Chapter Text
Sunken down, arms held behind your back, huffing for breath, your (e/c) eyes roll up to see the figure far from you, catching only the curvature of his boots as they climb up his calves. You didn’t end up here by you own volition, not entirely, you had been dispatched on an entirely different mission, one to save your people, to save yourself and maybe to save THEM!
Exhaling heavily as your head drops, he looks upon you, locks dirtied by the woods you had to transverse to get here but you do not see. You do not care. Trapped in the hold of something seemingly far superior. Your body, out of sheer muscle memory wants to struggle; but your mind reminds it that there is simply no use. You know where you are and whose presence you are in.
Stories of the Elvenking spread far and wide leading most to never even skirt the edges of his lands. Whereas most wouldn’t even mention the name of Mirkwood, allow their eyes to even fall upon it, you had come into his kingdom purposefully trespassing knowing full well what may await but doing so with a hopeful heart. For once upon a time, you had known this king.
As a child, he had come into your village that served as a kingdom. No castles or regal accompaniments, just a simple village laying between the lands of Mirkwood and neighboring communities, many of which were far to terrified to have dealings with the elvish lord. Your father was not such a man. He believed that fostering relations between races was of great importance. He believed there was much that could be learned and shared between species. Although he was smart enough to know that trying to approach the king in his own lands would be a foolish endeavor, it did not keep him from sending a message to the ruler whose lands bordered yours.
When the bird had arrived and the message had been retrieved, the Elvenking had been intrigued. He had sequestered himself to the woodland realm. There was nothing for him or his people beyond the security of the forests. This had led to a bit of boredom; and while always suspicious, most particularly of those not of elvish blood, humans were not on the top tier of his repulsion meter and he did so like a puzzle now and again.
The message from your father simply stated that he would ask for an audience with the king but would not be foolish enough to trespass upon the king’s domain unless permitted to do so specifically by said ruler. He would like to build relations between the peoples of both lands, perhaps discuss trade and firm up borders, things of that nature, and if the king would allow him an audience whether in the woodland realm or in his own home, he would be most humbled and grateful.
The platinum haired ruler knew of this village. It could be seen vaguely by elvish eyes in the distance beyond his kingdom. He wondered what it was that a simple place such as that could possibly have to offer one such as himself. He pondered this for some time, looking over the invitation now and again, trying to discern if there was anything in it that might lead him to either a deceptive nature or a lucrative venture – nothing. He even rode out to the edges of the wood and spied upon your lands from afar as if the natural world itself might tell him something – again nothing.
He hadn’t been this curious in a millennium and thus he set out with some of his most trusted guards, leaving instructions for his son to hold the grounds secure in his absence, making his way to the home of the man who had made the offer. He would not allow strangers into his realm. He was smarter and far more suspicious than that; but he figured he could hold his own within the confines of a small, human town.
As his entourage made their way forward, he was enrapt by the sweet scent of fruit, grapes to be specific, ripening on the vine. What a lovely fragrance. In fact, it appeared that the entire outskirts of the village was surrounded by the viny foliage. As the elves breached the town itself, it became apparent that they had succeeded in surprising the inhabitants, which meant no trap lay in wait; that and the townspeople shrunk back in what could be seen as awe but was more likely fear. Many of them had never seen an elf and all had heard of the stoic, ruthless, starlight haired king that sat upon high in the woodland realm and now just as high upon a gigantic buck in their town square.
His head held high, he motioned to one of his guards who then asked which home belonged to the man named Warren. Some refused to answer, recoiling in thoughts that the elf had come to punish the man for some unknown reason, perhaps trapsing on his lands, while others quickly retreated into nearby shelters. The highborn elf’s amusement was as apparent in his eyes as was the mild irritation in his regal features. A woman, your Aunt, stepped forward assertively which the king found even more entertaining in that it would be a woman who was the most courageous of the bunch.
“My Lord, Elf. May I ask why you seek our Warren?” Her head bowed slightly in appreciation of his rank; but then her eyes met his again.
Inhaling deeply, he raises a hand to which one of his guards produces the invitation. The king motions to the parchment, “I have been invited.”
His words were slow, even, punctuating each syllable. He can see it in her eyes and smirks, “Ah, but I believe you already know this.”
She dips her head in acknowledgement then motions to some onlookers to move forward. “His home is not far. I will take you to him. If your lord would allow, we would be glad to care for your animals.”
While he isn’t sure he should give up his perch, he also knows he cannot ride an elk into someone’s home. In elvish, he asks that two of his guards accompany their steeds, while two were to follow him. Dismounting, he follows the woman and soon finds himself on the doorstep of a humble dwelling. He can hear clattering about behind the walls and becomes impatient as he looks to the woman, eyebrow slightly raised. He is not used to waiting…for anything…and standing like a lump in front of what he deems to be a hovel is testing his nerves.
“Will you not allow me entry?”
She should have realized the king would not have the decency, or maybe even the knowledge of the concept, to knock. At this she smiles, “Of course, Lord Elf; but this is not my home; so.”
She knocks heavily. The clattering inside subsides briefly and footsteps can be heard before the door is opened, “Yes, Mildred, to what do I owe…”
The eyes of the man climb upwards toward the extremely tall figure looming behind his sister and he is rendered momentarily speechless at the realization that said figure is that of, “Your majesty!”
Warren bows his head briefly, widening the door with an offering hand, “Please do come in. Welcome to my home.”
Ducking as not to topple the adornment on his head indicating his status as he passes the threshold, the king takes a quick inventory of the surroundings with his eyes. His stoic countenance barely conceals the look of dismay, or rather disgust, at the small area which served as both kitchen and general living quarters. He speaks to his guards in elvish, asking them to remain outside unless called upon. Swiftly they move into place and the door to the cottage is closed.
“Would you care for a seat, my Lord?”
Glancing down at the offered seat, he grimaces, “I am fine to stand.”
“It has been some time, my Lord, I did not think you had accepted my invitation. I am honored that you have come.”
In fact, it had been several months by the time the king had let his curiosity get the best of him. “Yes.”
Confused, Warren tries to meet the eyes of the king; but they are still taking in the surroundings in astonishment that something lives like this. “My Lord?”
Now looking upon the smaller, yet sturdily built man, “As you should be. Now, please explain to me why I am here?”
Warren was not swayed in either direction by the directness of the statement. “As you have read my proposal, I imagine you understand the unity I am trying to form…”
He is cut off, “Yes, I read what you wrote. Now, speak plainly. What is it you seek, EXACTLY?”
The eyes of the two men meet, both gauging each other. After a moment of intense staring, Warren chuckles, fetches a large pitcher and some plain but very clean cups. Placing them on the table, he raises the pitcher, “If we are to get right to it, would you care to join me for a drink, my Lord?”
As Warren began to pour the liquid, the scent of the wine immediately permeated the air, settling directly under the nose of an elf that has adopted a great affinity for the beverage. The fragrance alone beckoned to him, unlike any other he had smelled previously. Tilting his head slightly, wondering if he can trust that this man is, in fact, trustworthy enough to take a cup from.
Warren chuckles again, “My Lord, I do not wish to poison you, if that is what you think? I just wish for you to taste one of the items I am hoping to put on the table as a bartering tool.”
With that, Warren takes a sip to prove his is of good will. This allows the king a moment to assess. He has honed his skills in telling the truth from a lie easily over the span of his life. There was no malice present in the eyes of this human. In fact, it appeared that this man, while being completely respectful, was completely at ease with the sovereign. How curious, indeed.
With that, the king took the offering, lifting the cup to his lips, allowing the fluid to roll across his tongue, his eyes widened and he had to suppress an outright purr at the flavor. It only intensified in flavor as it flowed down his throat. Taking another sip to be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, he found the flavor to be just as decadent and enjoyable.
“Would you like a bit more, my Lord?”
A smirk that verged on a smile crossed his youthful features as he placed the cup back on the table, “Yes, I think I will.”
Over the next span of an hour, the two men spoke, his sister having left for an errand. They imbibed and discussed more. They spoke of a simple trade, wine for protection. Warren had heard from outlying villages that orc hordes were starting to breach the borderlands which only meant dark days would eventually come to this very village. A deal was struck. The king would send word of how many barrels he required as he required them. He would then dispatch his guard to retrieve the barrels at the edge of Mirkwood forest upon receipt of confirmation. The humans were still not to wander into his realm.
For this, the Elvenking promised to keep the lands of his precious wine safe from intruders whether they be human, orc or otherwise. Though he did warn that he should not be called upon lightly. The threat must be real, immanent and something the humans could not dispel themselves. Obviously, he would not have his precious armies running around for nonsensical reasons.
Even having shared their given names, they were toasting the finalized arrangement when Mildred returned with a small person who ran into the room like a whirlwind, jumping into her father’s arms, “DA!!”
Warren looked upon the king apologetically, though he could not curtail the smile the formed at the sight of his only child.
“My Lord, my apologies. This is my daughter, Y/N.”
You were nearly 7 years old, truly a tiny human. You hadn’t noticed the other man sitting with your father. Your greatest joy of each day was to see your father and relate all you discovered on your travels, which never went beyond the edges of town; but still, to you the town was a vast place filled with wonder.
Turning in your father’s lap, you face the odd-looking man. He was very tall, very pale, with pointy ears and a slightly scary scowl on an otherwise very pretty face. His hair was long, longer than most women you knew, longer than yours for sure. He could have been a statue based on his complete stillness as you hopped down and sized him up.
The king moved to look down upon you. Like your father, you had no fear of him. Perhaps you didn’t understand fear yet. As his head tilted down, you jumped lightly as it seemed he was not a statue after all. “Where do you come from? You don’t look like us.”
Your father was taken aback, “Y/N!”
The king raised an eyebrow. “How is it that I am different, young one?”
You touched the tips of your ears. “Plus, you are too pretty to be anyone I’ve seen before.”
The king huffed a light chuckle. Your father was partially mortified and equally enamored by your honesty.
“Y/N, this is King, Thranduil. He is an elf.”
“Thran..do..lil.” You tried to reason it on your tongue. It came out more like Thran Do Little than anything else and your father had to stifle an embarrassed chuckle.
“Are all elves pretty like you?”
Females realm wide had provided him compliments over the centuries and he could not recall ever feeling the need to blush until those innocent words left your lips. Probably because children did not really have to ability to lie in the way that courtiers might. A blush did not rise against his ivory skin; but a genuine half smile formed across his face.
“DA! You didn’t tell him he was pretty? You tell me to always be complemlemtrary.”
“Complementary, Y/N.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Yes; but men are called handsome and we don’t usually tell each other such.”
You look at the large elf again, straight into his eyes. They appeared to sparkle, grey, blue, translucent.
“But Da, we say the moon is pretty, right?”
Unable to understand how this conversation turned and also feeling like he needs to apologize profusely, “Yes, Y/N. Why?”
You try to whisper as children do which comes out completely audible, “Because his eyes look like the moon.”
Warren looks to Thranduil who seems to be enjoying the compliments at least.
You father pats your shoulder and turns to his sister. “I see. Well, little girl, I think it is time for you to go get cleaned up. Suppertime will be here before you know it.”
While trying to feed you to your Aunt’s grasp. You encounter the elf one last time as you approach and grasp a small tendril of his hair. His brow furrows over a shocked glare at the assault. Your father rushes to grab you. Before he can reach you, you grin and giggle happily, “I knew it would be soft.”
Your father, for the first time this day, looked upon the king with fear in his eyes. It was told that not even his own kin were permitted to touch him without severe consequences. Grasping your body fully, your father pulls you backwards, “My Lord! I apologize heavily! Y/N! Never touch someone without being asked!”
Your eyes grew big, your father rarely reprimanded you. “DA?”
“Apologize to the king.”
You look from one man to the other, eyes glistening slightly at the tears threatening to fall, “I’m s-s-so-sorry, Mr. Thrandulil.”
While your father feared the worst, the oddest thing happened, the king began to chuckle. “It’s alright young one; but only this once.”
Warren sighed with relief. You nodded your understanding and were handed off directly to your Aunt.
“My Lord, your forgiveness is…” Warren couldn’t find the exact words to humble himself properly.
“Unexpected?”
“I…well…”
Thranduil readied himself, turning towards the door. “I am many things, this is true; but a monster that would hack off the limbs of a child, I am not. Teaching her what is acceptable in this world is the job of her father, not of mine.”
His words were not meant to be an insult but a warning. A warning that Warren immediately understood.
Following his guest to the door, Warren opened the portal so the king could duck out. “Thank you for your time, my Lord and safe travels.”
“Yes.” Simply put and he was on his way back to the opulence of his palace. He wouldn’t lie, it was an interesting day, satisfied his curiosity; but he felt the immediate need for a bath.
As much as the little hovel in the village on the far side of Mirkwood had made him feel quite dirtied, the deal was solid. It required very little of him, at least for now, and he procured the finest wine he had ever tasted for his own personal stock on a by-request basis. His first order upon his return, with the few barrels that we acquired during the trade negotiations, was that no one was to touch it should they lose the hands and tongue that savored it and be banished. It was his and his alone. Although, when in a particularly good mood, he had been swayed to share a glass or two with his son. Legolas was not one for the taste of alcohol; but even he would agree, it was worth the deal that was made.
The next few years went by in a blink. Trade with the woodland realm, peace in the surrounding lands and during this time, you enjoyed the life you had come to know. Barely 12 when the darkness your father feared finally reared its ugly, orcish head.
Had it not been so close to the harvest season, had workers not been in the fields beyond sunset due to the harvest moon, there would have been no warning whatsoever. Had the workers not known every in and out of the vineyard, there may have been more casualties; but as fate would have it, orcs are not the silent type, nor are they scentless. Their rancor easily discernable in what otherwise was a beautifully scented field of ripening fruits.
Thomson Perigrude made his way through the vines, warning one, who warned another, who all silently made their way back to the village as the band of orcs filed into the vineyards. Warren was awakened with a start at the banging on his door. Making his way in the dark and finding Thomson flushed with heavy breaths, he knew in his core that the day had come.
“Warren, they are here.”
Trying to keep voices hushed as not to wake you in the next room, “How many?”
“There is no way of telling. They breached the vineyard as we were making our way back.”
The village was primarily made of farmers, not warriors; but all with sturdy hearts ready to protect what was theirs. “Warn all to prepare.”
“What will you do, Warren?”
“I will prepare as well.”
He was undecided if he needed to bother the Elvenking with this. He had been warned not to abuse the pact. The town would be capable of protecting itself from a small horde of just about anything; but not knowing the numbers, Warren was left with a debacle until he heard the scream, “They are setting fire to the vineyards!!”
Decision made; the King must be notified. If anything, he wouldn’t be angry at getting out of bed to secure his future barrels of wine. Warren scribbled a quick note stating simply, “My Lord, They are here. Please send aid. Warren of the Vinelands.”
Rushing to the yard where the messenger birds lay in wait, he tied the message to the largest and fastest, giving it orders and sending it along. The bird made its way under the guise of night without the orcs spotting it, over the trees of Mirkwood to the palace of the Elvenking. The king was not pleased with being roused from his slumber; but upon reading the parchment, he knew in your father’s wording that it was urgent. There were no pleasantries or respectful wishes as he usually sent.
He called to the guard outside of his chambers, providing instructions to ready a garrison. Quickly made to be clothed and armed himself. The best of the warrior elves of Mirkwood, awaiting him with his large elk at the ready. Again, he ordered Legolas to remain and protect the palace and the surrounding woodlands as they did not know yet the threat.
While Thranduil readied his forces, your father had woken you. Provided you instructions to which you did not argue against. The townspeople had long ago come up with contingency plans for situations such as this. Although, at first, some thought it was a silly notion, especially once they had the protection promised by the great King of Mirkwood; but Warren had persuaded them to see that being prepared hurt no one, that even if the King must be called, even as quick as elves were, help would not arrive immediately.
The people of the town went about agreed upon orders. The field workers, most of which were also the most formidable, went into the fields, allowing the smoke that rose from the outskirts to further blanket their approach. Using hoes, rakes, shovels and whatever other implement they could carry, in pairs, they snuck upon orcs that were lost within the maze of vines, taking them out one by one.
Some of the women were tasked with taking the children and the elderly to a shelter dug deep into the dirt on the far side of the village. The remaining women and those who were teenaged, including you, were tasked with readying the pumps and opening the dam to the intricate irrigation system which would allow flooding into the fields to help extinguish the flames. Never had anyone thought they’d need to take this measure as too much water would be sure to destroy much of the crop; but the alternative was to let it burn. At least, once the water receded, some of the grapes would be salvageable and the farther sides of the vineyard might even make it through completely untouched.
The sun was rising when the Elven garrison reached the ridge overlooking the vinelands. Dark plumes of smoke wafting up into the sky. A vast portion of the field below, charred and muddied, completely wiped out by the subsequent flooding. There was no sign of life, no sign of fighting, no sign of anything really. As the battalion made their way through the devastation, it was apparent there had been a happening as there were orc bodies laying within the ruins of the vines here and there. Not nearly enough to have required the calling of the king. This did not sit well with the elvish ruler.
He sent guards ahead into the town to survey any further fallout; and should Warren be alive, he should be sent forth to Thranduil immediately. To his surprise, within the hour, Warren was produced. Skin and hair dark with soot and orc blood.
“My Lord. I’m sorry to have called you. We did not know what we were looking at as they came in the night.”
At that moment, Thranduil held up a hand to stay Warren’s talking, one of the guards approached on foot, speaking in elvish to the king. “As I thought.”
Warren’s eyes looked up in question daring not to speak.
“You did right by calling upon us, Warren of the Vinelands. This was just a forward party. Something to have you drop your defenses. Once they believe you have relaxed your guard, the full force of the attack will come.”
“My Lord, what should we do.”
“You should give them what they want.”
“My Lord?”
“And allow us to do as I promised.”
He started shouting orders to his troops who immediately fell into formations closer to the town, strategically placed to await the oncoming horde. The orcs would wait for the town to feel secure and they would inevitably attack under the guise of night. They would not anticipate nor see the elven forces awaiting their arrival.
Thranduil pulled the reins of his stag, looking upon Warren, “Go, have a celebration. Do save a cup of wine for me.”
“I…?”
“The sounds of frivolity will draw them in and it will be their undoing.”
Warren bowed his head in understanding. He understood what the Elvenking had in mind but it still felt like the people of the town would be sitting ducks should the orc army somehow push through. Although he wasn’t a king, he was looked to for leadership and would any leader in their right mind put their people in this position. He did not want the king to feel as though he questioned their might; but he also did not want to allow the village to put themselves on the slab as an offering.
Warren gathered the people of the town, related the king’s plan and it was decided that the women, children and elderly would return to the bunker. In this decision, even those who were teens were deemed children and thus you were reluctantly escorted away while the men engaged themselves in building a bonfire and feigning a celebration. Screaming, yelling to the skies their victory, dancing half heartedly around a reminder of what had taken out half their crop, toasting with cups as if they were filled with drink other than water.
Long after the sun had set, the fire had been extinguished and the men had retired to their homes as if to sleep, the orc army made their way out of the surrounding hills. Approaching with their full force so assured of their prowess, unaware of that which awaited in the shadow of the darkened village.
Once the battle began, the men of the village armed themselves with whatever they could and waited in the case that something might make its way past the elven forces; but hours later, nothing came. And finally, in the early morning hours, the king himself rode pridefully into the center of town to announce the victory. The men emerged from their homes or other strategic locations led by Warren who held within his hands a decanter and a large goblet.
You had been chomping at the bit to leave the shelter and upon hearing the true cries of relief and a war won, you immediately ran towards the revelry. Nothing could have stopped you, taking even the elven guard who had just ridden in behind their king by surprise. You saw the man, the elf who you had met as a young child, who you thought may have been a dream to this point, with hair like starlight and eyes like the moon. You saw him and ran straight to him.
At your height, you could only reach his boot, and this you grabbed and laid a kiss upon. You aren’t sure why, you weren’t thinking, you were overjoyed, he was the hero of the hour, he deserved praise, but moreso he was not a dream, he was real and some part of you was overwhelmed by that as well.
He looked down upon you in bewilderment as the guard nearest you drew their sword. Thranduil lifted his hand, the guard backing down. Your head having been bowed, now your eyes meet his and you realize the error of your ways though you are unable to release your grip on him. Your father, wondering if this will in fact be the end of you is momentarily relieved when the lips of the Elvenking turn up in a smirk, not menacing, just amused.
“I see you still have yet to learn proper manners, young one.”
At this you remove your hands, they tremble slightly as you back away and he dismounts. Your head bowed, “My apologies, my Lord. I was overcome.”
A playful glint crosses his eyes as he thinks to himself that it isn’t the first time he has heard such words. His ego truly knew no bounds. “Look upon me child, do you remember our agreement?”
You meet his stare, “I did not think you would recall me, my Lord.”
“I have yet to forget a set of eyes. All unique and all so telling. Now, remember your manners, I asked you a question, did I not?”
“You did, My Lord, Thranduil. I, well, I did not touch your hair.”
With this, the king let out a laugh, “I see you still have much to learn, young one. Though, it appears you have mastered how to say my name.”
“Will you forgive me, My Lord?”
He puts his finger to his lips as if to contemplate. He looks upon your father standing hopefully with the decanter and then he smiles at you, repeating the same sentiment, “Hmmm, just this once.”
As the regal elf toasted a night won with your father, you continued to fill their cups. With each pass, Thranduil would look upon you appreciatively. Although some of your manners could use work, you did know how to treat a guest. Each time your eyes met, you could feel yourself flush. You weren’t sure why, being a child of 12, you figured it was shame in having embarrassed yourself, your father and your village at your earlier actions. What you would come to realize in the years ahead is that it was, in fact, a crush. In the years the followed, it became clear to you with every suitor you turned away, with every fevered dream you had of the platinum haired elf, with every touch you placed upon yourself that you wished was his own hand, it hit you like a lightning bolt to the gut. At such a young age, you had met a man that no other could even attempt to compete with. In fact, you romanticized him to the point that it was likely the king himself could not even compare to the portrait you had painted in your mind.
After the afternoon of merriment and the elves had bid their farewells, 20 years passed before you would see him again.
Those years were filled with prosperity. The vinelands replanted and flourished. Word had made it around that your village was under the protection of the woodland realm of Mirkwood. None dared to test the resolve of the king…until they did.
At just barely 32 years of age, you found yourself tasked with the impossible. The onslaught was so unexpected, so quick that a bird could not even be sent. There was no time to hide, to prepare and as you watched your father fend off the attackers rushing into the village, he called to you to run. You cried, you refused, you railed against his orders with a large scythe in your hands.
“Run, Y/N, into the woods, GO!”
“DA, I will not leave you!”
“Find the king! It is the only way, my daughter! You must survive! Go, with my love! GO!”
You were left with no choice. If the village were to stand, it was up to you to find a way to get word to the king. Although, your heart sunk in the knowledge that it was likely too late; but your father asked and you had to try. The woodlands though, they were forbidden. It was not allowed for humans to trespass. Perhaps, your perfect king would forgive you once more if you could get to him alive.
Swinging your weapon at the outliers of the attacking army, making it through to the edge of the woods not completely unscathed. Those who followed did not pursue you any further as you ducked into the trees, as even they knew the wrath of the king of the woodland realm was to be avoided at all costs. They also figured you to die by the hands of those who dwelled in the forest and thus a chase was unwarranted anyway.
You spared one last glance upon the village, allowing the tears to fall unabashedly and then you ran. You ran until you couldn’t anymore and then you ran again. You didn’t even know how to get to wherever it was you would find your savior, the king; but you kept running, straight and true until you heard a noise. Not a noise, a voice, “Halt trespasser.”
What followed is what led you to this place where you were now practically face down in front of the king, your savior, the one you had put on a pedestal so high that not one of the Gods could even touch him.
You heard the deep, familiar voice as he descended and it momentarily filled you with comfort even in this uncomfortable position. “What is this?”
“Trespasser, My Lord.”
“Where were they found?”
“To the South, heading straight for the palace.”
“Tell me human, what brings you into my forest?”
After almost a full day of running and having slammed your head into a tree when the guard had startled you, your mind was hazy and your throat was dry and horse. You tried to speak and all that came out was a gargled hiss.
“Release her. Perhaps she will find a voice then.”
Once released, you collapse forward onto your hands with a huff.
“Stand and speak, human!”
You try to will your legs to stand but they are spent, shaking and you are unable. You can feel the room starting to go dark behind your eyes. The best you can accomplish is to fall forward and grasp that same boot you did once upon your teenhood. Your forehead against his shin.
Thranduil’s eyes blow wide as he stares at the mess of hair laying over his foot. One of the guards briskly pulls you up and away into a standing position, though you could not hold your own head up any longer. The king’s patience wearing thin, he grasps your chin roughly, forcing your tear-reddened eyes to meet his briefly. Terror, sadness, a begging and exhaustion written in them. The last thing you can do before passing out entirely is let out a raspy mumble, “Your agreement.”
Thranduil immediately motions for the guard holding your limp body to take you to the healers, a guard to be posted at the room at all times and to notify him once you are coherent. The other guard he orders to form a party.
“Take your party to the vinelands; but be on alert. I suspect that if she is here, what awaits will not be welcoming. Report back to me what you find.”