Three Rings
By Aussie Lass
Contact Email: aussielassie@gmail.com
Beta Name: Flightless Pegasus
Main Characters: Thranduil & Olora (OFC)
Rating: NC17
Genre(s): Romance
Word Count: 8723
Summary: A meeting in Mithlond turns into a more interesting
adventure after Thranduil manages to see and hear things he was not
meant to.
Original Request:
NC-17, Angst, drama, romance, suspense. Thranduil is the Villian who
kidnaps Olora, a Maiar, who possesses a jewel shard that is hidden
inside of her and the Mirkwood King wants her powers. Not only does he
wants her powers, but he vows to make her his queen whether she likes it
or not.
Olora looks: She is medium tall, slim, curveous. She is beautiful
with dark skin and long dark lashes that bring out her brown round eyes.
Her hair flows in dark curls past her shoulders. Her weakness is pain in
her right chest.
Thranduil looks: Handsome, aristocratic face, green eyes, long blond
hair that he keeps in a long braid.
Please DO NOT include = No BDSM, No slash. I don't want my oc, Olora
to die nor do I want Thranduil to die.
Thranduil waited until the servant finished pouring water into his
glass before leaning closer to the Elf sitting beside him. “Erestor?
Who is that?” he asked, his eyes shifting in the direction of the lady
standing between Galadriel and Elrond. She was currently being
introduced to Cirdan, making Thranduil feel even more uncomfortable than
when he had first arrived in the Havens earlier that week. There were so
many secret conversations happening, and so many people he was not
familiar. No one had offered to introduce him, and every time he made to
greet them somehow Galadriel managed to show up and intervene, ushering
whomever it was away without an explanation. He hoped that Erestor, whom
had fought beside him in the last war, would not act the same way that
the evil tree queen of the Noldor did.
There was a moment of hesitation before Erestor answered. “I would
worry less about who she is, and worry more about who they are,” he
said in reference to the quintet of cloaked and bearded men huddled
together, whispering conspiratorially. Two of them, one dressed in blue
and another in white, eyed the Elves with suspicion. There was another
in blue, one in brown, and the fifth, and the only one smiling, in grey.
“Galadriel told you not to tell me,” accused Thranduil, crossing
his arms over his chest.
“No,” replied Erestor after a few seconds. “I just think we
need to concern ourselves with them, and not her.”
For a moment, Thranduil relaxed, and a smile curved the lips of his
handsome face. The Elven King gave Erestor a sharp nudge. “You do not
know who she is either.”
“No.” Erestor shot a dark look in Galadriel’s direction. “It
would seem she has a keeper.”
Thranduil’s eyes strayed away from the Lorien Lady and back to the
mysterious woman. She was darksome, with skin the color of chocolate and
darker hair that curled down to her waist. He had only glimpsed her eyes
once, but they resembled liquid chocolate and something about her made
him want to drown in those eyes, if he could but get close enough to
her. Galadriel had made it quite impossible, however, and now it seemed
he was not the only one being kept away. “She is pretty,” remarked
Thranduil casually to his Imladrin friend.
Erestor turned his head slowly, giving Thranduil an incredulous look.
“If she is merely ‘pretty’ to you, then I should think you would
say the silmarils were but common stones.”
“Mmm.” Thranduil’s first guess was true, it seemed. Galadriel
was protecting the beautiful young woman, and with good reason. A quick
survey around the table confirmed his assumption – more than half the
males seated there were stealing looks in the newcomer’s direction,
while the others less discretely openly stared, including a blond ellon
sitting with the Imladrin delegation whom Thranduil did not recognize.
“Well, I saw her first, so—“
“She arrived in Rivendell with the Lothlorien delegates and
traveled here with us,” interrupted Erestor. “Technically, I saw her
first. That did not aid me in discovering who she is.” He grinned when
Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him. “However, I doubt my wife would
appreciate it if I brought her home, whether I know her name or not.
Besides, I think you will have trouble enough dealing with Glorfindel.”
Thranduil blinked. “Glorfindel? Who was foolish enough to name
their child after a fallen hero like that?”
“No one.” Erestor lowered his voice and said, “The Valar were
foolish enough to let him be reborn. I suppose I should not be so harsh,
but he and I have been sharing a guest room, and sleeping has been
difficult.”
“How so?”
“He glows.”
Thranduil snorted in the most inappropriate manner, but the noise of
many conversations happening at once covered it. “Come again?”
“He glows. He bloody... glows. You cannot see it in the daytime,
but wait until later, and you will see. I can see why Elrond offered him
residence in Rivendell. With Glorfindel around, we will save in candles.”
“So I take it the youth over there is him,” Thranduil said,
inclining his head slightly toward the ellon who was still staring at
the mystery woman.
“Youthful in body, but in spirit and mind he is an elder to both
Galadriel and Cirdan. Scary thought,” he added as Cirdan began to call
for the meeting to come to order. “He has the looks, and the knowledge
and wisdom of how to use them. You may well be outmatched this round, my
friend.”
Identities were revealed once the meeting was underway. Cirdan
explained to everyone how a ship had arrived some months ago, carrying
six passengers: five wizards, named in order of their ranks, Curumo the
White, Olorin the Grey, Aiwendel the Brown, Alatar the Blue, and his
companion Pallando, and one Elf, returned from the Halls of Mandos, all
sent to aid in protecting against the great evil. He further
acknowledged that secret councils had taken place between himself,
Elrond, and Galadriel, and that it was decided to expand the discussion
to include all of the Elven realms.
Thranduil’s mood grew darker with every word spoken. There were
only two realms not included in the original meetings, his own, and the
remnants of Lindon, which were barely held together by the leadership of
Gildor Inglorion. Gildor had suffered the last thousand years in trying
to be recognized by Mithlond, Lothlorien, and Imladris as the closest
descendent of the Noldorin High Kings, and therefore, now High King
himself, a task he had failed in. Only Green Wood even mapped Lindon in
the dark days they were now in, and only Thranduil of the Elves at the
table addressed Gildor as his majesty; it was a favor Gildor returned to
Thranduil only as the discussions commenced. An exchanged glance showed
Thranduil that Gildor was none too happy with what had been happening
behind their backs, either.
Thren Galadriel took her turn in talking, and asked the council to
welcome Olora, a Maia who had been residing in Middle-earth since the
middle of the Second Age. The lady many had been admiring stepped
forward and gave a nod of her head before thanking Galadriel for her
hospitality and for her patience.
“If she has been in Middle-earth all this time, does that mean
Galadriel has been keeping her hidden in Lothlorien all this time?”
wondered Thranduil, whispering very quietly to Erestor.
“It would certainly explain a lot about Galadriel,” answered
Erestor back. “I always wondered how she turned a bowl of water into a
magic mirror. Lothlorien in a large place, with many trees. Easy to hide
in.”
The remainder of the meeting was a discussion of how to proceed –
politics as usual, as Thranduil liked to say. There was a proposal from
Lothlorien to create one supreme army of Elves to fight against the
darkness; Mithlond reminded them that the only one with such power would
be the High King, and that without one it was not possible to declare a
leader; Gildor reminded them that there was a High King, and the meeting
became more uncomfortable. Curumo offered reluctantly to offer himself
as said leader; Olorin gently explained that they should not become so
involved. Galadriel proposed Glorfindel be the one to take charge, for
what other reason had the Valar sent him? Despite being the first thing
everyone could agree upon, Glorfindel declined, saying he was not king
nor general, and had more important matters (which he would not share)
to attend to.
The bickering continued, as Thranduil expected it would, but only
until a slight movement caught his eye. He watched Olora grip her chest
on the right side, and immediately Galadriel interrupted the
conversation to motion for adjournment. This was swiftly seconded by
Elrond, after which Galadriel whisked Olora out of the room, leaving a
group of stunned delegates in her wake.
Cirdan offered refreshment in his hall to those who wished the
company of others, and service to rooms for those preferring to eat
alone. Erestor made arrangements with one of the maids for his food to
be brought to the suite he was sharing with Glorfindel and wearily bid a
good evening to Thranduil just as Gildor approached. “That was odd, to
say the least.”
“Odd is too little a word to describe that, just as pretty is too
little a word to describe her,” said Thranduil.
“I am in agreement with you on both points.” Gildor motioned to a
door that led outside. “There is still some light left. Can I interest
you in a walk before dinner, your highness?”
“That sounds ideal, your majesty.” Thranduil and Gildor made
their way down a flight of stairs and across the courtyard to the
gardens. The discussed the events of the meeting and how things were
going in each other’s realm to begin with, but as they drifted further
and further from the inner city, they spoke more openly about their true
feelings on the matters of the day. “I am very suspicious of
Galadriel. I know she is kin to you, Gildor, but for her to keep secret
for so long someone so powerful is very strange to me.”
“It ails my mind as well,” admitted Gildor. “All I can assume
is that she trusts us not; I wonder what else she is hiding if she has
been hiding this. Perhaps there is someone wrong, though, if their
sudden departure is any indication.”
“I wonder that myself.” Thranduil changed the subject to
something less controversial, giving himself a chance to cool down
before dinner, and to secretly consider the mystery lady while he
pretended to listen to Gildor as they walked.
When they returned, Gildor chose not to join the group for dinner,
and took his leave to return to his room to rest instead. This left
Thranduil to wander through corridors in search of the hall that Cirdan
was hosting dinner in. Having only been in the havens a few times
previously, Thranduil was not familiar with the layout, and ended up in
a hallway with an open door at the end of it. He strolled closer when he
heard voices, prepared to tell the truth that he had gotten himself lost
if anyone should exit the room or approach from another direction.
It was easy to place two of the voices, for they were those of Elrond
and Galadriel. The third was not familiar to him, a lyrical, soothing
voice that spoke few words. Thranduil silently stood as close as he
dared and listened to the conversation.
“It is not safe to try to dislodge it. I fear I would do far more
damage.” Elrond.
“Perhaps there is someone with other knowledge in this field. Some
healers specialize in different things.” Galadriel.
“Lord Elrond is the best. It is what everyone has told me.”
Mysterious voice. Somehow, Thranduil guessed that the mysterious voice
belonged to the mysterious lady.
“If I knew of someone else, I would consult with them. However, and
I do not say it to brag, Olora is right.” Elrond.
“But the pain has been getting worse.” Galadriel.
“I will just need to find a way to manage.” Mysterious voice,
probably Olora.
“I wish I knew a way to remove it.” Elrond. He sighed, and kept
talking. “Something so tiny should not have such an effect, though on
the other hand, only Celebrimbor knew the secrets of what he was
creating.”
“This sliver of the jewel from your ring which I carry inside of me
is both bane and blessing. Without it, I would not be in pain, but
without it, I would not be able to aid in the ways I have been able to.”
Olora. “The journey was overwhelming. I need to sleep.”
“That is too dangerous here. You must stay alert in case someone
tries something.” Galadriel.
“If I do not sleep, I run the risk of ruining the meeting tomorrow
with my fatigue.” Olora.
“Perhaps you could sleep during the meeting instead.” Elrond.
“No. You will both be in the meeting, and would not be able to stay
with me. I must sleep and I will need both of you to stay here and keep
guard while I do.” Olora
Thranduil would have stayed longer but the faint squeaking of a tea
trolley being wheeled down the hall caused him to duck around the
corner. The trolley stopped outside of the door, which was knocked upon.
Elrond bid whoever was there to enter, and then the trolley was taken
inside and the door was shut. Thranduil scratched his chin thoughtfully
before making his way back through the passages to find the dining hall.
What he stumbled upon next was almost as interesting as what he had
heard.
As he passed a window that overlooked the garden, he spied Cirdan and
one of the wizards huddled beneath a maple tree. When he returned to the
window, Thranduil swiftly unlocked it and pushed it just enough to open
it a crack. He strained his ears to listen to the conversation below as
he watched Cirdan remove a jeweled ring from his finger.
“Elrond has the most powerful one, gifted to him by Ereinion Gil-Galad
before his death. Another was given to Galadriel. This is the third,
Narya, and I am its keeper. However, your actions and your words tell me
that you should be the one to bear this ring. It contains within the
stone the secret of flame and shadow. You know what I speak of.”
“But should these not remain with the Elves?” asked the wizard.
He was the one dressed in grey, and he leaned on his staff like an old
man, though Thranduil was well aware of the fact that Maia sometimes
acted very differently than they really were. This one, feigning
feebleness, was probably the strongest of the five.
Cirdan held the ring out. “Olorin, I cannot make you take it, but
you and I both know you should. Elrond needs Vilya to protect Rivendell
in the North and Galadriel needs Nenya to aid in keeping the South lands
free. I am of little use here in the West, for if the servants of
Morgoth and Sauron reach the havens, there will not be much left for me
to do except sail for Valinor and pray that the Valar will intervene.
You have plans to travel, and to go East. Your success may well hinge
upon this. I offer this to you, Olorin, of my own freewill.”
“It is unwise not to accept the gift of a friend,” said Olorin,
and he took the ring and slid it onto his finger. There was a momentary
sparkle of red, and then the jewel dimmed once more.
Thranduil stepped back from the window, his appetite lost. For long
years, he had wondered how the darkness had managed to creep into
Greenwood. It baffled him how the realm once peaceful and lush was now
being overrun with spiders and other evil creatures, while they seemed
to bypass Lothlorien and ignore Imladris completely. He now had his
answer, and it sickened him. If rings of power had been made, why was
one never given to his father? Why was Greenwood overlooked?
To Thranduil, the answer was simple to him: Galadriel was a kinslayer.
Gil-galad was the son of one. Cirdan had not been, and should have
denounced the actions of the Noldor, but instead he stayed on friendly
terms with them. It made sense, then, that Celebrimbor Curufinion would
have provided protection for their realms and not for the Silvan
stronghold. It did not make Thranduil any happier to reason out the
logic of the situation.
As dinner was no longer an option, Thranduil decided to confront
someone about his recent discoveries. He inquired with a maid as to who
was assigned to which rooms, and some time later was knocking on the
door of the room that Erestor was in. Thranduil was beckoned inside with
a quizzical look, and Erestor remained silent for Thranduil to explain
himself.
“Erestor, where are your loyalties?”
One brow arched. “That is a very strange question to ask me.”
“In times like these, I do not see how it is. All things equal, son
of Saeros, which lord do you swear your allegiance to?”
“None of them,” answered Erestor carefully, “save for one who
is long dead. I work for Lord Elrond; my fealty still lies with King Elu
Thingol. You should know that.”
“I am being cautious. I have questions to ask, and must know that
neither the questions nor the answers will reach the ears of Elrond or
Galadriel.”
Erestor nodded. “I see. Ask your questions. Our conversation will
remain private.”
Thranduil took a seat on a settee that was situated in the corner of
the room. There were two beds with a chest at the end of each, and one
small table at the door holding a tray of food left mostly untouched.
Erestor poured a cup of tea for himself and offered one to Thranduil,
who declined, but did accept a bowl of wine instead. “What do you know
of magic rings?” asked Thranduil once Erestor had seated himself on
the edge of one of the beds.
“I know that they are dangerous, if the wrong person should get a
hold of one. I know they are dangerous even in the hands of the right
person.” Erestor blew across his teacup to cool the brew. “I assume
this is in regards to Elrond’s not-so-very-secret jewelry?”
“Then you know what I am talking about,” said Thranduil.
“I might. I know that when Elrond returned from the war, things
changed.”
“Oh?” Thranduil swirled the wine in his bowl. “What sort of
things?”
“His confidence level increased. He suddenly went from being the
shy, yet intelligent herald to being the wise leader he is now. I
remember how his attitude towards Celebrian changed as well. She had
often visited with her parents, but the first time she arrived after the
war, he was bold, and made his move to court her. As I recall, he
refused to take no for an answer. The weather was the most noticeable.”
“How so?” asked Thranduil when Erestor did not elaborate.
“Milder. Snow only came when it was convenient, and it melted
swiftly. Bitterly cold nights became a thing of the past, and sunny days
were more common than they ever had been before. We hardly have winter
anymore, and I have yet to see lightning in the past thousand years.”
Erestor sipped his tea carefully. “I knew it had to be that ring,
although he has never admitted it. He is very protective of it.”
“I suppose he never takes it off.”
Erestor rolled his eyes. “An understatement. I am uncertain if it
would even come off anymore, he has worn it for so long. There was one
day, however, that my suspicions were confirmed, in my mind at least. He
had been playing with Arwen, this was some years ago when she was a wee
little thing, and something happened where it slipped off. They were
outside, and I still remember Celebrian at the door of my office,
banging on it and looking quite frantic. She led me out to the yard
where he was cursing – which he never does – and clawing at the
ground, tearing up grass and uprooting flowers, trying to find
something. She said it was a ring, and he was determined to find it. As
he snarled at her for telling someone else and she stood to the side
wringing her hands and sniffling, I calmly searched the pathway and
found it beneath a bush.
“As I bent to pick it up, I was practically thrown out of the way
by Elrond, who snatched it up and shoved it onto his finger. His look
for a moment was one of madness, but almost instantly he calmed. He
caught his breath as he admired the sapphire embedded in it, and without
taking his eyes from it, apologized to me and said he was only so
worried about it, for it was a gift from his father and very precious to
him. I was convinced of my suspicion, as I had seen Gil-Galad wearing
that very ring a number of times in the past. It was clear to me that
the ring was no mere trinket, but I kept that to myself.”
“Do you know if it is missing a piece? The jewel, that is,”
clarified Thranduil.
Erestor shook his head. “If it is, I would not know. I have never
been close enough to examine it. He wears clothing with long sleeves to
conceal his hands, if you have noticed. I think he means for no one to
see it at all if he can help it. Why do you ask?”
Thranduil told Erestor everything he had learned that evening, from
the conversation in the healing room to the exchange between Cirdan and
the grey wizard. “If she is as powerful as it seems she is, I want to
know why she was not sent to Greenwood. Galadriel did not need another
means of aid if she has a powerful ring already.”
“Not to mention the treasures she stole from Doriath.” Erestor
smirked when Thranduil’s eyes widened. “Who do you think sacked the
treasure that the Feanorians, Dwarves, and Dragons did not find? She has
Melian’s mirror, among other things. I only know from things I have
overheard Celebrian and Elrond say.”
“I wonder if Elrond wonders how dangerous you are, my friend,”
mused Thranduil as he finished his wine.
Erestor grinned. “Why do you think he keeps me around? Keep your
friends close, your enemies closer, and the ones you are not sure of as
your chief counselors.”
“Old Nandorian proverb?” guessed Thranduil as the door opened.
Into the room stepped the reborn Elf who had been at the meeting
earlier. “Thank you for the conversation, Erestor, I should take my
leave,” said Thranduil as he stood up.
“Sorry. No need to leave on my account,” apologized Glorfindel.
“I can go for a walk and come back later.”
“No need; we were just finishing up.” Thranduil set the empty
bowl upon the tray. “Congratulations on your return,” he said to the
warrior.
“Thank you, I guess,” said Glorfindel with a smile.
“May I ask you a question?” queried Thranduil as he stepped into
the open doorway. Glorfindel nodded. “It is said that you were killed
not because of your lack of skill against the demon you were fighting,
but because it pulled you down into the abyss by your hair. Is that
true?”
The smile on Glorfindel’s face wavered. “Aye, that is true.”
“Hmm. I see.” Thranduil looked Glorfindel over and then asked,
“When did you plan to learn your lesson about that?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What I mean is, most of us who are fighters have enough sense to
braid our hair, or at least pull it back, like this,” he said, drawing
his long platinum braid over his shoulder for Glorfindel to see. “It
makes it much easier to battle if it is not flying all about like a
maiden’s. You might want to try it, for next time.”
“I see. I will make a note of it, for the next time I encounter a
balrog,” said Glorfindel icily.
Thranduil smiled as if the conversation they were having was still a
pleasant one. “Excellent. Do let me know how that works out for you.
Erestor, I look forward to seeing you in council tomorrow. Good night.”
Thranduil left the room, concealing his smug look until after he had
turned the corner and heard the slamming of the door.
In the room, Glorfindel stood at the door he had just slammed shut,
fists clenched. He took a few deep breaths before looking over his
shoulder at Erestor. “It appears your friend does not like me.”
“Do not take it personally,” said Erestor as he gathered up the
remains of his supper and placed everything on a heap in the middle of
the tray for the maid to take away. “He dislikes all Noldor.”
“He seems to like you well enough,” huffed Glorfindel as he
opened the trunk at the end of his bed and pulled out a long robe to
sleep in.
“Probably because I am not a Noldo.”
Glorfindel sighed. “Is this the part where you tell me you are not
fond of the Noldor, either?”
“No,” said Erestor as he settled on his bed with a book he had
been hoping to finish reading that evening. “This is the part where
you figure that out for yourself.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Many years later, Thranduil would blame the wine for what happened
next. He had finally found his way to the dining hall after speaking to
Erestor, and although the meal had been served some time earlier and had
already been cleared, one of the servants immediately begged Thranduil’s
pardon, settled him in a cozy corner with some wine, and promised that
food was forthcoming. It was not long after that Gildor entered the
room, in a sour mood as well, and joined him without invitation. “Is
there another bowl or a goblet or something somewhere?” wondered
Gildor as he took hold of the open wine bottle. Thranduil shook his
head, and with a shrug, Gildor drank right from the bottle.
“What happened?” asked Thranduil after Gildor finished half of
the remaining liquor.
“I had my bed stolen from me,” replied the irritated Elf. “Apparently,
they ran out of rooms and needed one for that woman Galadriel is
chaperoning about. I knew I ranked low, but not this low.” He took
another swig from the bottle. “I was told they would set up a hammock
in another room somewhere for me. Can you believe that? A hammock! What
a joke.”
With a sigh, Thranduil shook his head. He picked up the bottle set
down by Gildor and drank from it himself. “As if it is not enough for
them to keep such power from us, they strip from you what little dignity
you have here.”
“Aye.” Gildor drank again after Thranduil, and then paused. “Wait,
what power?”
For the second time that evening, Thranduil explained everything he
had learned, now including the bits that Erestor had offered without
giving the name of his source. Gildor, although obviously further
annoyed by the leaders of the other Elven realms, was looking thoughtful
as well. Food was brought to them as Thranduil finished the tale, and
they ate in silence, sharing two more bottles of wine between them.
After the plates were cleared and a fourth bottle was brought, Gildor
leaned back in his chair and strummed his fingers on the top of the
table. “I agree.”
Thranduil studied the drunken Elf for a moment, not yet realizing
that he, too, had had too much. “With what?”
“That they should not be the only ones with the power. We should
have some of the power as well.”
“Yes, but you know that will never happen. None of them will ever
give any to us, greedy bastards. Not even Cirdan, who should be on our
side.”
The tapping of Gildor’s fingers stopped and he grinned. “Then we
should take it from them.”
“Stealing a ring from one of them is easier said than done,”
replied Thranduil.
“Not a ring. The girl.” Gildor’s eyes were sparkling with
mischief now, pupils dilated from imbibing too much of the sweet wine.
“If they have the rings, what do they need her for?”
“Indeed.” Thranduil frowned. “She may be more difficult than
the rings, though. There is no doubt that they are guarding her, even as
she sleeps.”
“Yes, but I have a plan,” said Gildor as he shakily stood up,
grabbed the bottle, and finished the wine.
“I thought you might.” Thranduil stood up as well, following
Gildor out of the hall and out into the gardens to further discuss
matters.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was a mere hour later that Thranduil and his party were riding
away from Mithlond, with Gildor and his contingent behind them. With
them was another person, one not original part of either group.
Thranduil was carefully minding the slumbering Maia sitting in front of
him on his horse as he thought to how easy it had been to carry out
their plan.
Gildor had gone back to his room while Thranduil gathered and readied
their escorts in the stables. Then the Greenwood King came to the spot
just below the window of Gildor’s room. Gildor gave Elrond and the
guards at the door a story that he had to retrieve something from the
room and would be just a moment, and assured them he would do so without
waking the poor girl resting inside from her sleep.
True to his word, Gildor entered the room, shut the door, opened the
window, picked the lady up, and dropped her out of the window into the
waiting arms of Thranduil a story below. He exited the room again,
claiming to have found the missing item, and bid Elrond a good night
before casually strolling away.
Once Gildor reached the stairs, he ran like there was no tomorrow.
Thranduil had already rushed Olora to the stables, where his horse and
the other riders were waiting. The minutes after that were so hurried
that he scarcely recalled what was said or done, only that they were to
leave as a group, and once on the main road, would split off so that
Thranduil and his chief guard would continue on to Greenwood while
Gildor and his people along with the remaining Greenwood Elves would
leave a trail to Lindon in case they should be followed.
Olora slept soundly for almost an entire day. By the evening
following the one they had left Mithlond, she stirred. Thranduil and his
companion had made camp for the night, and were sitting and eating a
meager supper when she sat up. There was no need for introductions, and
Olora seemed to guess almost immediately what had happened. She was in
no mood to talk, refused to eat, and when she made an attempt to escape
her captors, Thranduil chased her down and bound her hands and feet.
When she tried to scream for help, he covered her mouth with his hand
until she cried herself back to sleep.
“Mayhaps Gildor should have taken her instead,” suggested the
guard as Thranduil lowered Olora down onto a blanket spread on the
ground. “She hardly seems worth the trouble of upsetting the council.”
“I think you will change your mind when we reach Greenwood,” said
Thranduil. He had not given the true story to the guards that had
accompanied Gildor or himself to Mithlond, only that they were
kidnapping the Maian ambassador to prove a point. Thranduil laid down
beside Olora while the guard took the first watch. Although the binding
around her wrists and ankles would have made escape difficult, he
spooned up against her and draped a strong arm around her, just in case
she tried.
~~~~~~
The journey back to Greenwood was not very eventful otherwise, making
Thranduil believe that Gildor’s plan to have Olora’s would-be
rescuers follow him had worked. The king arrived at the gates of
Greenwood well ahead of schedule and was greeted by Legolas, whom he had
left in charge in his absence.
Legolas was the prince of Greenwood, yet not the son of his blood.
Thranduil’s sister had died in the midst of childbirth, at the same
time it was later discovered her husband was murdered by a band of
attacking orcs as he tried to make his way back to the caves for the
blessed event. With no wife and no children of his own, Thranduil raised
Legolas as if he was his son, yet made sure that Legolas knew who his
parents were and how proud they would have been of him. As Thranduil was
the only parent Legolas had ever known, he treated the King with all the
respect he would have a father.
It was no surprise that he was at the front gates, and hugged
Thranduil upon his return. “It is good to see you back so soon, Ada. I
trust your travels were safe?”
“They were,” answered Thranduil, returning the embrace, patting
his nephew’s back. “Safe and uneventful.”
“And the council?” asked Legolas.
Thranduil stood back and sighed. “We can discuss that later. There
is someone you should meet.” Thranduil motioned to Olora, whose bonds
had been removed just before they reached Greenwood, with a promise that
she would be locked in the dungeon upon arrival if she attempted another
escape. “This is Olora of the Maiar.”
Legolas bowed. “Pleased to meet you, m’lady.” He paused, and
frowned when she did not respond. He looked at Thranduil and asked, “Is
she mute? Under a spell?”
“No, she is just rude,” said Thranduil.
To this, Olora’s mouth gaped open. “Rude? Rude?!” She stomped
her dainty foot, her dark curls bouncing once. “Should I have thanked
you for kidnapping me and bringing me here against my will? Or perhaps
you wish to be thanked for tying me up. Is that it?”
“Did you really tie her up?” asked Legolas.
Thranduil shrugged his shoulders. “She would have run away
otherwise.”
“Uh...” Legolas furrowed his brow at this somewhat irrational
behavior the King was exhibiting. “Will she... will you be staying
long?” He addressed Olora as an afterthought, hoping to repair some of
the damage his foster father had obviously done.
“No,” she said at the same time Thranduil said, “Yes.”
“I see.” Legolas bit his lip to keep from laughing, for he knew
not what else to do in such a situation. “I will have a room prepared
for you.”
“Post guards at the door,” directed Thranduil as Legolas began to
walk away. “Both inside and out!” he shouted as an afterthought. He
turned to Olora and asked, “Would you like a tour of Greenwood?”
She stared forward defiantly.
“Great. We will start with the gardens. Oh, wait, the spiders ate
them about four hundred years back. Well, we will need to start with the
bathing ponds then. No, no, we cannot go there either, since the orcs
use them to dump their waste into now. Perhaps the orchards... oh, but
those are overrun with demonic little black squirrels, who foam at the
mouth and attack any living creature, be he beast or Elf.” As
Thranduil continued to list the places he would have shown her but could
not, Olora’s stern gaze softened considerably. Finally, Thranduil
shook his head and said, “I guess you will just have to be content
looking at the rocks in this cave. Not much to see, not much to do, and
it gets very stuffy and damp and unpleasant, but then, I do not possess
a magic ring to allow us to live in the trees any longer, or in a
comfortable house, or in a peaceful harbor aboard beautiful wooden
ships.”
The tour was very short, and Thranduil escorted Olora to the rooms
that Legolas had readied for their guest afterwards. “I am sorry to
have upset you, but I had to bring you here. I could have made my case
in Mithlond, but would you have come here if I had told you how great
our need is, instead of showing you?”
Olora looked around the room she had been brought to quietly. It was
nothing like the room she was given to sleep in when she was in Mithlond.
The walls were hard stone, carved long ago by Dwarven hands. There were
no windows and little light. There was no door, only a curtain
separating the room from the stone hallway. The bed itself was even
carved from the rock, heaped with cushions and blankets. Olora touched
the stone, finding it cold and somewhat damp. “Probably not,” she
said honestly. “I still dislike being torn away from my brethren as I
was. There were still many things for me to discuss with the others,
especially with my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Olorin. He was the one dressed in grey cloaks, with the ragged
hat. I really wish he would find a new hat,” she muttered to herself
as Thranduil lit a few extra candles for her. “It makes him look like
such a peasant.” A moment later, she gasped and her hand flew to her
chest on the right side, as it had during the gathering of the council.
Thranduil stepped beside her, helping her to sit down. “Can I do
anything to help you? Should I call for a healer?”
“Unless you have a healer greater than Elrond, then there is no
need.” Olora rested, leaning against Thranduil for support. “I have
been ailing for over a thousand years. My power is my weakness.”
“What do you mean?”
Olora touched her right side, just to the side of her heart. “During
the Great War, I was there. I kept hidden, watching, as a messenger of
the Valar. I kept them informed of what was going on. When Ereinion Gil-galad
charged Sauron, I was there. When he was destroyed, I was there. As
Sauron smote him, he raised his arm to shield himself. It was not enough
to save him, but the power of the ring he wore helped to weaken Sauron.
Sauron saw the ring and concentrated his destructive power directly upon
it. Gil-galad was killed, and the ring was damaged. A tiny shard of it
flew off, and into me. It buried itself so deep, and no one has the
skill to remove it.
“I am unable to change my form, for I would risk my own destruction
in doing so. The shard is, however, a small part of Vilya, and I derive
certain powers from that. My own powers as a Maia, however, diminish as
I travel further East and away from Valinor. This is why an offer was
never made for me to aid you, King Thranduil. I do not know if I can be
of much use to you here.”
Thranduil silently cursed his luck, and nodded. “Well... you should
rest, and we will discuss the matter further when you wake up.” After
settling Olora into bed, Thranduil left the room and paced the stone
halls of his kingdom. If Olora was telling the truth and could not help
his plight, then he and Gildor had taken a great risk that would likely
result in a war for no gain. He hoped that she was able to do something
for Greenwood, or his bringing her to his realm would be all for naught.
Over the next few weeks, Thranduil spent most of his time with Olora.
With an escort of expert archers they explored the areas around the
Elvenking’s stone palace. They roamed the caves together during the
evenings. Stories were exchanged between them, and ideas of how to
counter the evils that Thranduil and his people faced were brought to
light, for Olora was wise even among her own people.
It was also discovered that she was not entirely powerless. In some
areas of the caves that had been barren she managed to bring forth
seedlings and flowers from the ground. The darkness of the caves seemed
less now, and Thranduil found himself happier than he had ever been
before.
In fact, the more time they spent together, the closer they became.
Their late night strolls through the caves would end with long talks in
Thranduil’s room. More than once they had fallen asleep on the couch,
snuggled together. Things were going so well, in fact, that Thranduil
had nearly forgotten how Olora had come to be in Greenwood until one
morning almost two months after the fateful night he had departed
Mithlond.
Thranduil was awakened very early by a frantic Legolas. The young
prince was shaking his uncle, speaking so fast that Thranduil begged him
to begin again as Olora sat up and stretched with a yawn.
“They are here!” Legolas rubbed his forehead and began pacing.
“Who? Who is here?”
“Everyone!” Legolas was wringing his hands now as well, shaking
his head. “There are forces at the gates from the Havens, and an
entire army from Imladris. Galadriel is demanding the release of Olora,
and I think she means business, Ada. She pointed a sword at me, and said
that you have exactly one hour to release Olora. They are keeping the
gate guardians as hostages until we respond.”
Olora frowned. When she had first arrived in Greenwood, she was
uncertain about Thranduil. It was only because she knew that she could
have left at any time by summoning her brother that she stayed. Now,
having spent the time she had with Thranduil, she had grown to know and
love him. “Tell them I have no intention of leaving with them. I will
leave when, and if, I ever decide to.”
“Yes. Tell them,” agreed Thranduil firmly. He looked at Olora and
said, “If they try to force their way inside, fight back. I will not
have them take her away.”
“I do not think they are going to appreciate that answer,”
mumbled Legolas as he left the room, but left to gather reinforcements
and take the message to those waiting at the gate.
Olora stood up and began to tread back and forth over the rug that
Legolas had been walking on. “He may buy us time, but they are too
numerous, and your forces are spread out through the forest. You cannot
buy enough time to assemble the army you do have, and I doubt you stand
a chance even with the full strength of your soldiers.”
“Then I suppose I must use this time to find another solution. I do
not wish to fight them,” he admitted. “Too many kinslayings have
there been in our past. I will not be the cause of another, but I will
not let you go.”
“You may not have a choice. I fear that one or the other shall come
to pass.”
Thranduil bowed his head and rubbed his temples. There had to be
another solution, but the haze of sleep was still clouding his mind to
it. Despite being a captable fighter and a more than apt general,
Thranduil had never been one to desire a fight. Make love, not war, as
the old saying went. An idea hit him, and at first it seemed silly, but
the more he considered it, the more it became the most logical thing to
do. “Marry me.”
“What?” Olora stopped dead in her tracks. “What did you say?”
“Marry me. Be my queen. They would not dare force you away then.”
Thranduil stood up, but only long enough to walk to where Olora was
standing. He bent down upon one knee and took hold of her hands. “In
these past weeks, you have made me realize that there was another reason
I wanted to bring you here. Of course, there was the thought of my
people and the benefit you would bring, but I know now that my soul was
aching for you. Deep down, I was drawn to you and would do anything to
be with you, as obvious from my actions in bringing you here. Normally,
I am much saner when it comes to political situations.”
“And a sudden proposal is what you consider sane?” Olora’s
expression was unreadable, but inside, she was bursting with happiness.
She had hoped that the noble king’s kindness was for reasons more than
just her powers.
He gripped her hands tighter. “I would have courted you longer. I
would have offered you anything you ever desired. I fear if you say no,
I will not have the chance to see you again, and I will die without you.”
“I think you are stronger than that, dear Thranduil, but you must
know that it would not be my wish never to see you again. I thought fate
brought me here to heal the hurts of this land, but now I know that
there was a little more to it than that.”
“Is that a yes?” asked Thranduil cautiously.
Olora laughed. “Would you take no for an answer?”
“Ah, you know me so well,” teased Thranduil back.
“Then yes, I accept your proposal. However, I fear the promise of
an engagement will not stop those at the gate from coming for me, and I
doubt that there is time for a wedding.”
“Then... we will improvise,” decided the king as he stood up and
kissed his beloved. “It is said that when a couple consummates their
love, if they speak the name of Illuvatar he will bless them and the
bond will be complete.”
“You speak truthfully. Aye, there is little more than that needed
for marriage in His eyes, only that each be true to their heart, and to
love and cherish one another.”
“Then...” Thranduil’s gaze slid to his bed. “Will you marry
me... now?”
Olora answered by tugging on Thranduil’s hand as she stepped in the
direction of the bed. Her dark eyes stayed locked with his as she
carefully stepped backwards until she reached it. Removing her hands
from his, she pushed her dress down off her shoulders on either side,
exposing dusky skin to his view. Thranduil licked his lips and came
forward, lowering his head to kiss the bare skin of her throat.
As he worshipped her with his mouth, his hands untied the sash at her
waist and then began to tug the dress down further until he revealed her
smooth breasts. His thumbs caressed them at the center until small hard
nubs formed. Then he bowed his head lower and suckled upon her until she
groaned and began to rub against him in mild frustration. She tried to
tangle her fingers into his hair, but the braid hindered this. As he
continued to tend to one breast and then the other, she nimbly loosened
his blond hair, leaving it to fall in loose waves past his shoulders.
“Better... but I would be happier to see you without so many
unnecessary layers,” she said as she unbelted his pants.
The king hastily removed his own clothing before returning to the
task at hand. He slowly disrobed Olora further, pulling the dress she
wore down until her flat stomach was exposed to him as well. Then he
gently laid her down upon the bed and rained kisses upon her from her
cheeks down to the indentation of her belly. She giggled when he flicked
his tongue within, and moaned when he jerked the dress down to expose
her completely.
“I do not wish to hurt you,” he muttered as he rubbed two fingers
across the moist, warm flesh between her legs. Olora moaned in answer,
raising her hips in order to feel more of his touch. Carefully, he
dipped his fingers in, and she told hold of his shoulder.
“You will not hurt me, Thranduil, but time is precious. Take me, my
love, or I fear our opportunity will be lost.”
With a slight nod, Thranduil covered her with his body and entered
her as he bent his head down to kiss her again. His own groans now
drowned hers out as he made love to her, thrusting harder and faster as
she begged for it, until finally the pull was too great, and they
climaxed as their souls came together as one.
Almost as soon as Thranduil collapsed beside his new wife and queen,
the sound of a commotion in the hallway outside of the room came to
them. Thranduil yanked a robe from the bedpost and grabbed his sword. He
took a moment to pull Olora into his arms and kiss her before rushing
out into the hall.
Legolas was fighting off a trio of Galadhrim warriors with his
knives, doing what he could to keep from injuring them. Thranduil raised
his sword and called for them to stop, but before he had a chance to
block a single blade someone grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to
the ground. His sword clattered against the wall, and when his vision
cleared, he saw an angry yet amused elf staring down at him, a single
blond braid swinging back and forth over his shoulder.
“You were right. The long hair is a hazard. I thank you for the
tip,” said Glorfindel, who had him pinned on the ground. “Now, I
shall thank you to hand over what is not yours.”
“She is not yours, either,” spat Thranduil as he struggled to get
up. He heard Legolas curse and the sound of the smaller blades hitting
the stone. There was silence for a moment, and then someone, a female,
making a clicking sound with her tongue.
“Glorfindel, let him up.”
Thranduil was released from the ground, and stood up to find that
Galadriel and Elrond had both made it into the caves. Each was dressed
in armor, and to Thranduil’s amusement, Erestor was there as well,
also in his battle gear. Obviously, it was not Erestor who had offered
information to them as to what had transpired. “Is there some reason
you have come to invade my home?” he asked after looking to see that
Legolas was captured, but unharmed. Glorfindel placed his hand upon the
king’s shoulder, perhaps thinking he might try to run off. Thranduil
rolled his eyes but said nothing.
“We came to rescue Olora,” answered Galadriel. “You remember...
the lady you and Gildor took it upon yourselves to liberate? We did not
appreciate the chase your friend gave us, but it was worth it to have
found her. Now, if you please, I would suggest you turn her over to us.”
“If she wants to go with you, I will not stop her.”
“Why would she want to stay here?” wondered Elrond.
Olora appeared at the door of the bedroom, wearing one of Thranduil’s
robes. On her it dragged down to the floor despite her height, mostly
due to his muscular physique. “How would you like it if someone told
you that you could not be with your spouse?” she asked as she stepped
into the hallway.
“Pardon?” queried Elrond.
With a disdainful sniff, Olora crossed her arms over her chest and
glared at Glorfindel. “Kindly remove your hand from my husband,” she
demanded. Glorfindel blinked in surprise, but lifted his hand. “Now,
if you will excuse us, we still have our honeymoon to attend to.”
Olora took hold of Thranduil’s hand and yanked him back into the room,
pointedly drawing the curtain at the door after glaring at everyone,
except Legolas.
There was a minute of awkward silence before Erestor said, “Please
offer my congratulations to your king.”
Legolas nodded, looking quite perplexed as well. “I will do that.
Uhm... shall I show you to the door, or do you know the way out, having
so handily invaded in such a short time?”
Most of the group looked confused as to exactly where they were, but
Erestor motioned toward the hallway that would lead back outside. “I
know the way. Until next time we meet... hopefully under more pleasant
terms,” smirked the Imladrin counselor as he ushered the would-be
rescuers out of Greenwood.
Legolas waited until the group was out of the vicinity before rapping
gently on the doorway. “Are the two of you decent in there?”
There was a round of giggles and laughter, and the rustle of cloth,
and then Thranduil answered. “For the moment, but I cannot promise it
will be for long!”
The young prince pushed the curtain aside slightly. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. It was a spur of the moment decision I will not regret
for a moment,” said Thranduil, pulling Olora closer. They were covered
modestly by the blankets and the robes they were still wearing.
“I meant the fact you managed to make both Galadriel and Elrond
speechless. You should have seen their faces. But, I suppose I should
congratulate both of you as well,” he said with a wink before letting
the curtain fall back into place.