Title: The King of the Forest
Author: Winterwitch /
the_winterwitchFandom: Tolkien (The Hobbit)
Genre: FCS
Characters: Thranduil/Celeborn, OMC
Series:
The DragonverseContent: friendship, battle fatigue, PTDS, permanent injury
Rating: R (mostly for violence)
Wordcount (story): 7400
Chapters: 5/7
Disclaimer: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's creation, done purely for enjoyment. No money is being made. I promise to give the characters back more or less as I found them.
Warnings: Mentioning of death and battle-related violence, explicit violence.
Notes: My most heartfelt thanks to
curiouswombat ,
keiliss and
lordhellebore for idea-bouncing, hand-holding, alpha- and betareading and generally for being the most awesome friends and writing companions. This story wouldn't be half as good without you. All remaining mistakes are my own.
This story is a stand-alone, though it takes place in the same story-verse as my last year's contribution to MSV,
The Wrath of Dragon fire in the late First and early Second Age, and
Midwinter in Eryn Galen, written for LotR SeSA, about a decade later.
Summary: After the Battle of the Five Armies, King Thranduil brings a badly decimated Elven host back to the Greenwood. Dealing with the losses of battle and the aftermath is a bitter task, threatening to overwhelm the king and guardian of the Woodelves and their forest.
Hope
He woke to the sound of a fire crackling. Fire? Thranduil opened his eyes. How could there be a fire here, in the middle of the forest?
It was dark again, and he was no longer alone. A small fire was lit close by, and he found himself wrapped in his cloak and a blanket, warm and dry. A tall shape sat at the fire, poking it with a twig. A familiar shape with long, unbound, silver hair, and sombre features. Celeborn.
“What are you doing here?” Thranduil croaked, surprised how hoarse his voice was. He remembered that he had wept, but he obviously also had cried out loud.
“You called for me, so I came,” Celeborn answered enigmatically.
Thranduil sat up. “Called for you?”
“The forest. The tree.” The Sinda nodded to the Ornemel.
Thranduil shook his head to clear it, not understanding anything. He scrambled to his feet, stiff from the long time he must have lain in the snow, and came over to the fire where he sat down at Celeborn’s side. A leather flask was passed to him, and he drank thirstily. Míruvor. Warmth and new energy flooded his limbs, and he sat up straighter.
“Thank you.”
Celeborn, unfamiliar in sturdy, warm, hunting gear instead of his usual fair robes, leaned in to put a branch onto the fire.
“I have the same connection to the forest as you have, Thranduil,” he explained. “I have gone through the same ritual and am also its guardian. It does not matter that your people and your part of the forest is so far away. I still feel the pain and the despair, and I felt yours through this link. My Lady… my Lady saw a lot of what has happened at Erebor, and more we heard from some who passed through Lothlórien.”
Thranduil gazed into the fire. “I was not aware. Does this link also work the other way around? I do not think I ever felt you or your people.”
“It does work both ways. But - you know of my Lady's ring, do you not?”
When Thranduil nodded, he continued: “My people are protected also by my Lady, through Nenya. The ring shields what is happening in Lothlórien, even through the link of the forest. You would have needed to concentrate on somebody specific within that shield, or come here to have a heightened awareness through touch, as you did. You were supposed to be taught about this, though. I am sorry that it did not happen.”
“I see.”
They sat, silently, watching the flames. Thranduil felt secure in the other’s presence, and surprisingly comforted. But then, Celeborn had always been a close friend, back since the days when a young Thranduil often had found a mentor in the older Sinda. He trusted him completely, knowing Celeborn cared deeply about him.
“Something is happening to me, since the battle,” Thranduil said after a while. “I should be caring for my people, for the living. I am their King and their guardian, I should be their advisor. I should make plans and give them courage and comfort. But I cannot. I feel nothing but pain and despair and the loss of those gone, and can think of nothing else. And sometimes, even that slips away, and grows shady and dark. It - it feels as if the darkness is seeping into my veins.”
Celeborn listened.
“So many are gone, Celeborn, and it is my fault. I brought them to the battlefield, I ordered them to fight. I sent them to their death, knowing that their trees would die with them and allow the darkness to spread. I am - I have failed. Failed as a guardian, as a King.”
Thranduil looked down, feeling the burden of his guilts in an almost physical manner.
“You have not failed.”
“What?” He looked up and met clear eyes, looking at him with concern.
Celeborn raised his hand and gently cupped Thranduil’s face. “You have not failed, Thranduil, neither as a King, nor as a man. Had you not fought in battle, your people might be fighting for their survival at this very moment, or had even already been vanquished by the enemy and devoured by the darkness. But you know this. You have done nothing wrong, Thranduil, except that you did not take care of yourself, to keep strong and resilient. As elves, we might be more fëa than hröa, but we need to care for our hröar all the same, or our fëa will suffer.”
Thranduil leant into the warm hand on his skin. “I do not understand…”
Celeborn got up and crouched down in front of Thranduil, putting his free hand on his shoulder in a firm grip.
“When was the last time you had have been held, Thranduil?”
Thranduil pondered the question. “I do not know. Since Laegwen’s death, a couple of times at the Midwinter celebrations, but I cannot even remember the last time.”
Celeborn nodded. “l feared as much. You need it, though, as we all do. You need to feel comfort and closeness, both with your body and with your soul, and you need to be able to let go once in a while. How can you be strong for your people if you never allow yourself to be anybody but the King instead of just a man? You do not need to share pleasures to this end, though sharing pleasures is an easy means to let go, of course.”
He smiled, but his smile made Thranduil sad.
“There is nobody I can be with in this way. I can never be not their King, not be strong and the leader. It was different when Legolas was younger; he always saw in me the father first, and the King second. But he needs me no longer in this manner, and he is gone anyway. I sent him to Imladris.”
“So you have done for him what you would not do for yourself. I thought as much. This is why I have come, Thranduil. To give you what you crave, and to be for you what you need.”
Thranduil swallowed, unable to say anything, but it was not necessary. The look Celeborn gave him… sombre and earnest, but also so full of tenderness that he felt something loosen inside him, something hard and unrelenting. A low sound escaped him, a sigh, and Thranduil knew that Celeborn could indeed give him what he needed: the security and comfort to let go, to feel weak, and to give over command to somebody else.
-oOo-