Northern Exposure

What's In A Name?

"Names have power."

― Rick Riordan, The Lightning Thief

Audrey let the rest of the day roll by like a storm cloud; heavy and bleak. Her mind was consumed by Thranduil, much to her dismay. It was difficult to answer phone calls, gather patient information, and even function with co-workers accordingly. There was a darkness that shrouded her soul, and a weight that crushed her in ways that physical pain could never dream of conjuring. Yet, no tears followed that pang of guilt. Not after her bout in the restroom. It was as if her tear ducts had run dry and there was nothing left but that hollow emptiness that was in ways bitterer than the burning, salty tears that should have been bursting forth. And it wasn't as if she had true reason to feel that way. Thranduil and his misgivings wasn't her fault. His problems with his memory, his birthplace, and his current circumstance had nothing to do with her personally. Though the way he looked at her—the way he spoke to her—made it all very personal. It was as if something supernatural was in the works and no matter how hard the young woman tried to deny this, there was no way she could viably erase him from her life. Sarcastically she thought of Twilight and the ridiculousness that it was as a whole, but honed in and remembered the concept of imprinting. Was something like that—maybe not on a werewolf level—possible? Could two beings that never truly had any reason to care for one another become intertwined in ways that science and logic simply couldn't define? No. Definitely not, but then what could it possibly be? She kept these thoughts to herself and prayed for seven to roll around so she could clock out and go home.

On her way out the door and to her car, Audrey's mind was still very much preoccupied by the Elven-King. He had left the hospital earlier on that day; lead out through the main ER entry way. From behind the glass panel that separated her from the outside, Audrey watched with the heaviest heart as he gracefully entered the taxi which was bound for the city, where Thranduil would be placed in the shelter. She wondered to herself if he still had that torn piece of paper with those number scribbled on it frantically—almost pleadingly. Once he had disappeared from sight, she began glancing at her phone praying to see some kind of indication that he might try to reach out for her. It was crazy in itself, because unless Thranduil acquired a cellphone in the brief time between being emitted to the hospital and then being discharged there would be nothing. And indeed there was not. The only activity taken place had been the few missed texts from Mitchell and notifications from Match and Facebook. Sadly she realized how sad her life was. Not to mention her slight obsession over the tall graceful creature that had now walked out of her life for the second time.

The drive home was quiet—normally opposite with the radio or some form of media blaring from the speakers. On this day however Audrey could find no comfort in the music she would normally sing along with. It was actually a nuisance to her ears and slowly she felt a headache form from the base of her skull. For the umpteenth time she screamed at herself the one question she couldn't answer: what the hell was going on? Normally, Audrey was not the type of person to dwell on anything for very long, nor was she the kind of girl to get hung up on someone. Wait…was that what was going on? Was she hung up on Thranduil? No…no that couldn't be, could it? She had just started talking to Mitchell and things were going good there. At least, from what she could tell; there had been a few miscommunications. Nothing too serious anyway, nothing that should have her mind wandering about like a ninny. That wasn't fair to Mitchell but most importantly, it wasn't fair to Audrey. She had spent so long in shitty relationships that she almost couldn't believe she may have gotten this one right. And now that was all going to hell—she had a gift of over exaggerating—because she couldn't get a certain six foot five blonde out of her head.

By the time she had gotten home, fed her overweight cat, saw that Dolly had warm blankets and food, Audrey felt completely lost in her own world. Emptiness filled her home and her heart, no matter what she did to try and reconcile to feeling better. Even when she immersed herself in a hard work—such as splitting wood—the hallowed face of Thranduil haunted her. Like a wicked curse Audrey found that there was no way she could deny it any longer: he had crossed her path not by accident, but for a reason. Until that reason was found out and until the man was aided in mending his broken being, she would find no peace. Throwing down the ax and wiping her brow of sweat, Audrey swallowed hard. The pain in her stomach heightened tenfold. There was nothing more sorrowful than a wounded emotional conscience. If she couldn't do it for him, she would do it for herself…she simply could not go on feeling so gloomy.

Trudging back to her house from behind the barn, the sky turned over to a deep indigo, which beckoned rain. It would be the last rain before the turn of the season entirely, and next time it would be snow that fell from the heavens. The holidays would be here soon, Thanksgiving in particular being just around the corner. All the more reason to bring that fucking man into her home, she thought, after all it was the season for giving. And boy had she given him more thought and consideration than she should have. Ironically it would be the first companionship in history—she was sure—that would have started with pepper spray and a sword. Thinking of this brought a smile to her face, which fell off entirely at what she saw parked in front of her home.

It was a yellow taxi, engine running and sitting rather sluggishly in the muck of the gravel driveway. The little Indian man behind the wheel looked annoyed, perplexed, and a tad anxious. It was the look on everyone's face the first time they met Thranduil. That much, Audrey knew for certain. What she didn't know, was how in the hell he had found her house and managed to hail a taxi to get there. And most importantly: did he realize taking that mode of transportation cost money? A LOT of money, especially with the long ass drive from town to the small farm house. The man was never lacking in his every expanding surprises.

Audrey threw her hands in the air and screamed. "Where is he?!" She shouted at the driver, who shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the meter running in the cab. Audrey cursed under her breath and stomped over to the taxi, throwing sixty dollars at driver and telling him none too nicely to bugger off. Her next order of business was moving to her front door, which was open slightly. Stepping through that threshold, the familiar presence of Thranduil filled her home. It was slightly comforting and all the same unwanted—as always. She doubted she could ever get used to the electric feel he gave off; otherworldly and magical. And she hated no word more than magical. It gave way to the thought that such things were possible, and Audrey never believed in the mystical. She preferred practical and tangible. She found him, resting against the countertop, studying a bottle of wine.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She seethed. "I don't expect you to understand that your little escapade here has me out sixty dollars now, but my real question is how the hell did you find me?" It was pointless to try to ask anything else. Early on she came to understand that with Thranduil nothing was ever going to make sense and it was best to stick to practical questions.

He didn't bother looking at her, his icy eyes focused on the bottle. His long and lithe fingers running over the printed label, his mind seemingly far off somewhere. When he finally answered, his response was classic for his persona. "Amazing tool, an address book…the woman at the shelter was very kind enough to help me locate you. Mortals swoon over everything slightly different. You share that imbecilic quality with your kin from my world."

It was in that moment Audrey took in everything she saw for what it was, for the first time. There was no explanation, no reasoning, and no rhyme to it. Thranduil didn't think he was something different than a man; he truly was more than any of the people he met wanted to believe. From his slender and ominous appearance to the way he carried himself, Audrey began to accept—if not understand—what was going on. And if Thranduil wasn't from this place, then Audrey knew why he had come to her: to find his way back.

She sighed heavily, letting go of the anger that had been coursing through her. Stumbling over towards the countertop, she reached out and took the bottle from Tranduil, opened it and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard. Pouring each of them a full glass, she handed one to the towering figure next to her and before speaking, took a huge gulp from her own. After this, Audrey sighed again. "You are going to start from the beginning," she whispered. "Start from the beginning and leave out no details. But first…this place you're from, what is it called?"

Thranduil's eyes searched Audrey's face with indifference, the cerulean blue dropping to the pinkish liquid that sat in his wine glass. Whatever was on his mind—if anything at all—was not easily read. He too took a drink, submerged his taste buds, and wrinkled his nose. It was absolutely repulsive as far as his wine standards were concerned, but enough of it would do the job it was intended for, therefore he did not complain. After all, if he were to recount everything and explain the world of Arda to Audrey—mentally prepared for her to deride him—he would need every drop he could get. "Very well," he whispered back, setting his glass down and picking up the bottle. "But I will need to sit down. My recounting will take a long while I'm afraid. Are you sure you are prepared for it?"

Audrey shrugged her shoulders, aware that this was the way it had to be. Never minding the pressing questions as to how he came to be standing in her living room, as if it were all perfectly normal. It was just one of those things better not thought upon. So this was it and this was how it was going to be; may as well get to the grittiness of it all. "I don't think I have a choice, eh? If I don't know about where you're from, I can't help you get back." Did she just say that?

"Audrey," Thranduil raised his brow, his shoulders held high as if he had never been wounded. "Do not take me for an invalid. If I cannot find a way back to Middle Earth, then what makes you think you'll be able to find a way?"

"You know what…" The fire that burned deep inside of her reared its ugly head once more. However, she did her best to curb it. "How about for now we just focus on your story? And try not to insult the person giving you board, yeah?"

Thranduil did not speak to this, but nodded his head and made his way to the only armchair in the living room. Audrey finished of her glass of wine and picked up Thranduil's discarded one—seeing as he took the bottle instead—and sat her bottom on the couch. Quietly she prepared herself for the longest tale of her life.

By the time Thranduil had told Audrey of his earlier life, nearly all three thousand years of it, she was beyond the tolerable blood-alcohol level. None of it seemed possible—could be possible—yet the way the Elf spoke left little doubt to his legitimacy regarding all of it. Especially as he carried on to speak of his more current years, the last three hundred to be exact. He told her of his son, whom he explained was roughly around the age of Audrey—in mortal years—and the dwarven prisoners that he believed were never retrieved from their escape.

"Why did you imprison them? All they were doing was passing through, right?" Her voice was slurred, her eyes heavy. It was the first interruption she had made and the new voice filling the air had taken Thranduil aback.

"Erebor—the mountain…it holds many precious gems…some not belonging to Thorin."

Audrey furrowed her brows, trying to recall their conversation so she might follow better. Her mind was running rampant. "The jewels you gave as homage to Thorin's grandfather? You gave them away…"

There was only silence. A deep horrid silence that passed between them so thickly, one could cut it. Thranduil had not spoken to Audrey of his wife, nor that it had been her jewels that he had given up. It was not something he felt the need to bring up, nor was it something he would do lightly. The memory of his queen was a sacred thing; a pure thing. "I would not expect you to understand that plight. Even my own son did not understand."

Audrey pursed her lips. Thranduil could think whatever he wanted to of her, but she wasn't naïve or stupid. "Your wife…they belonged to your wife…what was her name?"

Thranduil looked down at the ring that wrapped around his finger. How long had it been since he had spoken her name out loud? Did he even remember it? Surely he did… "Tuarwen."

"What does that mean?" Audrey knew no boundaries in her current state.

Thranduil smiled then, just slightly. He knew no one who was named so well as his wife. "Noble strength."

Audrey held her breath. It was just another strange and incomprehensible factor that made this entire encounter all the more eerie. There was no way…no fucking way.