runando ~ A Thranduil Story

Admission

There had been an endless knocking at Thranduil's door for what must have been minutes now. He was slumped over in his armchair, gazing at the fireplace. Winter was fast approaching, he'd shut his balcony door because the breeze blowing in felt too cold on his bare arms. It was funny how he was still sensitive to the cold, he'd lived in the north with snow for all his life.

By this point, the knocking had been enveloped into his mind. He didn't hear it anymore, it just blended into the rest of the ambient sounds that went through his ears, a bit like a beat to make the tune sound like music. All of a sudden, the knocking stopped. His beat! The heartbeat of the music! It stopped. He couldn't have this. He waited a moment to hear for a voice or footsteps walking away, but heard neither.

With a sigh, he hauled himself out of his armchair, turning away from the blaze in his fireplace. Oddly, his hand hovered over the doorknob, as if he was considering all of the outcomes of lowering it and turning. He never did this, he was always very fluid with his movements and once he thought to do something, he'd do it. He never stopped.

After a few seconds, he snapped back to reality and opened the door in one graceful motion. If he were to be honest, he was surprised by the face that glared up at him.

Laineth.

He didn't have to say a word to her nor she to him, he simply moved back out of the doorway, holding the door open for her. She looked to both her sides, knowing that if anyone saw her going into the King's quarters this late at night, she would surely be the talk of the palace staff for years. After she was confident that no one was around to watch her, she hurried inside, making herself familiar with the King's quarters.

Thranduil retreated back to his armchair, reaching for a poker to shift some of the wood burning in front of him. Laineth took this as a sign to sit in the opposing seat, so she did. Her long silver-like hair was messy, parts of it over her shoulders, others behind her back, some still in the remnants of a plait. Her eyes were light, as if the fire that so often lit her eyes had been extinguished. Thranduil couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not, she had obviously been talking to who he assumed was either Issel or Maethon, her shoulders seemed more relaxed than when he had last seen her, all but one or two scars completely covered by almost impeccable skin once again.

They sat in silence for a few moments, both observing the crackling fire. Thranduil glared deeply into it, as if he could see all of his worst enemies in the reflection of the flames, meanwhile Laineth sat back in the chair, eyes on the fire but glazed over, focused on a completely different scenario entirely. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, nor was it one filled with dread and awkwardness, but instead one that was satisfied with the existing sound; The creaking of the wooden floors, footsteps echoing in the hallways outside, the crickets high up in the trees, far beyond the caves.

Why was she here? Just a few hours ago she was in a horrible way, Thranduil had never seen her so upset. So to have her casually sat in his quarters, leaning back in one of his armchairs, looking as calm as ever, was all the more concerning to him.

"Why have you come here?" He finally garnered the courage to question her.

She blinked a few times, her eyes focusing on the fire, "Our meeting earlier didn't go the way you planned, I am here to apologize if I caused any offense or upset you."

He hummed, staring at the scar that still ran down her face, "You didn't offend or upset me."

She nodded in response, gazing more into the fire, leaning forward slightly in her seat, "I'm glad, I would feel quite guilty had I done so."

The room fell back into silence again. She just wouldn't stop looking at that damn fire. Thranduil rose from his seat very quickly, like a viper on the defense. He reached for a pitcher of water resting above the fireplace and poured it all into the fireplace, the flames reduced to hissing steam. Laineth glared up at him, he had thrown her off of her train of thought.