating the forces of evil that are plaguing this world. Pragmatically, you are in the best position to solve this issue.”
Aragorn sighed and closed his eyes, as if remembering something.
“So was Isildur,” he lamented.
Your eyes softened as you discovered the root of his fears. You reached over and squeezed his hand in what you hoped was a reassuring way.
“Last I checked, it is not Isildur who stands before me,” you said.
Aragorn gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand back.
My Lord King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen,
I write to express my heartfelt congratulations on your betrothal and to formally grant my permission for you to wed my fellow tribeswoman. I additionally grant her the ability to act in my stead on any matters concerning the Dúnedain and Mirkwood during her tenure as queen. I would be most honored if you would permit me to attend the ceremony and stand in on her father’s behalf.
I have most enjoyed meeting your son, Prince Legolas. He has expressed interest in traveling with me after the wedding. With your permission, I believe his expertise would be most valuable as I attempt to unite the remaining northern Dúnedain tribes.
I look forward to your reply.
Estel
King Thranduil smiled slightly at Aragorn’s words, glad that the last barrier to finalizing your marriage was finally overcome. Thranduil might be known for playing the long game, but for an elf, he was impatient. Prolonged exposure to his late Calathiel had exacerbated whatever impatience that he had been born with. He was sure that marrying a human would only make it worse, because on account of their short life span, humans were always in a rush.
Lord Elrond had sent him a letter, along with Aragorn’s, updating Thranduil on your progress. You sent him letters as well, but Elrond had the natural gift of knowing his patients better than they themselves did. You constantly underestimated your strength and your abilities, whereas Elrond had nothing but praise for you. You had your moments of frustration, but by and large, you had taken your treatment plan seriously and were making great progress. Seven months in Rivendell, under the care of Elrond, had seen a great reduction in the severity of your nightmares.
Thranduil moved from Aragorn’s letter, and opened Lord Elrond’s, raising a curious eyebrow at its contents.
King Thranduil,
I am greatly pleased at your betrothed’s progress in her healing. She has reported approximately one nightmare a week, which is greatly reduced from nearly every day. Additionally, she describes that during her nightmares, she is able to interact with Smaug much more forcefully than she has before. She rarely dreams of the deaths of those she loves, and mostly recalls her memories from her time in the mountains. Occasionally, she dreams of her own death at Smaug’s hands, but ironically, she finds those dreams…amusing. It seems to be a peculiar human trait. She does not wish for her own death, but finds Smaug’s attempts to harm her…funny. I will confess to not having encountered this behavior before, but Estel was not concerned on the few occasions I have asked him about this. It may be something you may need to get used to.
I am sure she has informed you of this already, but I have been of the opinion that her time with Smaug has permanently impacted her lifespan, making her immortal. Over the past several months, I have conducted a series of tests and compared her results to Estel’s from just after he entered his adult years. Indeed, the results are not the same. Even the Dúnedains exhibit monthly signs of age, but she does not. I believe it may be safe to conclude that my suspicions about her lifespan are correct. When she returns to Mirkwood, I will send instructions for your own healers to continue these tests regularly and report the results to me. If there is a change, of course, we shall handle it then.
Her physical stamina has also improved significantly. Lord Glorfindel has generously taken charge of training her in swordcraft, and she has become quite proficient. I’m afraid that she still struggles with archery, but Prince Legolas is a most patient teacher. I hope you are proud of both of them. Legolas has come a long way since Calathiel’s passing, and he certainly shares her desire to see the world. I do believe that he and Estel would have much to learn from each other.
I have not forgotten my promise to find a way to heal your scars, given that your betrothed has extensive experience with healed dragon fire scars. She has a few unhealed scars on her lower back, and we have tried several remedies. Unfortunately, none of them worked for her, therefore I will extrapolate that they will not have an effect on you. I will continue to work diligently to find a solution as your betrothed was able to provide more information on this process than I have ever encountered. Although my first attempts at a remedy have not worked, I feel optimistic that we will find a solution one day.
I would like to continue to supervise her recovery for the remainder of the year, after which, I will gladly release her from my care. Estel has agreed to accompany her and Legolas back to Mirkwood and intends to stand in for her father at your wedding, with your permission of course.
Lord Elrond
Thranduil felt immediate relief at Elrond’s confirmation of your immortality. Yes, you had mentioned it to him as a possibility several months ago, but Thranduil had not held onto the hope that it could be true. Humans weren’t immortal, and that alone had caused Thranduil a great amount of consternation over your marriage. However, this was no longer an issue, and you would live as long as him.
He would not have to be alone again.
You had treated the subject of your possible immortality so casually in your letters that Thranduil had absolutely no idea how you felt about it. Elves grew up knowing that they would never die, at least from the ravages of time. However, aging and death were a constant for humanity, to the point where death did not bother you as much as it did elves. Thranduil worried for you—he knew firsthand what it was like to watch those around you die while you lived on. Although you had been reunited with the remnants of the Dúnedain, it remained to be seen how you would handle Estel’s eventual death. Perhaps you had not thought that far ahead, or more pragmatically, you had decided to only deal with one problem at a time.
Your practicality was something that Thranduil greatly admired. You knew when to triage your energy and how to handle the obstacles in front of you. However, he worried that your ability to compartmentalize would mean that you would not allow yourself to work through your emotions, whether they were positive or negative. Thranduil himself was quite similar to you in that respect. He had hardened his heart after so many losses, and usually refused to deal with his own emotions. But if there was one thing that he could say, it was that you were pragmatic enough to know when you were overwhelmed with your own emotions. Perhaps you had trouble asking for help, but you at least knew when you needed it, which is more than Thranduil could say for himself.
He had only known you for a short time, but he had learned much from you. You hadn’t been gone a year, a mere blip in the lifetime of an elf, but Thranduil felt your influence and your absence keenly. You brought a sense of calm and hope to his court and his life, and he had often found himself seeking out your guidance on matters of state. Not only did you have practical ideas, but you were able to act as a neutral third-party—you did not try to flatter him or sugarcoat your opinion. You respected him enough to give him your honest thoughts…delivered diplomatically, of course.
Thranduil was reminded every day of why he needed to remarry and why he had selected you. He was glad that he had. While he was not in love with you…yet…he knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was. In fact, he could feel those feelings rise every day.
He missed you. Completely.
He hadn’t allowed himself to feel these feelings since his wife had passed. And now, he found that he couldn’t stop them.
No, he was wrong.
He was in love with you. Yes…he couldn’t deny it anymore.
That had always been his problem. He felt too deeply, fell too quickly. That was why he had to close himself off from everyone because he could not bear to be hurt again.
He was unsure of where you stood in your own feelings, as you could be more closed off than him when you wanted to be…an accomplishment in its own right. He knew that you cared for him, and that you were well on the road to forgiving him. But whether you could love him…that he did not know.
He closed his eyes and prayed to Valar that one day you would.
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