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“Thranduil Oropherion, you get up
right now.
It’s breakfast time and your brothers won’t let you miss a meal.
”
“Go away and leave me alone.” The young Lieutenant pulled the pillow over his head and rolled on his stomach, scowling. It was whisked away immediately, along with his blanket, and he groaned at the loss. “I said
go away!”
“WIth all due respect, no, sir.”
That
made Thranduil sit up and take notice. “
Sir?”
He stared incredulously at his older friend and distant cousin, Luthavar Faelindion, Elder of Trade and Commerce, who had invaded his privacy in his father’s--in
his
tent.
Luthavar licked his lips nervously. “It…has occurred to you, that with…circumstances, being what they are, you know…you are Chief Commander of the Greenwood military now. We, the Elders, serve you, too.”
Thranduil froze, as it all came rushing back. “No.” His lip trembled as Lutha stared at him, and he got out of bed, wrapping his arms around himself. “No.
No.”
Lutha stepped closer to Thranduil, who continued backing away. “No, stop it. Stop, Lutha, this isn’t fair, this isn’t right.” He turned and fled into the larger room of the royal pavilion, where his covered breakfast tray was ready and waiting. His sworn brothers, Linwe, Veassen, and Fileg were waiting there, as well. They rose as one when Lutha followed him out.
“Sit down!” Thranduil snapped. “Lutha, it’s not true, it’s not. Don’t do this to me.”
“Do you want me to get Amroth?” Luthavar asked quietly, for Amroth would understand if anyone would.
“No! Just…stop pretending,” Thranduil whispered. “Give him back. Where is he? Where have you hidden Ada?”
“No, Thranduil,” Lutha said as gently as possible. “Sit and eat. You have to keep up your strength.”
Thranduil sank down in his seat, body wracked with silent sobs. “I can’t do this.”
He closed his eyes, going rigid as he felt one hand on his back, and another guiding a spoon past his lips. Obediently, reluctantly, he swallowed. Oat porridge, nothing special, just rations. It tasted like ash in Thranduil’s mouth.
Not that much else was possible, under the shadow of Mordor.
“You can do it, Thranduil,” Luthavar whispered, encouraging through his own grief. He knew Thranduil would need him. “It won’t be easy, but we will all help you. You learned kingship at Oropher’s side. I know you were not ready to lose him. No one was. But you learned all he had to teach you, and he was always very proud of you. He still is.”
Thranduil trembled, remaining compliant until his bowl was empty, letting Luthavar’s words wash over and through him without really hearing them. “I can’t. I won’t,” he whispered. “Ada, I need you. Please. Don’t leave me.”
Before Lutha could guess what Thranduil had planned, if he had planned it at all, the young warrior was up and out of his chair, shoving Lutha aside and bolting for the tent entrance, out into the growing heat of the morning sun on the desert sands. He was still dressed in the shirt, tunic and trousers he had worn the day before, with leather slippers instead of boots.
Thranduil didn’t get far before he found himself swept unceremoniously off his feet and slung over Lord Celeborn’s shoulder like a sack of feed, hanging face first over his back and staring at the Lorien-green and gold fabric of his cousin’s tunic.
“Put me down!” Thranduil cried out in surprise and indignation.
“I think not,” Celeborn replied evenly. Thranduil’s fists drummed on his back, and Celeborn responded to this by grasping Thranduil’s legs, and firmly swatting Thranduil’s bottom. “Settle, elfling.” He punctuated the words with three more smacks.
Thranduil settled, though he couldn’t help muttering under his breath. “You stupid son of an orc--”
Yet another flurry of smacks answered Thranduil’s rudeness. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he spat.
“Then you should not have said it,” Celeborn said. But he did not sound angry. His heart seemed not to be in the reproach. He just sounded…sad.
Thranduil sighed, shame overcoming him. “Sorry, Celeborn,” he offered meekly, and Celeborn stood him back on his feet, pulling him close.
“I know.”
“I just want to forget,” Thranduil said quietly.
“Unfortunately, my dear elfling, we who lead do not have that luxury,” Celeborn said gravely, though not without sympathy.