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A liaison in the Great Greenwood	By : Azukiel Category: +Third Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 7953 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any copyright to the Tolkien/ Middle-Earth fandom, nor to any of his canon characters or languages. I do not make any money from this fanfiction. Original characters however, are my property.

Chapter List
- 67
- 68
He felt like all the blood within his veins had been drained at the sound of his father’s voice. Tears began to sting at his eyes as he stood there, rooted. He had thought his father damned to the deathly plains of Dagorlad till the end of days in Arda, but there he stood behind them, as tall as a birch and as cold in death as he had been in life.
“Adar…” his voice burned in his throat as he gazed up at the shimmering cobalt of his father’s eyes.
“Do not look at me as if you were seeing a ghost.” Oropher’s steeled gaze pierced right into the inner depths of his being, tearing through all the walls his son had haphazardly built up around himself in past days. “What were you hoping to accomplish, Thranduil, by stealing away the wife of my grandson, and putting her with children that should not be hers to bear?”
As Thranduil turned to look upon Silveth once more, she would not meet his gaze. Her eyes were downcast with a deep and harrowing sadness. The immense pain and hurt written upon her entirety caused his heart to feel like it was being wrenched from his very chest.
His fists clenched upon his thighs, and he struggled to withhold the sob that threatened to escape him.
“I am so utterly ashamed of you Thranduil.”
Those few words felt like a kick in the gut.
“Glorfindel should have throttled you into the Halls of Mandos when he had the chance, for then I would have throttled you myself!” Oropher continued.
“We do not wish him dead, adar.” Though her countenance was so afflicted, Silveth tried to bring some form of peace.
“No...” Oropher conceded. “But when he steps foot in Valinor, if he does, he should not expect a gentle welcome from me, nor from anyone else.”
Silveth sighed then, her head still hung. “You cannot expect that from me… I love him more than anything.”
“Do not hold your breath, Silveth.”
Thranduil’s eyes trailed from his father, and then back to his wife. “I will leave for the Grey Havens immediately if you so will it, bessig.”
She shook her head. “As I said before, you are still needed here.”
“As long as he does not make more of a mess of the kingdom I forged!” Oropher refuted. “He brought upon your demise, and now this…” His expression almost appeared as one of disgust. “How can I still call him my son?”
“You are too cruel, adar.” Silveth chastened, seeing how Thranduil flinched. “He is not to blame for my passing. I went to the village of my own accord.”
“And yet he allowed you to, knowing the risks, especially as you were with child. Do not forget so easily her life, Silveth.”
Silveth froze, and her face turned to stone. “I have never forgotten, Oropher. Neither has Thranduil. Do not put our deaths upon him when you yourself are accountable for thousands.”
“You are right. And I will live my days in death, suffering for it.” He let out a long, tired sigh. “So what shall I do with him? Considering I cannot spank him the way I did when he was but an elfling.”
“We all make mistakes, adar. Your son was a doting and wonderful father and husband, just as you had once been.
“And so fornicating with his future daughter is another brilliant example of how much of a doting and wonderful father and husband he was. Will you ever learn, Thranduil?”
“You never did, adar.”
Oropher’s slap never landed. His hand passed through Thranduil’s cheek as a mist would in the breeze.
“Hush now, the both of you!” Silveth stood between them. “You have both let tragedy darken your hearts.”
“And his,” Oropher almost pierced Thranduil’s chest with his finger, “His darkened heart has allowed our once beautiful forest to wither and rot.”
“You know that is not entirely true, adar.” Silveth frowned in objection.
Oropher continued, “Whereas I have fought the darkness, Thranduil has invited it to reside in the heart of our realm.” His cobalt eyes penetrated his son’s. “See what you have done, boy? You must be very proud of yourself.”
“What are you talking about? Speak plainly or hold your tongue.” Thranduil bit.
“You know what I am talking about, Thranduil. You have been the ruler of the forest for a millennia. Its roots had grown through you so thoroughly there is no difference between you anymore. You are the forest. You know well where the darkness resides. You know well it has been your negligence that has allowed it to fester.”
“Like father, like son.” Thranduil murmured.
Silveth looked at her husband with unspoken disapproval before she turned the expression to the other towering ellon. “This is not the reason why we came here.”
Oropher looked down at her, and after a moment, nodded reluctantly. “No, it is not.”
“Then why is it that you are here?” Thranduil stared back at his father.
“The truth you must seek, Thranduil. For now, you must find yourself again. If you cannot accomplish this, then all in this forest we so cherish will wither and decay.”
“But Adlanniel…”
“Silveth already told you. It is Legolas’ purpose, not yours.”
Thranduil blinked hard at his father’s words, and slowly his gaze returned to his wife. She was now looking to him with a renewed hope.
“Even I will spank you if you let this forest fade.”
Thranduil returned her words with a mischievous grin, “I am counting on it.”
Oropher groaned at their antics and rolled his eyes. “There is time for that in Valinor.”
“So you are in Valinor?” Thranduil looked from his father then back to his wife.
“We are where we are meant to be, Thranduil,” Silveth replied, that radiant smile still on her soft face.
“You know a simple yes or no would suffice…”
“The light will shine again, melamin. Until that time…”
Oropher took her elbow gently and they both began to turn away. Before Thranduil could speak another word, they both faded into the strand of pale light shining in from the ceiling.
Thranduil sighed heavily, replaying the last couple of minutes in his mind. Then, with another deep sigh, his words drifted to no one, “I need a drink.”

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Glorfindel slumped himself down onto the twisted oak armchair, massaging the stress of the passing days from his temple as he did so. Snatching up the goblet of warmed wine a servant had left for him he went to take a draught, but the sweet, fruity aroma that struck him reminded him of the perfumes his beloved niece used to wear. He had not even realised his hand had begun to quiver when the chalice slipped from his grasp, spilling the deep maroon liquid upon the tiles underfoot.
As he looked down he did not see the wine seeping into the gaps of the tiles but envisioned bright crimson swirling through the broken ice that encrusted the river.
“Adlanniel…” His guttural voice choked as his eyes began to sting. He had wanted nothing more than to go out and aid the prince’s search for her, but with him gone, and now his father missing, the palace was now in a disarray, the news of their lady’s disappearance having reached the ears of all within. There was no one with enough authority to keep it all together besides the Lord of Golden Flowers himself.
Though he fought to keep the tears at bay, they flowed freely now and dampened the golden strands of hair that fell upon his face. His chest pained so suddenly from bereavement, he slid from the chair to his knees, regardless of the lingering wine that now soaked his clothing. His fingernails scraped along the marble as his fists clenched white; the dam he had built to reign in his emotions was now lain to waste.

He remembered the ebony fluff of her hair that he would gently stroke to calm her tears as an infant, the brilliant emerald eyes that would gaze up to him innocently after he had scolded her for some misbehaviour, her infectious giggles as they had mock tea ceremonies together with her wide array of dolls, and his heart filling with affection and pride when he could see the deep love in her gaze for the young greenwood prince. Yet now, they were memories melting like the ice in that hateful river, the ice in his tormented heart.

There were gentle strokes of long fingers upon the crown of his head, their soft touch instantly bringing him ease.
“Golden rose, do not despair. For not, all things are as lost as they may seem.”
The voice was so sweet and familiar, he had almost thought it to be her.
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A liaison in the Great Greenwood