~When Thranduil pays a visit, Lasriel's secrets are revealed. Later she tries to convince him Legolas needs an elfling.~

~♕~

"I'd rather die tomorrow than live
a hundred years without knowing you."

– John Smith, Pocahontas

~♕~

3. A Proposal

When Lasriel saw Legolas again, he wore a thin silver circlet on his brow and had changed into a similar coat as his father's. She liked the green tunic he had worn before better, but this suited him too. Now he looked like a prince.

It would not be easy to get to talk to him; the queue of well wishers and people asking about the war was long, so Lasriel decided to eat her fill while waiting.

She enjoyed the supper immensely. Everything was delicious and the wine top notch, and she probably had a little too much of the latter. But it was a party after all, she wanted to make the most of it. Who knew when she would get to attend one again? Her mother might lock her up indefinitely for her disobedience.

When the sun set, the bonfire was lit and the musicians began to play dance music. Soon wide circles were formed, attracting scores of merry elves.

Lasriel saw her chance. Resolutely walking up to the prince, she bowed. "Shall we dance for old times sake?"

He hesitated briefly, but the dwarf nudged him. "I don't mind waiting, my lad. Have fun!"

"It would be my honor." Legolas offered his arm.

Walking towards the dance circles, Lasriel's heart fluttered. After thinking about him so much over the years, it felt surreal to be this close again. Especially since he had turned into this new, handsome version, whose arm felt strong under her fingertips and whose scent made her light-headed.

"How have you been all these years?" she asked, a bit breathless.

"Fine, mostly."

"How was it? The journey, and the war, and–"

"We are here," he interrupted, taking her hand. "Let us begin."

She swallowed. His hand was warm and his grip firm; the contact filled her with butterflies.

Joining a circle, they began the ancient steps. Lasriel had danced many times with her mother to pass time on a rainy day, but felt clumsy in comparison to his graceful movements. He was masterly! She couldn't take her eyes off him and wished the music might never end.

"You dance so well," she said when the dance brought them close. "Is it all the warrior practice? Maybe fighting is a bit like dancing."

He took a step backwards and twirled. When they met the next time he replied dryly: "Fighting is quite different."

"Oh, aye of course. I bet you do that too very well."

"Passably, I suppose." He rounded her and bowed. "I am an archer, foremost."

"I remember you wanted to be the best archer in Greenwood." She mirrored his steps and returned the bow.

"I was very young." He spinned her around.

She wanted to talk more, but his stiff, polite conversation discouraged her. Though standing close, it felt like there was a huge distance between them. They had been such good friends in the past, like leaves and branches. What had happened?

They continued dancing in silence.

Far too soon Legolas excused himself and returned to the dwarf. Lasriel looked after him with a strange emptiness in her chest. If only they could be alone together; perhaps sharing a few cups of wine to loosen their tongues, then maybe he would open up?

But alas, that was not to be; she had just worked up the courage to approach him again when the celebration came to an abrupt end. Out of nowhere, torrents of rain appeared, drenching the guests and quenching the bonfire with a huge hiss.

Lasriel sought shelter under the same oak where she sat earlier, morosely observing the servants scurrying about, saving what they could of the remaining decorations and food.

The king joined her, hood pulled up far. "It is time to leave." He offered her a cloak.

"Oh. Are you not bringing guards?" She put it on, grateful for the warmth of the wool.

"For this visit I would rather go incognito. Besides, I am a decent warrior myself."

Now she noticed a long sword scabbard on his hip and felt a twinge of nervousness. Was the road really that dangerous? Perhaps it had been unwise to walk it alone this morning.

~♕~

Where was she? Striding restlessly back and forth in the small cottage, Thuriniel listened to the rain whipping the windows. Worry gnawed her chest and made her nauseous. She had not eaten since yesterday, but had neither appetite, nor peace of mind to sit down to a meal.

Being inconsiderate was so very unlike Lasriel; she never left without telling her errand and always came home early. Had something happened to her? Spider attack in the garden? Kidnapped by a band of orc bandits?

Thuriniel contemplated going out to look for the twentieth time that day but dismissed the idea. The only place left to search was the capital and... she really preferred not to go there. What if someone recognized her? They would ask questions. Besides, her daughter couldn't have gone to the celebration; she would never be so thoughtless!

Halting mid-step, Thuriniel pricked up her ears. A voice! It was barely audible over the roaring rain. A deep, masculine one – and hauntingly familiar though she hadn't heard it in a very long time.

"...and it would benefit our winter festivals as well. I like the idea a lot."

"Thank you, lord; it was just a thought when I saw how the weather put an end to the celebration."

When Thuriniel heard the reply she had to sit down to calm her beating heart. It was Lasriel. So she had gone to the palace after all... How could she? How could she?

"I would never have thought of using waxed linen for canopies. But linen is hard to come by, and costly."

"Actually, the price has fallen in the past centuries. They grow it in farms near Lake-town."

"Perhaps I should pay it a visit then. Last time I went there personally must have been... Hm. Not long after the Battle of Five Armies, I think, when they were rebuilding after the dragon attack. Oh, is this where you live? How quaint. The garden seems to be beautiful, but it is hard to tell in this weather."

The door rattled and two dripping wet elves tumbled inside, shaking water off their hoods and wiping their soaked boots on the mat.

Thuriniel watched them mutely, staring at the ellon who had been her good friend. Husband to her best friend.

"Mae govannen," he greeted, bowing with one hand over his heart.

She rose unsteadily and repeated the gesture. "Suilad." Then she turned to her daughter, who was looking at her feet, fiddling with the hem of the cloak she wore. It appeared to have been borrowed. "Lasriel... Why? Why would you do this to me?"

"I had to," she murmured in a small voice.

"Why did you not tell me? I thought you were..." She didn't finish the sentence.

"I'm sorry."

An awkward silence ensued, then Thranduil cleared his throat. "This is a lovely room," he complimented, indicating the wooden panels, tapestries and many flower vases. "I have never seen such colorful flowers."

Thuriniel managed to collect herself, remembering her courtesy. "Thank you. I grow them myself; many of them are my own hybrids. Lasriel sells them on the market for food and other necessities." She indicated the most comfortable chair. "Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I would love to."

When she pumped water into the kettle Thranduil left the chair to look curiously. "An indoor water source? How unusual."

"Is it? I thought everybody had them, especially in the capital."

"Nay, I have never seen one like it, but I rarely venture outside the realm. In the palace we use water from an underground stream, and in the surrounding dwellings there are wells."

"Really? Lasriel built this some decades back. There are hidden pipes under the floorboards to lead water from the well." She turned to her daughter. "You must show him the indoor outhouse as well."

Lasriel had been sitting in a corner, looking rather remorseful, but now she brightened. Leading the way to the small compartment, she proudly explained how the lavatory worked and how the wet and dry waste was separated to be used as fertilizer in the garden.

"So that is how you grow such outstanding flowers. I am impressed."

"That is not all," Lasriel beamed. "Look at the brick stove, too. I built it myself. The fire is made in there, and as you see the kettle warms quickly on the iron surface. We bake flatbread on the plates too. That is the chimney that leads the smoke out, and this fan here is activated by the heat and helps disperse it to the other rooms."

"You invented all this?"

"No, no, I am not that clever." She chuckled. "I read it in books." She indicated their library in the next room.

He went in, curiously regarding the stacked shelves and many titles.

The tea was ready, and pouring a cup, Thuriniel brought it to him. "These bookcases are mine – with the novels and history books – and the technical ones are Lasriel's."

He drew his finger along one of the spines. "Human books? And dwarfish. Interesting."

"Nay, that is an old book from Doriath..." Her voice faltered. Lasriel had become bright red.

Thuriniel remembered the day her daughter had brought it from the market – it was the book with the pump mechanism – and explained it was written by Daeron the Bard in his famous Cirth runes. Thuriniel couldn't read those, but she had no reason to question what she was told.

But if it was dwarf runes, then it couldn't have come from the village. That could only mean...

She drew a sharp breath. "Where did you get it?"

"In... Lake-town." Lasriel's voice was barely audible.

"Lake-town! And the others... The king says they are human books. From Lake-town too?" Thuriniel didn't want to hear the answer.

Lasriel's lip began to tremble. "I had to," she burst out. "They don't sell any books in the marketplace, and elves rarely buy flowers. I had to go to Lake-town or we would have starved. That was where the money came from, and most of the food, and all the building materials. I'm so sorry, Naneth, I really am. But I had no choice." Sobbing loudly she rushed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

Thuriniel sat down heavily in a reading chair. "Why?" she asked, looking at Thranduil for answers though she knew he didn't have them any more than she. "Why would she lie to me? All this time I thought..."

Thranduil took the opposite chair. "My apologies. I did not mean to stir up trouble."

"You could not know." She wiped her eyes.

"If you pardon my curiosity, but... your daughter seems like a resourceful elleth. Is it so bad that she visits Lake-town? To my knowledge, it is a safe, prosperous town."

"We avoid places where someone might recognize us, and in a town there is always a risk... You have seen her; she is the spitting image of her adar. It would only take one traveler from Lothlórien to ruin everything. Here in our village we are safe." She wiped her eyes again. "But the worst is that she didn't ask. That she went without telling me. For years... centuries, probably. She lied to me."

Wordlessly Thranduil passed her his handkerchief.

"And today she went to the capital. She did not even leave a note... I feel like I don't know her anymore. Like she has lived this whole other life where I had no part... She did not trust me with it. And... that hurts." Thuriniel gave up trying to check her tears. "But here I pour my heart out and burden you with family matters."

"I am glad to offer what little comfort I can," he assured her. "And I think I know part of what you are going through."

She looked up. "You do? You mean... Legolas?"

"Aye." He sighed. "He has become bosom friends with a dwarf, can you believe it?"

She shook her head. "Nay."

"Me neither, but it is true. And the journey – he just went without asking. How much do you know of the quest of the Fellowship?"

"Not much," she admitted. "This is a very secluded village and I rarely leave the house or garden. News tends to come to me last of all."

"Well, it started about a year and a half ago, when the wizard Mithrandir brought a strange creature here for us to guard. Gollum, he was called. But he escaped during an orc raid, and Legolas begged me to let him bring the bad news to Mithrandir. You see, he was among the elves tasked with guard duty that time and seemed to take the blame upon himself. So after much persuasion I agreed." He took a sip of his tea. "He left for Imladris early last summer – you know, Lord Elrond's realm? Mithrandir is a regular visitor there. But apparently there was more to this Gollum than we had known; he had been the bearer of one of the Rings of Power, if you have heard of them."

"Of course. I enjoy history books. So this Gollum was a wraith then?"

"Nay. The ring he found was the One to control the others – the Dark Lord Sauron's own ring."

Just hearing the name brought a chill into Thuriniel's veins. Sauron was dead but still provoked fear in her – and probably everyone else who had faced him and his orc legions. "And he survived carrying that?" she asked incredulously.

"Barely. He was a pale, broken wreck when he was with us, and by that time he had been without it for many years. Remember when the dragon was killed? He lost it shortly before then; to a halfling, as it were."

"Halflings still exist? I read about them."

"Apparently they do; they dwell somewhere in central Eriador. Legolas' met several of them in Imladris when he arrived, and Mithrandir was with them. They had brought the One Ring, and since Sauron's power was still bound to it, it was decided it must be destroyed in order to destroy him. But the only place to do so was in Mordor, in the heart of Mount Doom where it was once forged. Hence, a Fellowship was formed to carry out the task."

"This is such an exciting tale already." Thuriniel was beginning to get over the shock and disappointment over her daughter's betrayal. "And you are a good storyteller," she added with a smile.

He returned it. "Am I? Thank you." Then he became serious again. "Unfortunately my son decided to be a part of that Fellowship, despite the evident danger. One does not simply walk into Mordor."

"Oh, no, he did not?"

"He did," he said grimly. "He sent word home with his decision, but when I received it he had already left Imladris. He has not told me in detail all he experienced on the journey, but there were at least three large battles, the last one outside the very gates of Mordor as a decoy and distraction while the halfling had gone in to destroy the Ring. Legolas said neither of them expected to survive. Imagine how hopeless that battle must have felt?"

"Aye." Thuriniel could easily imagine, having experienced an earlier, equally desperate battle at the same location. She shuddered. That war took her parents and brothers and left her with only a husband and two close friends; Mithrellas and Thranduil.

It was obvious from his bleak face that Thranduil thought about that too.

"During the quest, Legolas went near the sea at one point," he continued. "When he saw the ships and heard the seagulls cry, he decided to sail west. To his naneth." He met her gaze, biting his lip. "The problem is... I never told him... about her. And before you say anything, aye, I know that was foolish; I should have known I could not spare him forever, but I just... waited. For the opportune moment, you know? And that never came. Now... after so long, how could I tell him now?"

She understood his dilemma. When Legolas arrived in the Undying Lands he would meet his mother and learn the truth. What would he do then? There was no way to return to Middle-earth from Aman, so whether he forgave her or not, he would have to live near her for the rest of eternity.

Thranduil covered his eyes with a hand, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. "I regret it so badly," he mumbled tonelessly. "But I was ashamed, blaming myself for not trying hard enough..."

"It was not your fault," said Thuriniel firmly.

"I know, I know... I wish I had swallowed my guilt and come here sooner; if you and I had kept in touch it would probably have been easier to tell him. And Lasriel could have been just the friend he needed... But instead I bereaved them of that friendship, adding another loss on top of everything. If I hadn't, perhaps he would not have left on that dangerous quest... not befriended a dwarf... not felt the need to sail west."

The door crashed open and Lasriel tumbled inside.

"Lasriel!" Thuriniel gasped.

"Sorry. Sorry! It is rude to eavesdrop, but I could not help hearing– You talked about him and I just had to–" She fell on her knees by Thranduil's chair, taking his hand. "We can still be friends, Legolas and I," she said earnestly. "I know it! Beneath that polite mask he is the same elf. He has to be. I can break the truth to him when the time is right and comfort him if he needs it."

Thranduil smiled sadly. "You have really grown up well, child... I admire your compassion. But I think it is too late. He is moving to Ithilien soon."

She paled. "Ithilien? In Gondor? But that is miles away."

"Two hundred and thirty leagues as the crow flies."

She fell silent for a moment, scrunching up her face in thought. Then she brightened. "If he had an elfling it would tie him to Middle-earth."

He raised an eyebrow. "An elfling?"

"Aye!" She nodded eagerly. "Listen. I can follow him to Ithilien. You and my parents planned to wed us long ago – what if we went through with it to secure the succession to the Woodland Throne? I am certain Legolas would not leave you heirless if you asked for one, and then he will stay to raise it. He could never abandon his child like... like they did."

"I hear what you say, but why would I need an heir? I had not planned to resign anytime soon."

"Does he know that?"

He hesitated. "I suppose not."

Thuriniel stared at her daughter. Was Lasriel really considering marriage to an ellon she hardly knew? He must have really made an impression.

"I will ask him," said Thranduil thoughtfully.

A/N:

It might seem strange that Thranduil and Thuriniel consider Lasriel's crazy idea, but they were born in a time when marrying to "secure the succession" was not uncommon, though obviously mostly among mortals.

Oh, and the awkward dance scene in the beginning of the chapter may have been slightly inspired by Pride and Prejudice. :)

Thanks for reads, votes and comments so far!

Translations: Mae govannen = well met, suilad = greetings, league = an old distance measurement that equals roughly 3 miles or 5.5 kilometers.