PAINTING THE WOODS RED
Overall rating: (very mild) orange (see rating explanation below)
Category: slash (two male Elves in love).
Pairing: Thranduil/Lórindol (called "Nonfindel")
Status: complete
Warnings: none
Beta: Eveiya the Ever Efficient
Summary: Thranduil really hates to admit it, but he is missing being bothered..
CHAPTER 4
For the next month, there was neither hide nor hair to be seen of Nonfindel. His laughter did not interrupt Thranduil's studies anymore, he could breakfast without being disturbed by the sight of a naked Elf in his garden, and in the evening, he could drink his glass of Miruvor without Nonfindel's garrulous company.
This, much to Thranduil's surprise, annoyed him greatly.
Nonfindel, with his colourful, luxurious robes, had stood out from the Mirkwood Elves and their plain browns and greens like a dog with two heads. Thranduil missed the opportunity to rant for hours with Lionel or Legolas over Nonfindel's outrageous behaviour and caprioles.
The king caught himself more than once staring longingly out of the window or listening for an echo of that cheerful laughter. Yes, Nonfindel had been irritating, but he had also been very entertaining. Thranduil had never admitted it, but it was good to have some company, to be able to talk to somebody who shared his love for poetry, study and art. The hours when Nonfindel had read aloud some of his favourite poems had been precious to Thranduil. The other Elf had a warm, enchanting voice, and seemed to feel the words as he read them, bringing them to life.
Ah, his voice... once Thranduil had even fallen asleep during one of those readings. There was something comforting about it, and Thranduil, who was usually a light sleeper, his slumber often disturbed by nightmares, had slept peacefully all through the night. Officially, he had complained loudly about Nonfindel's choice of boring tales, but deep in his heart he was grateful for the gift of a peaceful night, free of the shadows of the past.
There was a fine, needle-point pain in his chest whenever Thranduil sat alone in front of his fireplace now. No more poetry. Nonfindel had locked himself up in the Black Cave, and did not allow anybody to enter. He seemed to work day and night on the painting, and those daring enough to try to catch a glimpse of the work in progress were sent away immediately. Nonfindel had even thrown a pot of red paint over Legolas, who had spent the next three days trying to get the paint out of his hair.
Nonfindel might be an airhead in all everyday concerns, but when it came to his work, he seemed utterly dedicated. And he was good. Thranduil understood more of art than most assumed, and had even tried his hand at small sketches. They were nothing special, he knew, but not bad, either. It was a shame Legolas had inherited absolutely nothing of his love for the fine arts. The best in terms of art Legolas could produce were stickmen and, as an Elfling, a shapeless vase he had formed out of clay and given his father for Yule.
Thranduil felt relieved when Nonfindel finally announced that the painting was finished. If it had been up to him, "Oropher's great victory" would have been thrown away with the debris. He considered the picture a history-bending atrocity, and the thought of having to endure it in fresh colours for the next centuries made him cringe.
But at least Nonfindel would be available for him again. And this made Thranduil happier than he was comfortable with.
* * *
TBC