The sentence in * is a Tolkien's writing from Music of the Ainur.
Chapter Text
The snow —the brutal snow of this harsh winter— had fallen hard by the time Lindir arrived at the main hall. He rubbed his hands against his cloak to warm himself while waiting to be called inside.
A few ealdormen passed by and began to converse with each other.
Lindir bowed as they walked passed.
They, too, were trying to warm themselves by blowing warm air on their hands.
Lindir had goose bumps as wind breathed through the corridor.
The King had built his palace underground hundreds year before. The open-air structure of the palace clearly didn't help protecting them from the brutal winter. The King preferred to keep it this way, freezing and isolated. He even went so far to build extra bulwarks along the enchanted river so that no one could invade his territory. This part of the palace was a new additional wing, built as a hidden pathway. Invisible from the outside, this labyrinth leads the way to the courtyard without attracting any attention from the outside. It was usually thronged with guards and servants. But the cold probably drove them to hide inside. Only a handful of soldiers still guarded the main gate. They were carrying shields engraved with a picture of a stag, Thranduil's emblem. Above the stag, there were some words in Sindarin that can be translated as 'to fight and to die for our King.'
Being here made Lindir feel uncomfortable, but since the summon had been sent to Lord Elrond recently, he had no choice.
Where's Lord Elrond, by the way?
"You can go inside now," one of the guards said.
Lindir nodded. As he walked through the pitch-dark alley, he heard murmurs of trees. Trees don't talk. He reminded himself. Wait, Ents do talk. But what are they doing in Thranduil's palace?
At the end of the path, there was a grim looking servant waiting for him. Lindir showed the letter to the elf.
The servant glared at Lindir coldly. "Why Lord Elrond is not here by himself?"
"The letter explains everything," Lindir replied, "and it's not my duty to discuss this matter with you." He bridled.
"Very well," the servant said sardonically and opened the door for him hesitantly. "You have five minutes with the King."
Lindir gave him a wry smile. "The King will decide for himself."
The path led Lindir to a long narrow hall that seemed to be endless. He caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the end of the path as he walked further.
"Le suilon, Lindir." A serene voice greeted him.
Lindir bowed. "Suilad, my King."
"How is your journey?"
"Not too terrible, my Lord."
Thranduil lit the candle on his table carefully. "Forgive me. I did not invite you to the throne hall. I want a private conversation."
In contrast with the elegant throne hall, the study room was small and cozy. There were piles of books everywhere.
Thranduil put a log in the fireplace to keep the fire roar.
"I understand," Lindir said.
"Wine or Miruvor?" Thranduil gave Lindir a warm smile.
"Wine, please."
"As you wish." Thranduil handed Lindir a golden cup filled with red wine and raised his glass. "For our friendship."
Lindir bowed as low as he could. "I am not worthy, my Lord. I am just a messenger."
Thranduil stared at Lindir for a moment and burst out laughing. "You are too serious. You always are." He wrapped his arm around Lindir's shoulder. "Just have a seat and relax."
Lindir dropped himself on a chair across Thranduil as he had told immediately. "My Lord, I heard the rumor—"
"Ae, the rumor, yes, it's true." Thranduil glanced at Lindir shapely and supported his chin with his hands. "Tortured, strangled and beheaded."
Lindir sighed and gave the letter to the King. "I have heard their bodies were branded."
"Branded, yes. The secret fire symbol," Thranduil said. As he read through Elrond's letter, Thranduil frowned. "So that's all he can come up with."
"Forgive me my lord, but he wants us to be cautious."
Thranduil rose up his voice in anger. "The end is near and he wants me to wait?"
Lindir winced as Thranduil raised his hand dismissively.
"Perhaps we all should retire from this matter," said the King. "There's no point in chasing the shadow."
"You know we cannot."
"More wine?" Thranduil said. He took a deep breath and handed Lindir the wine.
Lindir shook his head. "You did well to protect us, my lord. Please, don't be despair. It's not the time to give up yet."
"Not yet, no. I agree," Thranduil said. "Have you heard about Lórien?"
"Yes, my lord. It is indeed tragic."
"Fifteen?"
"Thirteen, lord. Thirteen soldiers have perished." Lindir looked down at the table. He spotted a book on Thranduil's desk. There was a picture of a fire on the cover.
"Terrible, too terrible." Thranduil caught his glance. "The flame imperishable." He pointed to the tapestry behind Lindir, which resembled the picture on book's cover. He recited some phrases from the book. "Only one thing I have added, the fire that giveth Life and Reality, and behold, the secret fire burnt at the heart of the world*."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the flame in the fireplace died down slowly.
Thranduil smiled grimly. "Whoever did these things will be punished, I promise."
Lindir I looked through the window. The snow still fell down cruelly. There might have a storm tonight. Lindir thought.
Thranduil leaned back in his chair. "Next time I will catch them." He said softly like a kiss.
Lindir turned to Thranduil. His facial expression was vacant. "But how, my lord?" He heard an owl hooted outside. The nightfall was coming as the sky gradually changed its color from gray to dark blue.
Thranduil gave him a somber expression. He sat behind his desk stiffened. "I need Elrond's help."
He studied Lindir with his icy blue eyes.
"And he offers his help by sending me here."
"Yes, Lindir, my good man. You are indeed helpful," Thranduil said in a sarcastic tone.
"I will track them down by myself, but I also need your help as well," Lindir said.
Thranduil's face hardened. "I want an army and he sent me one man. Now, you want my help." Thranduil turned livid.
"I am able to handle the situation quietly, my lord. That's what I'm good for."
Thranduil ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating about his choice. "You are too soft, my Lindir. This time, I need berserks."
"They do more harm than good. You know that too well."
"I have no option, haven't I?" Thranduil said. He fixed his eyes on Lindir, unblinking.
"I know." Lindir dropped his gaze and nodded agreement. His heart pounded heavily as if he was interrogated by the King. He looked up again to meet Thranduil's icy cold eyes. "But no matter you say, I insist. I am the best person to solve this problem." He took a deep breath to calm himself down as fear lanced through him.
They had exchanged a long glance before Thranduil nodded slowly. "Then I won't deny your help," he said, "and I have a mission for you." Thranduil leaned closer to Lindir and gave him a parchment.
Lindir narrowed his eyes.
"This," Thranduil whispered, "is the message I got from Gondor. It says there are four more deaths there, at least.
Lindir leaned forward to read. "The killing spree has reached there as well?"
Thranduil nodded. "All were branded. The same as here and in Lórien."
"You want me to go to Gondor?"
"No, there is something else closer to home."
"Where, my lord?"
"Esgaroth," Thranduil said.
"May I ask why you are not sending your Prince instead?"
"I had sent him before you came," Thranduil said, "but now I want an outsider like you to look into the problem."
"You mean—an undercover—"
"Not exactly. What I need is—you go there by yourself." Thranduil smiled wryly. "Just pretending that you are not sent by me."
Thranduil leaned forward. "Now, I will tell you a little bit more."
"As you wish, my lord." Lindir crossed his arms.
"Many years ago there was a great fire in this forest. It was burned down by a man from the Lake-town. His name was Jensen. Now, he's dead. Rumor has it that we killed him."
"Did you?"
Thranduil frowned. "If that is the case I won't send you to find out what really happened."
"May I ask?" Lindir tilted his head sideways. "If he were your enemy, you should be glad that he's dead. Why bother—"
"Because someone is trying to frame me for what I did not do," Thranduil said dryly, "and I don't like it."
"Is it relevant to the slaughters around here?"
"Could be," Thranduil smiled grimly. "It is your duty to find out for me."
"Anything more I need to know?"
Thranduil opened the desk drawer and took a piece of paper out. "Have you heard of this place?"
Lindir shook his head. "No, my lord."
"It is a monastery, a place to worship Eru in the Lake-town. I have sent two of my men there." Thranduil grimaced. "Both disappeared."
"Dead?"
"Not sure. And I don't want to take any risk to send more men. There are many troublesome occurrences around here lately." He rummaged in his drawer again. "Anyway, I received this letter a couple of days ago."
The letter was written in brief. It said:
My King,
There are some devil worshippers who hide among them.
"Worshippers? Who are they?" Lindir asked.
"Obviously not Eru's followers. But who are they, I have no knowledge." Thranduil paused for a second. "The man, Jensen, who was allegedly killed by me, his body was moved into the deep forest." He squatted down in front of the fireplace. "I believe he had been killed in this monastery before someone or—something moved him to Mirkwood."
"This is madness." Lindir gave Thranduil a sharp look. "Priests don't kill. It's against their belief."
Thranduil nodded. "Yes, I know. But the letter says something about these devil worshippers so I assume they are not those priests."
"So you want me to start from this clue?"
"Correct," Thranduil said, "but as you have said, investigate it quietly might be the best option. I don't want to provoke any hostility between Mirkwood and the Lake-town." He stared hard at Lindir. "And if you want my help, then I will allow Legolas to go there with you again."
"I accept your generous offer. It is a great honor to work with the Prince." Lindir bowed. "It is my pleasure to meet him if you allow me to—."
"The pleasure is mine." Legolas came out from the dark corner of the room.
"This monastery you speak about, how much do we know about it?" Thranduil asked Legolas.
"One abbot and one abbess in charge. There are twenty priests and ten nuns. They live quietly not so far from the dock. Ten miles away at most," Legolas explained.
Lindir thought for a moment. "It seems to have nothing suspicious. Is there any previous violence in the church?"
"No," Legolas said.
"We need to talk to them," Lindir said.
"We don't have to. Besides they don't talk to strangers," Legolas said dismissively.
"It is not enough to put them on our surveillance secretly. We need to talk to those people."
Thranduil nodded agreement. "They love talking to merchants."
"Elvish merchants? Is that too obvious?" Legolas frowned.
"Tell them you are from Rivendell," Thranduil said. "Get ready by tonight and set off the earliest as you can." Thranduil caught the flame on the candle with his hand. The fire died down in his palm.
Lindir kept his eyes on his feet as Thranduil circled around him slowly. "No more waiting," Thranduil said.
"No more," Legolas repeated grimly.
"Thank you, my son. For being so helpful." Thranduil patted Legolas on the shoulder. "I am so tired."
You are not the only one, Lindir thought, but he kept his mouth shut.
Thranduil put his arm on Lindir's shoulder once more. "My good man. Don't let me down this time." He whispered into Lindir's ear and squeezed his shoulder hard. "Not this time."
And Lindir winced at the coldness in the King's voice.
