Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Silent

November 2950, Third Age:

Thaliniel was not speaking to the king. Again. Her avoidance was not overt, nor was it disrespectful, but Thranduil was extremely observant. Narylfiel was sure he noticed, despite her best attempts to cover for her sister.

The unfortunate stand-off began over Thranduil sending Legolas to lead a scouting team with the southern guard along the old elven road leading to Dol Guldur. The old fortress had been relatively clear since the days following the Battle of Five Armies, but recently the western outpost of guards caught sight of orc tracks leading south of the elven road.

Then two of the king's best trackers and scouts had disappeared.

Thranduil sent Legolas to find them or discover their fate, and Thaliniel had been quietly furious over the decision ever since. Narylfiel had the unfortunate luck to fall asleep on the hearth behind the ottoman in the common sitting room, and woke up to the sound of heated whispers. She hated to eavesdrop, but it was far too awkward to reveal herself after hearing the first couple of whispers.

"I won't let my father send another in my place, just because the mission is dangerous," Legolas insisted, his voice pained.

"It's not dangerous, Legolas," Thaliniel fired back. "That fortress is a death trap. Your father, the king, is sending you to your death."

A pause.

"Would you have him send another elf in my place, knowing he might die?" Legolas' voice sounded indignant, disbelieving.

Another pause and the sound of muffled tears. Her sister was crying.

"Yes," she said, her voice breaking over the single word.

"Come here," said the prince. "I promise you, Thaliniel. I promise you I'll be right back. I promise." And then there was no more talking for a long time, and Narylfiel sank even lower behind that ottoman.

But Legolas had not kept his promise. He had not returned, and three of the guards sent with him had been found dead, slaughtered.

The only comfort in the days that followed was that the prince's body had not been found. Thaliniel clung to the hope her prince still lived, and Thranduil thundered through his palace like a dark avenging storm cloud.

A week passed of unbearable tension in the royal wing of the palace—still no Legolas, no word, no trace of him. Dinners were a soundless cycle of torture, in which none of the three elves present at the table—not Thaliniel, not Narylfiel, and not the king—not a one of them probably tasted their food or could even say what had been served.

On the eighth night of stony silence, Narylfiel watched Thranduil sip his wine and methodically not eat his dinner. His eyes seemed haunted to her, shadowed by a wall of unspoken emotion. When Galion rushed into the room and whispered to his king's ear, Thranduil's eyes flew to Thaliniel.