Written by
Zhie.
Rated PG. Work In Progress;
The main characters are Thranduil, Legolas, Ilmendin, and Haldir.
Haldir tentatively stepped into the office. So far, he was waiting to see the downside of living in these caves. Hardly did they seem like caves at all. Not only was there a river that ran through parts of the palace, but also there were plants he had never before seen or dreamed of, thriving in the darkness and candlelight. The lack of windows was odd, but gave the place a cozy feeling that Haldir had not expected. The office where he now stood with Thranduil and Ilmendin was not unlike the ones in the basement of the Last Homely House.
“Come, sit. Try out the chair.” Offered Thranduil, pulling it out from the desk. “It almost lost its life at the beginning of the third age, but then, I was having a very bad year at the time.”
Haldir gingerly sat down, careful not to damage this piece of furniture that greatly exceeded his own age. The entire arrangement was odd, and the events of the last few weeks had been surreal. More than once he had had the urge to pinch himself to see if he was still awake.
Things began just as Rumil announced he would be moving with his family to Imladris. Truly, things had begun with the departure of the Lady Galadriel and the counsel between Lord Celeborn and King Thranduil. Lothlorien was dying, the mighty mallyrn ceasing to grow. The reason Thranduil had given up part of Mirkwood to Celeborn was unknown to Haldir, but nonetheless, the remaining Galadhrim were preparing to leave their home to inhabit what was to be East Lorien when Rumil made his decision. If he was to leave and find a new home, it would be to the former home of his wife that he would go.
Orophin did not try to talk him out of it as Haldir had, and even offered to help with moving the family when the time came. As Celeborn and Haldir rode to Mirkwood, deciding that they would be the last to leave Lothlorien, Orophin and Rumil were already well on their way to Rivendell. As Haldir awaited the return of his brother, news came that Thranduil would be arriving to speak with Celeborn. Their meeting was brief, and near the end, Haldir was summoned. Thranduil had remembered the elf from years ago when he was but a mere child seated upon Celeborn’s horse. His questions were few, and odd ones at that.
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Have you felt the call of the sea?”
“Would you consider living underground?”
“You do like to drink, don’t you? Alcohol, that is.”
“What is your view on dwarves?”
Haldir answered each question honestly as he could, glancing at Celeborn near the end for guidance. Thranduil seemed pleased with the answers, and then made an offer Haldir thought must be folly.
“Are you sure you want me to rule Greenwood?” Haldir furrowed his brow. The words sounded utterly ridiculous to him.
“Without a doubt. Celeborn recommends you highly, and it is not a long term post.” Thranduil stepped to the liquor cabinet, selecting a bottle of champagne and taking a trio of glasses out as well. “I expect that my people – your people-“ he corrected, “will either soon tire and wish to go to the sea, or will decide to stay, and want to live in one of the forests, East Lorien or Ithilien, perhaps.”
“This is a transition.” Ilmendin took the bottle from his father and began to remove the wrapping to get to the cork. “Still, there needs to be someone in charge here.” The bottle was opened and quickly poured into the glasses, bubbles fizzing across the top.
“I offer a toast to you, Captain.” Thranduil picked up two of the goblets, handing one to Haldir. “To the Lord of Greenwood. To King Haldir.”
“King. Hmm.” Haldir peered into the glass, searching it as if it were a dish of water that would tell him his fate. Alas, this was no mirror to guide him. There was excitement in the thought of it, and yet, fear, and worry. But above all, his self confidence won out, and he nodded, raising his glass to join the others.
Thranduil grinned at Haldir’s acceptance, lifting his glass to his lips. After they had all drank, Haldir cleared his throat. “I wonder if I might inquire as to why I was asked whether or not I drank.”
“You may.” Thranduil
went to a larger cabinet at the back of the room, opening both doors of it.
Inside, numerous bottles of various types were lining the wall.
“Do you know how much of this stuff there is?
For years, I have been collecting it – hoarding it, my wife claims.
In the cellars, there is drink enough for the whole of Middle Earth, I
dare say. I am not going to bother
to take it all to Valinor, and it would be such a terrible waste if no one was
to enjoy it.”
Notes