Behind the Shadows of the Soul II : The Best Foes

Behind the shadows of the soul
Part II: The Best Foes

Author: Casualis ( Casualis2000@yahoo.fr )

Pairings: Elrohir/Legolas (implied), Elrond/Thranduil (slight)

Rating: PG

Warning: none

Summary: They were friends once, but even the strongest feelings may die out one day.

Disclaimer: In my dreams, they are mine and mine alone. Unfortunately, I only sleep ten hours a day.

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Chapter 5: Truth Unveiled

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“Gil-Galad…”


“Aie”, acknowledged the sitting elf, his gaze fixed upon the white wall on his left, avoiding crossing Elrond’s eyes. Then, he added after a brief silence: “Always Gil-Galad…”

And he snorted once more, but more than a lone feeling was expressed in that sound. Pain and disdain. Tears and contempt. Suffering. Hate. Resentment. Elrond felt at loss when he heard that whole range of emotions.

Ereinion Gil-Galad, the one he had silently admired for years without earning more than occasional glances, as he had been no more than a child in tye oye of the High King. He had told Thranduil of his admiration, hoping that his friend would understand. But the blond Prince of Mirkwood had not, manifesting his annoyance whenever he had introduced the subject. The young elf he had been thus had not given much more attention to his friend’s reaction, imputing it to the evident disagreement between Oropher and the High King.

Gil-Galad… So bright and beautiful, as a shining star fallen upon Arda… He would have done anything for him, he would have followed him anywhere. But, as much as it grieved him to acknowledge it, Gil-Galad had been the hidden fissure in his relationship with Thranduil, underlying but always present. He only realized it now, as he heard the resentment flaring in the golden-haired elf’s voice and, suddenly, Elrond felt very tired, as drained of his whole strength. Slowly, he sat and watched the other elf’s profile, which was resolutely turned toward the wall. He rested his elbows on the table, his fingers twinned together. Frustration seized him and he buried his head in his hands before sighing deeply.

A shadow flickered ephemerally, catching his eye, drawing his attention toward the opened window. But, from his place, he only saw the ethereal beauty of the blue sky, which was not soiled by the presence of any cloud. For some seconds, he let himself be locked in that pure ocean, fighting against the need to close his eyes and to forget the meeting and Thranduil. But, gathering his will, he tore himself from his silent contemplation and concentrate upon the blond K “Wh “Why do I have the impression we ever had that conversation?”

Elrond knew his weariness would not go unnoticed by his interlocutor, but he did not mind. He was tired, simply tired of a past he did not always understand. But only silence welcomed his question, as instead of answering, Thranduil captured his still full glass of wine and emptied it. Then, the blond ruler’s voice resounded in the vast office, less agitated, somewhat resigned, “Maybe because we did have this convtiontion before…”

Thranduil looked once more at his glass, almost surprised to discover the emptiness of the delicate container. He knew what he had dreaded was nearing and he could by no way stop it. ‘No one can always avoid the past’, he thought, staring emptily at the reflections of the crystal. ‘One can run away from it, but, at the end, it’s always there…’ And suddenly, he wished he would be able to get intoxicated.

The dark-haired lord did not miss the sudden change of tone in Thranduil’s voice, but he was still not able to understand its nature. His inability to define those feelings frustrated him and he let his emotions be shown when he asked, cynical, “And you find it comfortable?”

The subtle underlying meaning of the question did not go unnoticed by the King of Mirkwood, who abandoned the tense observation of the object in his long-fingered hand to cross Elrond’s stare. The golden-haired elf looked for some seconds in the other’s eyes, trying to discern whether he should tell everything he thought… And he chose to do so. He had no clue why he had taken that decision, when he had tried to avoid it for so long. Why now? Why him? He had no answers to give… Except, perhaps, that it was time to turn the page… Transferring his glass from his right hand to his left, he massaged slowly the tense muscles of his neck while saying with a neutral voice, taking his time to answer, seeking his words, never avoiding the inquisitive gaze of the raven-haired elf, “I find it exasperating… I find it saddening…. I find it horrible and weak... But I certainly do not find it comforting…”

Elrond was struck by the simple acceptance one might hear in those words. But the particular inflection Thranduil had given to one of them caught his attention and he could not help asking with ulterior motive, “Weak? What do you mean?”

A stifled laughter answered his question and he frowned, ready to ask what Thranduil found so amusing in his question. But he had no time to do so, as the blond elf turned himself toward him, facing him. The blond King of Mirkwood remained silent for some times, trying to find the words that would explain something he was feeling, something he had never voiced. Hesitantly, he began, “I am weak, Peredhel. That is why I find it horrible. I am weak when my people need my strength to lean on, to cling on. For them, I'm a confident king, ruling a kingdom threatened by Shadow. They know I have sworn to protect them. They know it as I do." He paused briefly, biting slightly his bottom lip before moistening them with his tongue in a discreet motion. Then, he followed, his voice assured and strong, “They behold the image of myself I give. Image of strength and self-confidence. A monarch shall have no weakness, no failure. They wait for my strength and they do not know that if they look past the barrier they will find a weakness.”

He shook his head, creating a foggy golden halo around his fair face and he added, a sad smile on his well-drawn lips, “A weakness that had hampered me to rule my Kingdom as I should have done. Do you know that weakness had a name, Elrond Peredhel? It has the same as you…”

After that revelation, the blond King of Mirkwood did not averted his gaze, preferring to watch the Loremaster as he pondered his speech. They had long passed the point of disguise, there was no place anymore for pretense of indifference and coldness. After some moments, Elrond replied, sounding slightly shocked, his eyes narrowed in incomprehension, “I never thought you considered what we shared as a weakness, Thranduil. For me, friendship is strength, something that helps you on your way… “Then, he added quickly with a motion of his hand to enhance his words, “Never a weakness…”

And he leaned against the back of his chair, staring at his former friend, trying not to look too destabilized, but knowing he failed miserably. For his part, the Sindarin elf rested one of his elbows on the table and, taking a deep breath, he asked, knowing well what kind of reaction his question might raise, “Can we call what we shared a friendship?”

A disbelieving silence welcomed his words, as Elrond stared blankly at him, unable to move. But Thranduil’s words shocked him more than he let it appear. He knew they had made mistakes at some points of their relationships. He was aware of that fact. But, even when love had become hate, or something looking closely to hate, never had he denied what had been. They had been friends and their friendship had been true. Or, at least, it was what he had believed. But looking at Thranduil’s calm and emotionless eyes made him doubt.

He shook his head, refusing to listen more. A deep anger seized him and he did not try to conceal it when he spoke, as it melted with surprise, “How dare you call it otherwise? We were friends, we were brothers, we were… one… Until…”

But he was unable to end his sentence. How would he be able? He did not know… Thranduil was well aware of the internal struggles agitating his former friend’s mind. He, himself, had known that inward battle. But he did not let his momentary sensitivity have any influence upon his decision. Things had to be told, even if he destroyed forever the tender image Elrond had obviously kept of them.

“Until what? Tell me, Elrond. Until what?” he attacked mercilessly before adding with something looking like a cruel smile on his lips, “Do not be shy, this is the long awaited moment of confessions…”

He felt like a cat playing with a mouse. It was not charitable, but it was a sweet little revenge for the years he had spent cursing Elrond for his fate. After a brief pause, he opened once more his mouth to speak, but was cut off before he had the opportunity to utter the words, “I do not know when everything had changed…”

The Lord of Imladris’ voice had snapped, loud and exasperated, resounding strongly in the office. He sighed and knocked slightly on the edge of the wooden table with his curled forefinger. He hated losing his temper, but he had not been able to contain himself. At that very moment, he would have screamed his confusion.

“Do you?”

The King of Mirkwood’s voice echoed softly the louder outburst of the Loremaster, holding an undeniable undertone of mock disbelief. Elrond sighed and rubbed his temples with a steady hand, containing his rising rage. But he could not prevent the slight quivering of his voice when he spoke through his clenched jaw, defying Thranduil with shining eyes, “So, tell me if you had the chance to understand…”

And suddenly, all tension fell back, as the King of Mirkwood’s mocking smile faded and as a thoughtful expression graced his smooth features without him breaking eye contact. Witnessing that change, Elrond could not prevent the death of his anger and the birth of puzzlement in his heart. He had never known Thranduil to be such a complex elf. He understood now that the golden-haired being had been manipulating him, leading him where he wished him to go. And renewed interest arose in him, as the Thranduil he had known was a foreseeable elf, looking naught like the one sitting in front of him. He wondered how one can alternate between ice and fire, softness and harshness, comprehension and cruelty…

Ignoring the new light in the Lord of Imladris’ eyes, the blond Elf lowered his gaze and stroke lightly the soft parchment of one of the numerous maps upon the table. He did not level his blue gaze when he answered Elrond’s wish, “Until the masks we wore had fallen down… Until the fabric binding us was torn...”

Only when the last of his words died did he cross again to the raven-haired Lord’s astonished gaze, stopping the soft going to and fro of his hand upon the map. Elrond stared for some extra seconds, trying helplessly to make out the meaning of those enigmatic sentences and failing to do so. The dark-haired Lord passed a hand in his silky hair, tucking away a braid, seeking in the other’s gaze the somber answer to that mystery. Then he admitted honestly, “I do not understand a word of what you’re saying…”

To his surprise, the Sindarin King did not answer immediately, but got up to pour some wine in both their glasses. Nothing was heard save for the harmonious sound of the golden liquid flowing. With a graceful motion, the tall blond elf stretched a filled glass toward his former friend. Elrond received it with a nod of his head, noticing the fluid steps of Thranduil when he joined his seat. As he readied himself to sit down, the King of Mirkwood informed, "You cannot understand… Because you have seen naught… Because you preferred to see naught.”

Once those words were spoken, he let himself fall gracefully on his seat and brought his glass to his lips under the Loremaster’s piercing gaze. Elrond was taken aback, as he understood less and less where the blond King wanted to lead them. He forsook his wine after a brief glance toward the cool liquid, deciding he was not in a mood to enjoy his drink and voiced his incomprehension while putting his glass down, “Can’t you stop speaking in riddles, please?”

Thranduil was enjoying his wine, letting its freshness soothe his dried throat and allay his impassioned mind, tasting its fruity tunes. Hearing the Peredhel’s remark awakened an old memory, sending him many years back. It seemed to him that a lovely laughter that he had not heard for a very long time cascaded again in his ears and he smiled at the beloved sound, his eyes lost for a brief second in the mist of the past. For that short moment, he saw again a sweet gaze shining brightly in a fair face framed by long dark unruly strands and he heard again a musical voice chastising him tenderly before the unexpected vision died out in front of his eyes. A soft smile lingered on his lips as he sipped another gulp of his wine. Then, he said dreamily, still slightly lost in the remnants of the image, “You know it is strange. That’s exactly what she said… ‘You are not clear with yourself when you think of him, how do you want others to understand you?’ Then she would laugh… ”

Elrond watched, fascinated, the expression on Thranduil’s features. He had never seen such a mixture of sadness, joy and utter love in his former friend’s face. Somehow, it made him look much younger than he had looked minutes ago. Biting his lip as he hated to interrupt the magic of the moment and the peace bestowed upon the King of Mirkwood, he inquired, “Who?”

But Thranduil did not lose the strange sparkle of light in his bottomless eyes when he turned his attention toward the Lord of Imladris. Taking another gulp in his glass before answering, the golden-haired elf wiped discreetly his lips with a long finger, “Menelwe…”

And Elrond understood. Menelwe had been Thranduil’s wife, a beautiful and intelligent she-elf, who had a great influence on the bad-tempered and stubborn King. The Loremaster had often admired how she had calmed her husband at the time of some councils and led him to accept some aspects of needed collaboration. She had died five centuries ago, killed in a trap committed by orcs. But he had no further time to think about the deceased Queen of Mirkwood, as Thranduil followed, his voice unusually soft, never staring directly at him as ashamed of his feelings, and looking as still lost in his memories, “She understood. She knew me better than I did myself. She was so wonderful…” His voice held an unmistakable sob and he paused to master its quivering: “You know… After… “He hesitated on the world to use: “Our end… She comforted me. As a friend…” A low chuckle escaped his lips, bearing an underlying note of wonder: “I never understood how I came to accept what she offered to me when I had sworn never to trust again… I think I needed to trust someone. Somewhere that was why I needed you…”

Elrond stared disbelievingly at the golden-haired being, not trusting what he had just heard from Thranduil. It was the first time he had heard the blond King admitting he needed someone. And it shocked him much to hear he had needed him. Him. He had always thought Thranduil to be the most independent of them. And, actually, he had been so wrong. Listening to the Sindarin elf, he realized that he had never really known him; he had never sought further than Thranduil had been willing to show. He tried to suppress the wave of guilt that arisen in his heart. The time for questions had passed and now, it was time to listen to what he had never suspected.

“You needed me?”

His voice betrayed his surprise and Thranduil smiled softly at the question. He plunged his blue eyes in the gray ones staring at him. He tried to make the Lord of Imladris understand what he had never tried to say. And he found it difficult. But it was needed. He needed that confession.

“Yes, I needed you ...”

He paused for a brief moment to give the Half-Elf a moment to acknowledge the avowal, then he followed, words coming more easily once the initial admission made, “I needed someone to lean on, someone to relieve myself from the burden my father had put on my shoulders… I was a prince… I was not supposed ever to be free. I was bound to my duty as I had always been since my birth”

The Loremaster listened silently at the words uttered by the King, as if discovering for the first time the elf sitting in front of him. And, somewhere, it was the case. He had no time to ponder what Thranduil was saying, as the words flowed. He only noticed the bitter tone flaring in his voice when he said, “I had no friends, only people watching my every step. Do you know what I saw the first time we were introduced, Elrond? I saw freedom. The freedom I never had and I always dreamt of. Being with you was somehow being you, forgetting the chains that had always bound my feet. My father never bore that, that’s why he never accepted you…”

Then, he stopped and what was supposed to be a slight smile and was indeed a scowl distorted briefly his features, as he completed his speech. No words were added and the blond King of Mirkwood looked at Elrond, trying to discern his reaction, but seeing none, as the Loremaster’s face was an unreadable mask. Feeling that a kind of reply was awaited, Elrond told hastily not really knowing what to say, as too many thoughts were jostling in his head, “I thought he never liked me because I had grown up at Gil-Galad’s court…”

Thranduil smiled inwardly at the memory of the rage of his father when he had learnt from his councillors that his son had befriended the Half-Elf living at the High King’s court. He had not been there, as he had refused to go back to Greenwood with the party he had been supposed to lead as an ambassador of his father. One of the numerous secretaries working in the library, who had some sympathy for the lonely elf he had been, had been present and had told him that the walls of the Great Hall had resounded with the cries of Oropher. It was no lie to say that Elrond’s belonging to Gil-Galad’s court had not eased his father’s wrath, “It’s also true… Father had had no affection for Gil-Galad…” Then he added with a hint of challenge in his voice: “Just as I had. But not for the same reasons…”

The raven-haired elf’s caught well the underlying tease in the other’s voice. Thranduil’s tone seemed to invite him to ask the question he had ever asked without ever getting an answer. But this time, Elrond understood that he would have at least this answer. With a slight shake of his head that made some of his strands shine in the daylight, he told, “Reasons I never understood…”

A soft chuckle welcomed his remark and Thranduil brought once more his glass to his lips before explaining slowly, a smile in his voice, “Reasons you never wanted to understand. For you to understand, you would have had to see many other things you had not even noticed… But that’s not important, isn’t it?” Then, he became serious again: “I never really hated your High King… I never stood his presence next to you.”

Seeing the frown adorning Elrond’s usually smooth brow, Thranduil understood he had still a lot to explain. Putting carefully his glass down and stroking slightly the soft velvet of the fabric covering his knee, he followed, “Because I knew the day you would have him, you would leave me. Because you would not need me anymore… And I needed you to need me. Because if you did not need me, you would leave and I would go back to my chains… ”

A nervous chuckle escaped the King’s lips that he covered hastily with two fingers, looking down before crossing again Elrond’s bemused gaze. He added awkwardly, “I am laughing, but that is not humorous…”

Elrond tried to suppress the smile coming to his lips when he saw the faint contrite stare he was given. He closed briefly his eyes-lids to clear his mind. He recalled laughter arising in melodious notes, songs sung in a golden sunset, eyes speaking of love and brotherhood. He remembered joyous days spent in the simple company of the other, painful confessions made in the secret of the night, under the watchful gaze of Ithil. He remembered the peace in his heart and his mind when they were together. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, resting his gaze on the thoughtful figure sitting close to him. The Lord of Imladris stretched his hand to reach his glass, but did not take it. He put a long and delicate finger in the edge of the crystal container and drew circles without ever breaking contact, eliciting a piercing whiz. Then, he acknowledged, “I never saw it like that.”

Thranduil smiled softly at the admission that looked like an apology. But he did not need an apology. Time for such things had passed for many years. Feeling his limbs becoming stiff, he got up and took some steps in the office before leaning on the wall facing the other elf, his arms crossed on his chest. Plunging his gaze in Elrond’s, he said, his voice soft and somewhat tender, “No, you did not and you still do not. Because, somewhere, you are an innocent that seeks goodness in each of us. We never knew each other, we were too eager to see in the other what we wanted to see. You needed someone to escape the horror of your brother’s death. You needed someone to be foolish and inconsistent, someone who could make you feel alive. I was there and I needed someone who could make me feel alive…”

Elrond shook his head more violently, refusing to hear more and interrupting the King of Mirkwood. His voice held all the denial he was feeling and resounded strongly in the room, covering Thranduil’s softer voice, “I never used you!”

The Sindarin elf’s eyes narrowed slightly and he showed no sign of anger as he declared blatantly, trying to soothe the distressed Lord of Imladris, “But we used each others…”

The raven-haired elf’s hand that was rubbing absently his left temple fall heavily on the table with a thud as he insisted stubbornly, accompanying his words with quick little shaking of his head, “I can’t accept your vision …”

A smile appeared on Thranduil’s features as he watched the Loremaster’s refusal. He knew this would happen. Elrond was not so much different than millennia ago. He levelled his blue gaze and stared at the pure whiteness of the floor, then, without looking down, he admitted with an undeniable undertone of disappointment in his voice, “I knew you wouldn’t. It is not like you. It is not the kind of things you would do consciously.”

Then, his gaze fell again on the bemused Lord of Imladris that was looking exhausted and he smiled once more at the strange picture both should be forming, so different than their usual arguments and certitudes. He was aware they both would look weary and exhausted, absolutely not regal nor confident. Such a good image of the dignified rulers they were…

“No wonder you hate me if that is the image you have of me…”

All trace of smile disappeared from his face as he heard the bitter tone of Elrond’s voice when he spoke again. And Thranduil realized that some things remained to be explained. He did not know how to begin with. Words had come easily. Until now. Now he was at loss for words. The King of Mirkwood approached the wooden table and leaned over it on both his hands, catching Elrond’s full attention. He swallowed quite difficultl the their gaze lasted, opening their mind to each other, sharing their weaknesses and their fears, but also their hopes, “I do not hate you. I never hated you…”

Thranduil made sure to speak slowly and to give all the needed strength to his words. He told the truth. He had never hated Elrond. But how much he had hated himself! He dampened his lips before following, “Quite the contrary, indeed…” A painful chuckle escaped his lips and he straightened himself, avoiding Elrond’s gaze, not able to face the Half-Elf. “I will tell you something in confidence, Peredhel. It is something I can tell you now because… Well, I don’t know why… Maybe because I have never told so much and this is the last thing that remained to be told. I have suffered a lot when you left…”

Once more, Elrond interrupted him, not caring anymore of the official decorum. In that office, they were not the lord of Imladris and the King of Mirkwood anymore, but Elrond and Thranduil. He did not care of the tears that might be heard in his voice. Masks had fallen and neither of them was ready to put them back. His voice went louder as one goes along his words, “I did not left… You told me to leave, to go with Gil-Galad in that campaign. You told me never to come back to you. You told me you could not bear my presence anymore…”

The golden-haired being took some times to ponder the other’s speech, remembering one of his most painful memories, one of the most difficult things he had needed to do. But sometimes, even unpleasant things needed to be done and it took all the courage of the one who would achieve them. Trying to steady his voice and to prevent it from quivering, he explained,
“Because it was over. You know, in the end, it was not friendship anymore…” He took a large intake of breath before following, avoiding the raven-haired elf’s gaze as if afraid of what he might have found in it, “I was in love with you and I was not even aware of it. I was dependant on you. And I could not tell you because I would have made you flee as you were striving for freedom”.

The blond King moved away from the table, willing to regain his calm and his composure, not able to look Elrond in the eyes again, wanting to go the furthest away from the scrutiny he felt on him. He stopped in the middle of the office, unaware of him standing in a ray of light that made his mane blaze. When he found his voice again, it was neutral and impersonal, as it was the only way for him to keep on that conversation, “I could not trust you with my confidences anymore, then love became despair and the more I despaired the more I pushed you toward him until the day I understood you did not need me anymore. You had him… I was infatuated with the image I had of you and the image you sent of me… It was not the sweet passionate love I shared with Menelwe. It was something painful and always dissatisfied… And I could not bear to see us drift apart bit by bit… I could not bear to see the slow death of that ‘us’, do you understand?”

Turning his back to Elrond, Thranduil was not able to see the pained expression on the Half-Elf’s features as he listened to that difficult confession. The Lord of Imladris was no fool and understood how much it must have cost to the Sindarin King. But most of all, he cursed himself for not seeing that, for not having tried to further understand his friend. Unaware of the raven-haired elf’s inner turmoil, the golden-haired being spoke again after a brief silence filled with emotions, “You used to tell me I was somewhat extreme. I knew it was over and I preferred to put a swift end of it, rather to witness our agony. I preferred to go back to my Kingdom and go back to my former existence, to that life I never wished to have. I never wanted to be King, I would have been happy to become a simple warrior. And somehow that was what I was with you…”

There, he turned toward Elrond and crossed his gaze. It took all his strength not to avoid those piercing gray eyes, but he managed to hold the stare, when he added, sounding exhausted and infinitely saddened, “A simple elf. Not Thranduil Oropherion, Prince of Mirkwood, heir to the throne… Simply Thranduil.”

Seeing that look upon Thranduil’s features called Elrond back to reality. Knowing well the futility of words now, realizing that he had been told a deep truth and given all the answers he had sought, he tried nevertheless, “You speak of nonsense…We were young and youth is brash and unforgiving, youth is extreme. Youth is only love and hate. I have seen my sons. They love and they hate with the same intensity, with the same passion… When you are young, even friendship is impassioned…”

But he stopped when he saw the depths of Thranduil’s eyes, abandoning any idea to deny the truth of his words, letting remorse and regret crash upon his heart for what could have been if he had been a little bit less selfish. A sorrowful silence fell on them, as Thranduil reached his chair and sat once more and lasted for long unending seconds until the blond elf spoke again, “Yes, it’s true… Everything is said there: what we had lived is inscribed in the foolishness of the youth…”

But, strangely, even if Thranduil only recognized the truth of his words, Elrond did not feel satisfied, as if more needed to be said. But he knew, without even asking, they would never have this conversation again. But, he could not prevent himself to voice his lack of satisfaction, as he added, looking at Thranduil with eyes prying not to leave him that taste of incompletion,
“Maybe…”

A very soft chuckle left the King of Mirkwood’s lips and he smiled, caressing absently the wood of the table in a place it was not covered by a map. Feeling the need and the request hidden in that lone word, understanding the questions he had arisen, he told, “Yes. You know every time I saw you after each of us tois ois own path, I cannot help feeling bad because I reproached you for end of my dreams… My dream of freedom. Our dream of freedom. But now, Menelwe is dead for five centuries and I have changed. It is difficult to explain, but I have changed…”

Heedlessly, his hand dragged slightly a map to him and his glass, resting on the parchment, stumbled, threatening to spill his content on the rare scrolls. Nimbly, he quickly grabbed the delicate object before the catastrophe. Smiling for avoiding it and casting an apologetic glance toward Elrond, he followed, “Before, I ruled my kingdom because of my people, now I ruled it because I do not want anybody to know the same fate as hers… Even if I know it is impossible I would like to make of Mirkwood a place of peace, and heaven…”

The last words awakened something in Elrond and an image slid in front of his eyes. Image of an evening with his best friend, perched in a tree towering the forest of Mirkwood, admiring the beautiful view and rebuilding the world, speaking of a future they thought they would spend together. But fate had decided otherwise. Closing his eyes, the Loremaster ended with Thranduil, “… on that side of the sea.”

Two identical smiles spread on their faces as they recalled the promises that night had seemed to hold in the sparkling of the stars.

“You have not forgotten...” wondered the King of Mirkwood, plunging his azure eyes in his former friend’s gray ones.

His surprise didn’t go unnoticed by Elrond who exclaimed softly, “How could I? When I built Imladris, it was also for you, for us…”

It was true. Every moment passed with that elf was graved in his mind, happy memories as well as sadder ones. Even if today he had been led to reconsider his judgement on the past. And he knew in his heart, it was the same for Thranduil. For some other seconds, neither of them spoke, caught in the remembrance of their life. Then, the Sindarin elf’s voice resounded again and hearing its tone, Elrond understood that Thranduil was again at peace with himself.

“A page has turned today, Peredhel…”

With a slight nod of his head, the Lord of Imladris acknowledged the truth of those words. Today was the end of an era, the end of something that had begun a long time ago. But, yet, in his heart, some hope still lingered.

“Can we write another one, Thranduil? Not everything was bad in what we shared…”

Thranduil smiled when he heard the request. Elrond would never change. The Half-Elf would never give up and always see the best in the others. Trying not to sound too harsh, he replied:

“I don’t know if I have the courage to do so, Elrond. My people need me. My sons need meadowadow is growing and with every passing day, our strength is decreasing…”

Remembering the first goal of that meeting, The Lord of Imladris added quickly, not wanting his former friend and his new ally to sink into the despair, willing to give him hopes and strength, “Imladris will help Mirkwood…”

“And for this I will be forever grateful, Elrond…”

The Loremaster knew he would not get more. Thranduil had never been the kind of elf to not feel awkwardness at being indebted to anyone. But he felt the sincerity behind those words and he satisfied himself with it. Smiling, he indulged the temptation to tease the golden-haired King and said, knowing well what kind of answer he would elicit from him, “I always keep my promises…”

Feeling that his former friend only wanted to needle him, Thranduil did not take umbrage of that declaration. Instead, he replied, a ghost of a smile in his voice, “Not always, Elrond…”

But that time, Elrond preferred remaining silent. And for the first time for many millennia, a comfortable silence fell upon them.


The End.



“Oh, yes, I believe in friends. I believe we need them. But if one day you find that you just can’t trust them anymore… Well, what then? What then?”

from The Shallow Grave