开云体育

Tel’ Lindar

Chapter 40

You picked a fine time to come back, Thranduil or In the Crystal Shards of Your Mind

?

***
One more time, don’t fashion me
With stylish words or ramblings
***

The Wizard and Elf Lord quietly made their way down many stairs, past staring ghosts, the occasional student, portraits, down, down what to some would liken to be into the pits of Hell.

Or Khazad-d?m

Thranduil didn’t seem to notice the portraits, how they stared, followed his progress. He was too busy noticing the worn rock, the ancient walls, the smell of…

Reminds me of the mountain caves of the Greenwood…

…dirt and earth and the faint smell of a disinfectant. Dumbledore was chattering away, pointing out artifacts and passage.

“You have put her in the dungeon.”

It was a statement, not a question and he interrupted the elderly Wizard who was in mid-sentence of his narrative.

“We’ve put her close to her Guardian,” Albus admitted. “We thought it would be safer.”

The Elf Lord sneered. “A dungeon.”

“We’ve made many concessions for her.” Albus was not in the least bit apologetic and seemed nonplussed by it all. Without warning, the wizard pushed the Elf behind a statue of armor. “Watch out.”

With a sudden outcry from nowhere, children poured from the depths, climbing up, stumbling down the stairwells. They prattled endlessly, never seeming to look where they were going. Jostling, good-natured shoving, some jeering…

“Perhaps, we should wait?” Dumbledore droned. “There should be a hidden passage near here that will take us near to my office.” He looked around, trying to get his bearings. “I have lemon drops-”

“N’uma, thank you.”

Albus continued. “If lemon drops aren’t to your liking, I have licor-”

“狈’耻尘补.” Albus found himself visually dressed down. “I desire to see Bronwyn immediately.” The Elven King noted the quiet nod from the highly thought of wizard. “It should not take but a few moments. I would be most appreciative of your hospitality afterwards.” After many minutes, the last of the galloping horde seemed to thin and disappear. “I plan to be here several days.” Thranduil stepped into the now quiet hallway and motioned in the direction they had been traveling. “I hope that is not an indisposition.” He nodded and gestured with the out-stretched hand. “After you?”

“No indisposition at all,” Dumbledore stepped from behind the armor, peering at one or two straggling students. He nodded his thanks to the armor for its protection. “We can put you in the rooms Elrond used.”

“Elrond used them?” the Elven King sneered distastefully.

“Of course, if that isn’t to your liking, there is the small apartment the twins used.”

“罢飞颈苍蝉?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore made a sudden turn, moving down into the furthest depths of the dungeon. “Elrohir and Elladan-“

“Elrond’s rooms will be fine,” Thranduil snapped. Although the following statement was under an elven breath, Dumbledore clearly heard the petulantness of it and it caused him to grin. “A few days will not kill me.”

~*~

Bronwyn deeply inhaled the fumes of paint. The scent burned her lungs and she was quite certain she would pay and pay dearly that afternoon for the project she was allowing her students to impart on. She needed something to blame her headache on and the odor invading her room was just as good an excuse than the real reason. She chided herself for her pettishness.

Bronwyn! Get over it!

Truth be it, she should have expected retaliation from Malfoy and expected it in bucket loads. Ah well, he had been here and it was over. She drew in a calming breath and motioning to her Third Years, began to climb the scaffolding. “Does everyone have a painting smock on? Good! Fanisia, if you’ll open the door, and Royce, if you’ll open those windows so the room will air just a bit – I know it’s cold, but it’s just for a few minutes - then you can climb up and see what the First Years have done and go from there…”

~*~

The Headmaster approached a room where much laughter and uninterpretable babbling was spilling from beyond an open door. As Thranduil stepped in the doorway, he was met with a chill from cracked windows from below the surface and the delightful view of a black-clad, well-curved bum, high on a construction scaffold…

… and high stiletto heels.

His toes and foot involuntarily curled, the memory of a dainty shoe crushing that same foot how many thousands of years ago, still fresh in his mind.

She was talking; that much hadn’t changed. “As you can see, the First Years have begun painting in the major scenes, however there is much detail that hasn’t been much more than sketched in. I know you’ve worked in groups with the different sections of history and have rough drafted quite a bit of work on paper, but I need you to start filling it in on the ceiling. The Fourth Years penciled in…. Amadeus?”

Thranduil was no longer paying attention to the high-heeled termagant on the scaffold. His attention was riveted on the overly – large white wolf beneath the ladders of steel.

A wolf smiling with large, pointy teeth…

And growling.

There was whispering from young voices above and Bronwyn turned just to see a glimpse of long, blonde hair and Dumbledore.

SHITE! Shiteshiteshite!!! Malfoy again?

Silently willing the wolf to shred the Malfoy Patriarch, she turned back to her students, and smiled insincerely. “As you can see, the major portions and information has been started, but I’m quite sure there are details left out or that you can – Amadeus! Stop that infernal caterwauling! And do NOT gnaw on the scaffolding! – begin sketching those in. I’ll go down and get your-”

“Professor Powell?” A runny-nosed Slytherin’s whined petulantly, “Why are we sketching for the First and Second years to paint?”

With the patience many would not believe, Bronwyn responded, “We are reviewing what you know and giving the younger years a sort of ‘heads up’ on what will be coming for them in a few years. This will also give you some idea of how Michaelangelo worked.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Professor Powell, you have a guest.”

Bronwyn let out an exasperated sigh. “Professor Dumbledore, if you would be so kind as to tell-”

“笔濒别补蝉别.”

“-Mr. Malfoy,” her voice raised a notch, tension very evident, “that I am teaching and if he has anything else he would like to ask, any more questions, it most certainly can wait!” Several students gasped as Bronwyn refocused on the artwork. “Henry, I’ve seen your artwork. What say, you try in that corner-“

“Professor Powell? If you please?”

Her knuckles turned white on the bar she was grasping. “Saura Valarauco! Professor Dumbledore, I am QUITE busy and Mr. Malfoy has already disturbed one class.”

“Professor Powell?” Henry DuFault whispered, leaning over and stabbing over her shoulder with his finger. “I don’t think that’s Mr. Malfoy.”

“What?” she hissed.

Henry’s hands went to the sides of his head. “He has… you know…” his hands outlined the shape, “…ears.”

Thranduil had been watching the entire exchange with much amusement. Apparently, she had mistaken him for the pompous arse he had met earlier. “Bronwyn,” he spoke up, dulcet tones very clear, “Lirimaer. I know you dislike me, however, I have bathed and I do not smell like a… stinking balrog, I believe is what you called me?”

Bronwyn froze, horror etched on her face, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Slowly, she turned, clinging tenuously to the scaffolding, to gawk at her visitor.

“Thranduil?” It was a question, an answer, an epitaph, whispered reverently, spat in a hushed breath. She began to back down the scaffolding, ignoring the furious canine that was chewing on a post. When she stepped on terra firma, Bronwyn spun around, every emotion crossing her features. “Thranduil. I didn’t… I don’t…”

“Pedi enni hebich rin uin lam-e-gwaith I chervenn din.”

“You’re… alive…”

“Obviously.” Forest green eyes leisurely raking her form over. The smile reached his eyes when they revisited her footwear and he itched to curl his toes again. “I see you have dressed for me?” He nodded to the high heels.

Bronwyn had the graciousness to blush and glance down. “Actually, n’uma. My… Amadeus had a mereth in my closet, last night.”

Green eyes met the baleful stare of the blue eyed wolf’s. “I see.” The growling beneath the scaffold intensified. “I do not think your pet likes me.”

***Greetings, Thranduil.***

If the Elf was shocked at the intrusion, he didn’t show it.

~*~

Severus’ head shot up, his quill hovering over parchment, when the mental trespass rumbled through his mind like a freight train.

***Greetings, Thranduil***

Bronwyn’s nerves, which had been wound frightfully tight since the Minister and Malfoy’s unexpected visit, were now unraveling faster than a loosely wound ball of yarn. Severus was planning a quiet dinner in her rooms, with plenty of wine and possibly more, but at this very second, she was teetering on the edge of a knife! The noise level from across the hall had dropped to an incomprehensible silence.

And who was her dog talking to?

A pearl of red splattered unnoticed like blood on the pristine white page beneath his hand.

*** D?l-raeg na fast d?gui!!!***

Snape rose slowly from his desk, the correction quill, still dripping claret ink, was dropped on the table. He headed towards the door.

“Sir?” one of his advanced Fifth Years leerily queried.

Snape never looked, never as much as glanced at him. “Careful with your measuring. I dare say you have splashed half a dram of newt eyes in that already pathetic concoction.” He didn’t notice the child’s startled reaction, causing him to spill more, which made the cauldron boil miserably. The wizard slowly opened the door and leaned casually against the frame, studying the scene across the hall.

‘Small wonder she is perturbed. Another Elf. They seem to burst forth like spring rabbits.’

Severus snorted derisively and pushed himself from the doorframe. The shelves shook as he slammed the heavy door and with robes flying in a manner that would have turned Bronwyn green with whooshing envy, strode to the front of the room, ready to make every student’s life the living hell his was about to become.

~*~

Thranduil gave the wolf a secondary glance before returning his attention to the sputtering woman in front of him. There were fine lines around her eyes he did not remember and there was a tiredness about her most would not have noticed.

***No shite, Sherlock!***

The white wolf had come out from under the scaffolding and was now standing between the Elf and the woman, the fur on the back of his neck bristled up. “I apologize for interrupting you in class, Bronwyn. We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait?” Bronwyn gestured upwards towards the openly curious eyes up on the scaffold. “I have a class-”

“I see that.” Thranduil stepped wide of woman and wolf and began to peruse the students’ artwork. “You are painting the ceiling?”

“Yes sir.” There wasn’t anything Sophia liked more than talking. “ We are recreating scenes from our history in the style of-”

“Michelangelo.” The look on Thranduil’s face turned to one of fond remembrance. “Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni. I remember him well. He was an equally gifted poet.” He jabbed at a portion of the ceiling. “Who is that? Explain! What battle is that?”

For some time, young wizard and witch and Elf Lord discussed battles and wars; Thranduil made corrections, added colour not only in hue, but also in detail. At some point, he climbed the scaffold, his finger in constant motion. That human was not present here, there was no bloodshed at this gathering…

“I don’t know why I bother,” Bronwyn groused under her breath.

“Your research is faulty?” Albus queried.

“No!” Bronwyn was fair put out. “He’s picking out little things, things only someone there would know.” She took a deep breath. “History books are wrong! They remember what they want.” She turned her back to the chattering group, and faced the wall, staring and concentrating on a single brick. “I knew nothing of your people. I only have your books to go by.” She sighed and turned back around to her class and the now-laughing Elven King. “I don’t know who is teaching who.”

“Which is a wonderful form of assessment, isn’t it, Professor Powell?”

Bronwyn continued to watch, completely transfixed to the scene before her. “All this time. Why has he chosen now to come?” she whispered.

“I believe,” Albus whispered back in her ear, “he knows where your bow is.” He shrugged in Albus-fashion. “At least, he said he thinks he knows.”

~*~

“Your timing, as usual, is impeccable.” Bronwyn sank into the sofa in her living quarters. She paid no attention to the still angry wolf that climbed up next to her, successfully barring anyone from joining her. She held out her hand to the house elf, who promptly materialized a glass of wine. “One for Thranduil please, Bobbin.”

Bobbin slowly made his way across the room, yet another glass was pressed into the waiting hand of the Elf Lord. Thranduil peered into the crystalline depths before remarking, “You have become complacent in their-” it was obvious he was speaking of the wizards, “world.” He took a sip. “And you have raided Elrond’s stash.” Green eyes rose sensuously over the rim. “I would know his wine anywhere. You were always a sneaky human.”

Brandy-brown eyes narrowed, along with blue ones. “The wine was a gift. And as I recall, you were the one who had me snatched from the toilet!”

Thranduil’s nose rose from the glass. “Aye. I did bungle that escapade. Who would think you would fight?”

Her hand, which had been leisurely stroking the alabaster ruff, gripped tightly, white knuckles causing the wolf to wince slightly. “You wouldn’t take no for an answer!” She slammed the wine goblet down on the end table, causing Bobbin to cringe. “And you never apologized!”

Thranduil looked thoughtful, eyes focusing somewhere across the room. “I did apologize-”

“You were sorry you were caught!”

“True.” Thranduil set the empty glass down gently. “You were very desirable.”

“I was Haldir’s!”

Thranduil leaned back, fingers creating a long steeple in front of his nose. “And who would rescue you now?”

Amadeus leapt up, howling, yipping, teeth flashing, his paws finding the squishy parts of Bronwyn’s lap, causing her to yelp and squeal. Thranduil found a wand rammed into his windpipe. “Elf Lord or no, you will not accost her.”

Severus pressed the wand further, forcing the Elven King to sit taller. “I asked a question. No need to become violent.” Forest met midnight.

Bronwyn was struggling to get out from under her angry, protective canine. She battled tail and paws and turning body. “Severus! Stop it! Amadeus!!! Would you please… OW! … get… down!” She shoved the protective dog into the floor before shooting to her feet. “SEVERUS!” She grabbed his arm. “Please! I am more than capable of taking care of myself!” She stomped her shoe-clad foot to make her point.

Severus slowly dropped his arm; the point of the wand no longer meeting stressed elven flesh. Thranduil resisted the urge to massage his throat. “She is quite right, you know.” He pointed out snidely. “Her shoes are the most dangerous weapons known to Elven-kind.” He picked up his glass and gestured. “What do I need to do to get a refill?”

“Dinner be readys shortly, Missy Bronwyn.” Bobbin spoke up. “Bobbin thinks with great Elven King, you want quiet dinner here?” The little house elf wrung his hands. “Bobbin did wrong-”

“Bobbin did fine.” She reassured the house elf. “We’ll make our way in now.” She turned back to the Elf and Wizard. “Gentlemen?”

~*~

***

Honey do you feel my pulse lingering?
It’s moments like these, I revel in…

***

Thranduil was contemplating a fresh glass of wine. “Bronwyn, your manners are lacking. You did not introduce me to your…” with this he looked up at Severus, “… friend.”

By this time, Bronwyn was not feeling the least bit accommodating. “Thranduil? Severus. Severus? Thranduil.” There was a yip from under her chair. “Thranduil? Amadeus. Amadeus? Thranduil. I trust the wine is to your liking?”

Thranduil was draining the glass. “I do recall your hospitality was always gracious. My memory was not faulty.” Cornish hens materialized on plates, orange sauce and vegetables steaming fresh from the kitchens. Thranduil reached for his plate. “It has been many years, Bronwyn. How is my son?”

If the sudden change in topic flustered the Bard, she didn’t show it. “He is well.” She turned her plate, moving the hen closer to her. The sound of breaking bones rang through the dining area as both she and the Wizard pulled the legs from their respective birds.

Thranduil watched in cloaked amusement at the identical moves executed in tandem harmony between the two, before reaching for his own eating utensils. “Did he ever marry?”

Two identical cuts from the breast sailed through the orange sauce across from each other. “Eventually.”

There was no sound for some time as the Elf Lord, Wizard, and Woman ate in silence.

“颁丑颈濒诲谤别苍?”

“Three. Elleths.”

Silence.

“No ions?”

“狈’耻尘补.”

Silence.

“The Dwarf?”

“Still good friends.”

Silence.

Without much finesse, the Woman picked the carcass of the small game clean before starting on the cooling vegetables, working methodically in a counter-clockwise direction. The threesome ate mostly in silence, the only sound coming from the clinking of utensils on the china.

Finally, after dinner was finished, the dishes magically removed and wine was again being savoured, Bronwyn broached the subject Albus had shamelessly alluded to. “Rumour has it that you know where my bow is.”

Thranduil was watching his wine glass refill itself for the umpteenth time. “I sense it-”

“You sense it?” Severus slammed his goblet on the table, shattering the stem. Bobbin rushed under the Wizard’s elbow, clucking and moaning. “Oh, stop the useless groaning, move back.” With a wave of his wand, glass shards disappeared. Bobbin did as told, stepping back and wringing his hands. “And stop that as well!”

“Severus, do not yell at my house-elf. Just because you are in an ill-tempered mood-”

“Ill mood. Ill mood.” Severus pushed himself from the table and shot up. His fingers waggled about his face. “You can sense it, but you cannot tell us where it is.” He stormed from the dining area. “A lot of use you are. Every elf on Merlin’s earth can sense it, but we still do not have it. We are no closer to it than we were when you arrived, Bronwyn.”

“Sorry,” Bronwyn mumbled to the Elf Lord and rose from the table. “He can be a mite testy.”

“A MITE testy?” Severus’ voice rose about the clatter and clink of glasses from the bar. “I believe I am a bit more than a mite testy. By the way, I am taking the last of the firewhiskey.”

“Excuse me.” Bronwyn followed the Wizard.

Thranduil didn’t look, simply continued to stare into the deep claret of his wine. He listened intently to the hissing coming from the living quarters of her apartment before looking down at the wolf beneath the table. “You tried to kill me, when I tried to bed her and yet you allow this mere mortal to use her at will. Is it you tire of her?”

Sapphire eyes narrowed in vexation and a low growl emitted from the table. *You have no idea-*

“I am quite sure I do not.” The Elven King said as he rose from the table and set down the wine glass. “Bronwyn? Is there a problem?” He made his way into the living area.

Bronwyn and Snape were facing off, Severus’ hands tucked into his elbows, Bronwyn’s hands on her hips. She was glaring at the Wizard, fury evident on her face.

“Tell me, Elf-”

“He is an Elf Lord!”

“You sense it.” The words were drawn out, the very sensuousness of the Wizard’s voice belying his true intentions. “You sense it, Elf Lord. Where is it?”

Thranduil smiled indulgently. “Will there be dessert, Bronwyn? I have a deep affection for-”

“Where is it?”

“- strawberries in cream. A nice, crispy apple tart would be nice as-”

The wand came out and Thranduil felt himself being forcefully lifted from the ground, an invisible grip around his throat. “Where. Is. It?” The words were grated from between clenched teeth. Bronwyn was making noise; most of it intolerable screeching. Severus ignored her and continued to apply pressure. “I tire of this game you play. Where. Is. It?”

“Put me down.” It came out as a rushed breath, although the Elf didn’t look worse for wear.

“Bronwyn, do be quiet now. Tell me where and I will.”

“Put me down.”

“Severus! Put him down now!” The Wizard was aware of her hand, pulling on his arm. He slowly lowered the Elven King, leaving him standing on the tips of his toes.

The blueness in Thranduil’s face began to ebb away, the colour returning to a more normal shade. He barely had time to take a breath before the wizard was upon him, hooked nose scant inches from his. Eye to eye they stared at each other. Severus was vaguely aware of a gentle hand on his elbow. “Please Severus, saes.” Bronwyn’s voice was deceptively gentle. “He is an Elven Lord.”

“He annoys me.”

“Everyone annoys you. Especially me. Please. Let him down.”

Thranduil found himself released suddenly, only elven reflexes honed for thousands of years keeping him from falling to his knees to the floor. His own pride kept him from rubbing his throat. He found a glass of water being pressed into his hand by a sorrowful house elf.

“Yes, you do,” Snape whispered in her ear, “but at least I get to fuck you on occasion.”

“Oh, do tell!” The Elf Lord looked at the twosome expectantly. Taking in Bronwyn’s look of horror, he grinned bigger. “Never mind. Too much information.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed, many things coming to light. He turned on the Elf, who appeared more and more amused by the second. “Tell me, Elf King, how is it you or anyone ‘senses’ this bow? And why is it being so damned difficult to track down?”

Thranduil started to set the half – empty glass down before reconsidering and gesturing to the little house-elf. “Elven hair, when given as a gift, whether the recipient is aware or not, has rather extraordinary qualities.” He exchanged the glass of water for yet another glass of wine. If he kept this up, he would be pickled to no end by the time the moon had reached its zenith. “Bronwyn’s bow originally belonged to my ion, my son, Legolas. I had it made for his 101st begetting day.” Rather than sip, the Elven King took a long draught, obviously willing the liquid to dull the aching in his throat caused by Severus’ wand. He set the glass down gently. “Because it was a gift and because of his youth, many of the strands in the bow come from my head. I sense the bow because it is part of me. They were given in love, to my beloved Ion.”

“I knew when he gave it to you, Bronwyn. You recall he was gifted with a bow of much renown made by Galadhrim bow-makers, and considering his journey, he could not carry two. I was not surprised to discover it had been left behind when Bronwyn and Haldir left for the Undying Lands.”

“It was left for a reason.” Bronwyn sank into her chair, her wineglass balanced between her index and middle finger. The fire from the fireplace was mirrored in the crystal, which in turn reflected in her eyes. “It was given a new purpose.”

Thranduil smiled mirthlessly. “I was there. I remember.” He intoned the words of the Valar, that day in the forest. “This was also a gift, given in love and admiration of your skills and your spirit. This gift is to be handed down to your first born, and their first born for eternity. It will never wither, never break. Times will come when it will lose its way, but always it will return to your children’s children. It is your guide to your children and their descendants, your mouthpiece. You are to never use it in battle again.”

“I never did.” Her voice was a bare whisper. “I never used it again in battle.”

“It has lost its way numerous times, but never more horridly than it has now.” Sensing the unasked question on Severus’ lips, the Elf continued. “The closer the bow, the more it is sensed. The further away, the harder, the more difficult, impossible it is to sense. Over the years, the bow has been restrung. Always I made sure my hair was added, as have the Twins and others. That is why they can sense it as well. Not as strongly as I, but they do sense it and we would not let it wander far from our reach.”

For a minute, there was no sound, save the crackling of the fire. Thranduil finally sank to his knees in front of Bronwyn. Her hand was beginning to shake and he gently removed the glass from her hand, setting it on the floor. “Some time back, an elf from the Greenwood contacted me. He is now the curator of a museum, a museum that collects ancient weapons. He was… disturbed because he was given information that someone was looking for Legolas’ old bow. The one given to you.” He sighed. “One moment, it was close and the next moment, it was gone.”

Severus hissed.

“We were frantic. We would catch glimpses; feelings for it and it would disappear again. Suddenly death was following it faster than we could track it down and obtain it.” Before Severus could interrupt, Thranduil pointed at him, the forest from the Elf’s eyes dark in fury. “The Greenwood Elves are excellent trackers; there are no better. We realized that an evil magic was whipping it from place to place, maneuvering it from hand to hand, to an unknown destination. We tried to stop it, tried to circumvent the vileness of the creature searching for it.”

By now, Bronwyn’s head rested in the thumb to index finger arc of her hand, her eyes shielded from all. Her entire body was trembling. With amazing compassion, the Elf Lord took her other hand. “I did not reach your child in time. I was mere blocks when the monster took his life and the bow. I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She lifted reddened eyes. “I need to find it, Thanduil. Do you sense it now?”

?

***

I love it 'cuz you're such a prick-

***

?

An evil grin split his face. “Why do you think I am here? Your bow resides in this castle.”

?

***tbc***

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A/N

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Pedi enni hebich rin uin lam-e-gwaith I chervenn din. – “Please tell me you have not forgotten the tongue of your husband’s people.

Mereth – a party, festival, large merry gathering

Lirimaer – lovely one

D?l-raeg na fast d?gui - Greasy-haired wronghead

Lyrics – Vent, by Collective Soul