Scenes From A Childhood In Doriath by Fernstrike

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White Gem

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His mother wears a white jewel around her neck.

"Can I touch it?" he asks, voice hushed and reverent. It looks like the gem of a high queen, gleaming bright like the morning star. She laughs softly, and Thranduil reaches out to clasp it in his hands. At thirty-four, his fingers are no longer endearingly stubby as those of a toddler, and they are roughened from ceaseless tree climbing, but he still has the stature of a boy in the spring of his youth.

Spring, of course, is his season, and the spring in Doriath is unequaled in his eyes. It had all seemed to burst forth two moons ago, vigorous and thrilling, as the ice melted and turned the forest floor to mush, and suddenly there were flowers and green grass, fresh green, deep, new green, with dew upon the blades and strung on the gossamer between the trees.

Today, he and his mother are seated cross-legged and face to face in the woods outside Menegroth, within a cradle formed by the wide roots of the trees, and bedded by the soft new undergrowth. Thranduil's father is in court, and his mother has finished her morning duties. He himself is supposed to have a lesson in his letters soon, but his mother, ever his confidant, has helped spirit him away to the calm of this glen, away from the bustling halls. They sit peacefully, enjoying the good weather after the night's rain. Pale sunlight pierces the cool air and illuminates them both in a fragile beam. In Thranduil's hands, the white gem glistens.

"Your father gave it to me," says his mother, sweeping a lock of his fine platinum blond hair behind his ear, and running her fingers over his brow and his temples. He smiles contentedly, letting the gem fall back again against her collar, savouring her gentle touch that speaks of comfort and care and love of the green earth.

"What does it mean?" he asks. “The gem.”

"Does it have to mean something?"

"All gifts mean something," he says, trying to show her that he is wise about such things. "Even if it is just that you were forced to give one. But ada wouldn’t have given it to you out of duty. He wanted to give it to you for some reason. So what does it mean?"

“I do wonder how you land upon such thoughts,” she says. It is not reproach in her voice, however, but admiration, and that makes Thranduil's heart glow.

"We live in the court, nana," he says. "I've seen the lords from Lindon and Eglarest give gifts of courtesy to King Thingol, and ada rolls his eyes at them."

"Indeed. You see much, ion-nin. Not all can look so small yet speak so loftily," says his mother. Her eyes are vibrant, and her face seems to glow. It makes him immeasurably happy, that he could make her smile, and watch the spring sunlight set jewels in her hair.

"It won't sound so lofty when I'm full-grown, mother," he says sheepishly. "Then it'll just sound like the sort of wisdom everyone is supposed to know."

She laughs, the notes clear and high like a songbird. "You are right, penneth. And we call that sort of wisdom common sense." Her smile falters. "But such wisdom will not earn you everything. You perceive much, but have done little. You must be sure to do and learn as many things in your life as you can. Don’t be afraid to act, or to try.”

Thranduil frowns. "But there is so little to experience here. Nothing happens, no feuds between the lords or wars from outside. There’s nothing to act upon, nana.”

A strange, shadowed look passes over her face for a moment; then she shakes her head and moves her hand as if dispelling smoke. "You must count that among your blessings, ion-nin," she says. "And pray that when you have children of your own, it shall be the same."

"I don't understand." He trusts his mother to be straightforward with him. Never has she kept any secrets from him - save those she is bound to by Lady Melian, whom she serves - and though she may soften the truth, she never hides it.

She inhales deeply and points in a wide circle around them. "Do you know what protects our borders?"

"The march-wardens?" he asks eagerly. "Like Galion and Thandir?"

His mother shakes her head, smiling. "Other than our brave march-wardens."

Thranduil looks off into the dark green of the trees, uncertain. "Lady Melian's powers?" he tries. He doesn't like straight questions like this. If he doesn't know the answer, it’s more difficult to skirt around it.

But his mother strokes his hair and nods. "The Girdle of Melian. That is its proper name. It keeps the shadows at bay." The radiance is all but gone from her face now, and Thranduil can read fear in her honest, open face. It makes his skin prickle. For one thing, he hates seeing her anything but happy; if she could but veil the crease in her brows and the tremble in her voice, that would be all. And for anther thing, he doesn't like the way she said shadows; it did not sound like they were the sort cast by the sun. Rather, the sort given existence by something markedly more sinister.

"There is darkness in the world, my son," his mother says softly, staring off into the gloomy woods and absentmindedly twirling locks of his hair. "We have done much in the past to fight it. It sleeps now, but in time it shall rear up again. Foul things always do. I can only pray it sleeps long enough for you to grow big and strong."

He holds her hands in his, determination set in his brow, dispelling the dark mantle of worry settled upon their little wooded clearing. "I won't allow them to harm you,” he says, as confidently as he can muster. “They may be foul but we are fairer."

She smiles again, and he is pleased. "Ever you have been stubborn," she murmurs. She says kisses the top of his head and says nothing more.

After a few silent minutes, listening to the quiet movement of nature and feeling the nip of cool spring breezes on his cheeks, he senses his mother rouse herself next to him. "The warmest part of the day is passed,” she remarks, looking to the sky, overrun by white-grey clouds that lend the illusion of light, while hiding the sun.

“We should go inside before the chill comes in,” she continues. “You can see Galion too - the midday watch will have returned."

She is smiling, but Thranduil knows it is not honest, for it stays far from her eyes. His gaze finds its back to the beautiful white gem at her neck.

"You didn't answer my question nana. Why are you wearing this today?"

She considers him for a moment, before replying. ”Because I haven't worn it in so long."

"But why today?" he frowns.

At that, gently shaking her head, she rises, dusting grass off her silver skirt, and reaches a hand down to pull him up.

“Your father is weary," she replies. "Much happens in the court of Thingol - many people come and go, and say and demand all sorts of things. It takes its toll."

At the mention of his father and the court, Thranduil shifts his legs and presses his hands together, disconcerted. Certainly, he respects his father - for his wisdom, for his work ethic. But mention of him is always tinged with a heavy undercurrent of unease. Every moment of theirs together is at once a joy and a test to him, and whenever he thinks of his father, it is like it is a test in itself.

And, unlike his mother, his father's face is always guarded, and he is never sure whether his words are truly honest. He cannot easily see between his father and the royal advisor.

"Thranduil?"

His head whips up to look at his mother. Her expression is kind, but something else too - sympathetic, perhaps. He doesn't like it. He wants her to hide that from him too. He just wants to look at the beautiful radiant part of her and ignore any concern for himself or the worries of the world.

"Your father troubles you," she presses. He feels a rush of something unpleasant. Shame? That his own face was so open to her? That he failed to envision his father as he should have - that he saw him only through his narrow view as a son? He looks down at the gem at her neck, not wanting to meet her eyes, but caring about her too much to turn away. He wishes he could articulate his confusion, but words escape him. It has always been so around those he loves the most.

"He loves you dearly, you know," says his mother, but he shakes his head in response. He clearly does not see as much as his mother believes he does. What he notices is neither wise nor revelatory - simply trivial. If she sees love, then he must surely be a blind boy walking.

"I don't see it," he says, feeling his heart sink.

"Oh, my son…"

Her fingers - slender, but rough from being pricked by sewing needles - gently touch his chin, and move his face up to meet her eyes. They are grey, but not like stone - more like the bright, overcast sky above them, with the silver lining of the clouds just out of the range of his vision.

"Sometimes we just need to remind those we love, that we do truly love them. That may be all that is needed to lift any burden from their shoulders," she says.

A soft horn blows out from beyond them, signaling the changing of the guard. She moves her hand to rest on his back and nudges him back towards Menegroth.

"That's why I wear the jewel penneth," she says softly, walking beside him, her delicate feet making no sound upon the new, damp grass. “Not because today is any special day, but because your father sometimes forgets to love, to display it beyond where he keeps it in his heart. I, however, have the peace of mind to remember to love deeply. And a little thing like this could make him smile for the first time in days.” Sorrow tinges the edges of each word; and Thranduil wonders, for a brief moment, whether it is as difficult for her, loving his father as unconditionally as she does, every day.

“Enough of this," she says suddenly, the sad note in her voice evaporating. "We should go meet your friends. I expect they're tired from their duty; it would do them good to see you."

Her face is once again glowing with an inner light, and Thranduil feels a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. The grass gives way under their feet as they walk, cool and soft, and what little light comes from the sky dapples his skin where it falls through the trees. He is silent for a while, mulling over everything his mother has told him. Finally, he looks up at her and speaks.

"Well, nana, I’ve decided. One day, when I'm grown and have a wife of my own, I shall give her a whole string of jewels just like yours.”

So she doesn't forget, and in case he does.