Lúthien moved with gentle grace. Galadriel walked at her side, bright and lively. Together, the two elven princesses became the heart of every path they crossed. Elves paused to bow as they passed, reverence clear in their posture. Many of the younger male elves lingered a heartbeat too long, admiration undisguised.
As for the human walking behind them, Rowan Mercer earned little more than a curious glance.
To most of the Grey Elves, humans ranked somewhere between background noise and passing wildlife. Not worth attention.
They crossed into the heart of the elven city, following a broad avenue laid with polished wood, until they reached the Thousand-Cavern Palace. Dwarven hands had shaped it long ago, carving a vast complex directly into the living stone.
Lúthien stopped beside a palace guard. "Where is my father?"
"In the main hall," the guard replied respectfully. "The twenty-two noble houses are currently in audience."
That explained much.
In the elven realms of Middle-earth, kings did not rule by absolute decree. A king was simply the foremost among nobles. If the noble houses stood united against him, even a royal decision could be blocked.
Rowan understood immediately why this mattered.
Convincing Thingol alone would not be enough. At least half the noble houses would need to be persuaded as well.
If they were already gathered, then the timing could not be better.
Galadriel snorted softly. "Twenty-two nobles, all at once? I'd wager anything they're here to push their useless heirs on you again."
Lúthien smiled, unsurprised. Doriath had known peace for generations. There were few matters important enough to summon every noble lord. Marriage proposals, however, were another story.
Lúthien was universally acknowledged as the most beautiful of all elves. Any unmarried noble with ambition dreamed of wedding her. More than that, she was Thingol's only child. Whoever married her would one day rule Doriath, and their family's influence would eclipse the rest.
They had tried many times.
They had always failed.
Thingol's standards were impossibly high. He found none of the noble heirs worthy of his daughter. Even the sons of Fëanor had earned only his disdain. The nobles' children never stood a chance.
Galadriel fared no better with her own suitors. Thingol could not decide her fate, and her own rule was simple: her partner would need to be stronger than she was.
Those who challenged her had all left bruised, humiliated, and wiser.
All except one.
Celeborn, her quiet cousin, more fond of books than blades.
"He won't agree to any of them," Lúthien said calmly. "Let's go in. Since the nobles are present, we might as well make use of the moment."
She led them across a stone bridge and into the palace proper.
Rowan slowed despite himself.
The interior was breathtaking. Vast halls and private chambers were carved directly from natural stone, their surfaces polished smooth. Countless gems and glowing crystals were set into the walls, bathing the caverns in soft, shifting light.
"So this is the Thousand-Cavern Palace," Rowan murmured. "Magnificent."
Before Morgoth's return, before the Noldor arrived in Middle-earth, the Grey Elves had been unrivaled. The wealth of the continent had once flowed into this place. Only later, after the palace fell, would that treasure be scattered and stolen.
Lúthien guided them into the grandest hall of all.
Upon the throne sat a tall elven king with silver hair flowing down his back. A golden crown set with rubies and crystal rested upon his brow. He stood half a head taller than most Grey Elves, his presence commanding without effort.
Thingol.
One of the ancient elven kings who had seen the light of the Two Trees. The only Grey Elf to wed a Maia.
When he saw Lúthien at the entrance, the severity of his expression melted instantly.
"My jewel," he said warmly. "You've returned."
"Good afternoon, Father," Lúthien replied, stepping forward. "This is Rowan Mercer, the human Galadriel mentioned. He is thoughtful and wise. I believe his words are worth hearing."
Galadriel hurried to the other side of the throne, lifting her skirt slightly as she climbed the steps. "I told you about this before, Your Majesty."
Thingol chuckled. "I remember. And Finrod as well. Persistent child."
His gaze shifted to Rowan. "Since my daughter speaks for you, and since the nobles are already assembled, I'll allow you to make your case."
Without Lúthien and Galadriel's presence, Rowan would never have stood here. A human did not earn an audience with the King of Doriath by right.
The assembled noble lords and their heirs now turned their attention to Rowan. Curiosity flickered across some faces. Others watched with thinly veiled interest. A few glared openly, resentment burning at the sight of two princesses defending a human.
Rowan stood quietly beneath their scrutiny.
This was the moment where words would decide the fate of Doriath.
...
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