To Find a King

Thranduil looked at his reflection in the mirror. Barefoot, and in just his under-tunic and trousers, the Elven King didn't look much like a King at all. He had boney shoulders, and was thin across the chest, waist and hips. He could just as easily be an elven squire than a King when dressed in just his under-things. The transition to King had never been an easy one for Thranduil, having seen his father cut down in the opening days of the War of the Last Alliance, and being thrown into a position of leadership at such a perilous time that he was far from prepared for.

The King's robes were laid out on the bed. If he wished, Thranduil could call for a server to come and help his dress, but he decided against it. Today he would be having audiences enough, and cherished what time he could spend alone.

For he was increasingly alone. After the Battle for the Lonely Mountain and the tragic loss of so many of his soldiers, a great number of those who had survive had chosen to sail into the West and had recently departed, leaving the grand Halls of the Woodland Realm that much emptier. The time of the elves was over, Thranduil knew, and being honest with himself, his heart too now lay across the sea. For a good many centuries now had Thranduil heard the call of the sea, but he was stronger than that. He had to be. He could not leave Middle Earth until he knew how it would end for his kin, but he knew now that that time was growing closer. Events were now unfolding that could not be stopped. Many were bad, but not all, and those gave the King pause to stay.

"My Lord?" one of the servers asked, tapping politely at the door, "The Wizard is waiting in the Northern Solar."

"I shall be there shortly," Thranduil said, adjusting his robes in the mirror. He wore a richly brocaded robe of black threaded with silver and lined with navy blue satin, a blue tunic, and black trousers and boots. Fully dressed, he posed a much more majestic figure. "Breakfast has been served?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Tell the Wizard I shan't be long."

"Very good, my Lord."

Thranduil took a silver circlet of entwined branches from the dresser, placed it on his head and looked once more in the mirror, drawing himself up to his full height. The King breathed in, filling his lungs all the way to the bottom, exhaled, then went to find the Wizard. He imagined that wine would have been provided.

"Ah, Mithrandir," Thranduil said, as he entered the solar some minutes later. He gestured for the Wizard to take a seat at the table, which, Thranduil was glad to see, had a generous breakfast laid upon it, along with two decanters of wine, one red, the other white. "I pray you have not been waiting long," the King said, knowing perfectly well how long the Wizard had been waiting. Thranduil and Gandalf had had an interesting relationship over the years. Many years ago, the two had been close, but of later centuries the King and found the Wizard to be little but a prophet of doom, and Gandalf found the once outgoing and confident elf to be reclusive and stubborn. But now Gandalf was here with counsel and news that Thranduil much wished to here, and past grievances were best put aside. The King's remaining counsellors were few, and his confidents fewer still.

"No, no," Gandalf said politely, glad to be seated and about to eat, "No matter waiting."

"Very well," Thranduil said, flicking back his sleeves before pouring himself and the Wizard a goblet of wine and setting about making up a plate of breakfast. Thranduil cut himself a generous slice of fresh white bread and coated it with a thick layer of cream cheese, followed by apple slices and a drizzle of honey. The wizard busied himself with a hard-boiled egg.

They ate mostly in silence, each making just the odd remark about the pleasant spring which had just past, and comments on the quality of the wine and other such neutral topics. Once they were done, the table was cleared and both parties knew the conversation must change to more serious matters.

"What word from the west?" Thranduil asked, folding his long legs.

"Word of your son?" Gandalf asked, feigning confusion.

Thranduil waved his hand in such a manner that Gandalf understood the elf to mean for him to continue and not ask such daft questions.

"There has been word," Gandalf said, a little conspiratorially, "I heard as much in Bree. I was passing by there after I returned the halfling to the Shire. The barman said he has seen young boys look to be up to less mischief than the man and the elf that had passed through there some weeks prior."

"They were quite far south," Thranduil mused.

"For the winter, yes. Word is they've now returned north." Gandalf looked at the King and tried to decipher his expression, but whatever Thranduil was thinking, he was keeping to himself. Gandalf continued. "Throughout the western plains men have seen a Ranger travelling with an elf. It is no secret that Aragorn and Legolas are out there, and working together quite effectively too, by the sounds of things."

"Good," Thranduil said and gave slight nod. "Yes, that is good."

"You'd have liked the halfling."

"The one the stole my keys?" Thranduil asked.

"He's a very good lad, really," Gandalf said, defending his little friend. "Elves and hobbits have more in common than I think to two care to realise. Hobbits are a peaceful folk, they like to keep themselves to themselves and generally don't care for the outside world."

Thranduil raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, unsure as to whether Gandalf was mocking him or not.

"But most of all," the Wizard continued, not noticing the small change in Thranduil's demeanour, "Hobbits love nothing more than that which is good and green and grows."

"There has been little here that is good, green or growing for some time," Thranduil said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Gandalf pulled out his pipe and went to light it.

"I'd really prefer if you didn't," Thranduil said.

"I'd really prefer you tell me why you called me here," Gandalf said, his tone that of a teacher questioning a difficult pupil, and pocketed the pipe once more, knowing that elves did not favour the habit, "For it was not to discuss the mannerisms of halflings, I am sure."

Thranduil slowly unfolded his legs and stood up, facing away from the Wizard. "I am spent, Gandalf," the King confessed. "I am done. I am all but ready to depart these shores and head into the sunset."

"So what makes you stay?" Gandalf asked, now wishing that he had addressed Thranduil in a kinder manner.

Thranduil studied the intricate carvings in the wall to avoid having to look at the Wizard. For a long time, he had not been able to answer that question, even too himself. He had nothing left to give, and had heard the call across the sea. So why linger? "Estel."

"The boy or the concept?" Gandalf asked.

Thranduil turned back around. "Both," he said. "When first I heard that was the name which Elrond had given the boy, I thought it absurd. But then it grew on me, a light I no longer knew I had, it flickered and grew. I thought such a thing long extinguished from my life. I believed it to be completely when Legolas said he…" Thranduil paused and collected his thoughts. He ran his fingers along the back of his chair. For a time, while within the ruins of Dale, Thranduil believed Legolas lost to him forever. The King had had but one more chance, with the slightest of odds that Legolas would listen to him one more time. "It was with great joy that I received word from Elrond of Rivendell that Legolas had passed through the Last Homely House. He said that Legolas was not clear of mind nor wholly himself, but that I already knew."

"Why Aragorn? Of all the heirs of Elendil, why this one?" Gandalf asked.

"I knew his father," Thranduil said, sitting back down and crossing his legs once more, "He was a good man, but the time was not ripe, and Arathorn was killed too soon. Evil and darkness spread and grow throughout the land. The Ring of Power must be found and destroyed. Aragorn must be restored to his ancestral position."

Gandalf furrowed his brow. It had been a long time since he had heard the Elven King speak with such conviction. "I did not know that Thranduil of the Woodland Realm was such a believer in men."

Thranduil raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. It was true that for a long time, Thranduil had considered men to be weak and faithless. Ever since Isildur had failed to destroy the Ring. During those seven long years within the shadow of Mordor, so much suffering and sorrow and pain and loss had occurred… Thranduil pulled his mind back to the solar. He could not let his thoughts travel south, for there his memories were too dark and, even after so many years, too painful to bear. "Generally, I am not. But I must believe Aragorn to be different. I am glad Legolas has befriended him. I await the day on which my son shall return home, and perhaps bring this Ranger with him."

Gandalf looked at the King."Yes," Gandalf said, and a smile creeping onto his lips. "Yes, I do believe that Lord Elrond was right in the naming of the boy," he nodded, "Estel."

Thranduil too found his lips turning up into a smile, despite his efforts to keep a straight face. He could feel a warmth burning inside his chest, and it was not the wine he'd had with breakfast. "Hope."