The sound of horses galloping into the forest, their hoof beats already muffled by the dense carpet of leaves that covered the Elf Path like a multi-coloured blanket, finally faded into the distance, signalling that the party from Lothlórien was well on its way back to the Golden Wood. That Mirkwood had been chosen by Galadriel as the venue for the council meeting was no less than his due, Thranduil believed, since the topic under discussion had been Dol Guldur and the Necromancer, the evil that now lurked in the south of the once great Greenwood. He was relieved that Mithrandir, who had left earlier, had decided to seek more information about the happenings in that dark place, but he feared greatly that all the Istari would find would be confirmation of his worst fears. The feeling of dread that was hovering on the edge of his consciousness was not new; Thranduil had lived with this shadow ever since Dagorlad and the battle of the Last Alliance. Sauron’s physical form had been destroyed when Isildur took the ring but ever since then Thranduil had felt some small essence of the Dark Lord’s spirit remained. Over the past few years he had become certain of it, and he shivered slightly at the thought of the return of such evil.

“Surely you are not cold, Thranduil?’ asked Glorfindel as he stood beside the King of Mirkwood and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Even though the wind blows cold from the snow-laden mountains, it is still quite pleasant for this time of year. Winter is not yet upon your forests.”

“It soon will be, but it is not the cold that chills my blood,” answered Thranduil absently, and Glorfindel knew that he was not referring to the weather alone.  “Nevertheless I think I will retire to my study where the fire that Mithrandir insisted on lighting to ‘warm his old bones’, as he put it, still burns in the hearth. Would you both care to join me, I believe the Istari may even have left us some wine?” The question was directed to both Glorfindel and Elrond, who had also paid Galadriel and Celeborn the courtesy of bidding them farewell at the gates of Thranduil’s Hall. He and Glorfindel had decided to remain a few days in Mirkwood, allowing their escorts, Elladan and Elrohir, to spend some time hunting spiders with Legolas.

“I would not be so sure,” laughed Elrond, as the three elder Elves made their way back to the warmth and comfort of Thranduil’s study. “Mithrandir seems to have quite a fondness for wine, of any variety.”

The fire burned low in the hearth so Thranduil added a large log, sending bright sparks up the chimney. Despite Glorfindel’s contention that it was not cold, they all drew their chairs into a large semi circle around the fire and sipped their wine, each staring into the flames in quiet contemplation of their private thoughts.  

“I do believe that Haldir and several of the others were surprised that you and Thranduil were behaving so civilly towards one another at the council meetings,” Glorfindel commented nonchalantly, finally breaking the silence.

“Why should he be surprised?” asked Elrond, with a slight frown at Thranduil who was smiling and nodding his head knowingly.

“You, my dear Elrond, need to take more notice of the messengers who travel between our realms,” he said lightly.

“Yes, he should,” agreed Glorfindel sagely, but not elaborating further.

“I always take great heed of any correspondence I receive,” declared the Lord of Imladris sounding quite offended. The other two laughed as their teasing had the desired result. “I am at a loss to understand to what you two are both referring.”

“Not only do the messengers deliver letters of importance, but during their travels they also pick up information of great interest….”

“….. And usually very little basis in fact,” interspersed Glorfindel.

“… that they impart, often with embellishment, to anyone who cares to listen,” explained Thranduil.

“Gossip, you mean,” surmised Elrond, the tone of his voice indicating his distaste for what he considered to be a pointless pastime.

“It is often quite interesting,” commented Glorfindel as he picked up the wine bottle and refilled his glass, doing likewise for the others. “According to the most popular and persistent rumour over the centuries, the fact that visits between Imladris and Mirkwood are rare, and that last time you and Thranduil met you were seen to be involved in a very heated argument …well…the natural conclusion seemed to be that there is still much hostility between the two of you.”

“Our sons are often together, either hunting spiders in Mirkwood or orcs in the mountains near Imladris,” said Elrond. “If we were at such odds, that would not be the case.”

“It is the commonly held view that they are simply being rebellious in their choice of friends, as is often happens with younger Elves,” said Glorfindel with a smile.

“The whole idea is total nonsense, of course,” agreed Thranduil. “Our opinions differ widely on many topics, and sometimes our discussions are rather loud, but I do not even rightly remember what it was we were arguing about last time, it was several hundred years ago.”

“Something about whether it was Legolas or Elladan and Elrohir who were to blame for the bubbles and the strange red colour in Elrond’s favourite fountain, I believe,” offered Glorfindel, an amused smile playing on his lips as he remembered the three young elflings who had come to him with a slightly different plan. Fortunately for Elrond’s dignity, he had convinced them that the fountain was a far better ‘target’, and likely to invoke a much milder punishment than would be the case if they had coloured the Lore Master’s bath water.

“Ah, yes, now I remember. I have often wondered about that incident, for it seems to me that the prank required some adult assistance. At their age, none of them would have known which plants to use to pigment the water,” Thranduil said looking questioningly at Glorfindel who, except for the twinkle of mischief in his eyes, was looking far too innocent.

“The same thought had crossed my mind, and not only about that incident, but several others as well. Is there anything you would care to tell us?” Elrond asked his golden haired friend.  

“No.” The simple reply spoke volumes to his two friends who knew him so well, and the joined in their laughter as he realised he had not fooled either of them. “At least I managed to prevent them from putting the concoction in your bath water, Elrond. It would have turned you a nice shade of pink for the rest of the day.”

“Thank you for sparing me that indignity, at least. However I still do not see how a mere difference of opinion over an elfling prank could lead to such a conclusion,” said Elrond concerned over the misinformation. “Does it not bother you, Thranduil?”

“I am not interested in idle chatter and false accusations, let them believe what they will,” he replied easily. “Should I hear such nonsense being spoken in my presence, however, that may be a different matter entirely. It seems I also have a reputation for being hot tempered.”

“Well, there is some truth in that,” teased Elrond, ignoring the snort of disgust from his friend. “I am curious as to what you have heard, Glorfindel, for you seem to know much more of this ‘gossip’ than I would have thought.” 

“As I said before, I find it fascinating, and on the odd occasion I have actually heard something of value. Anyway, as far as you and Thranduil are concerned, Haldir and many of the Lorien warriors believe that ever since Dagorlad you two have nurtured an immense hatred for each other and are in a constant state of feud, which has brought you to blows, on the odd occasion.”

“Nonsense!” declared Elrond emphatically. “How dare anyone suggest that we would resort to physical confrontation? I will send Celeborn a message asking him to speak with his warriors.”

“Well, we did not come to blows, but that we were almost in a state of feud was certainly true at the time,” said Thranduil, closing his eyes against the pain of the memory of seeing his Adar and many of his friends slain in battle. In his grief he had blamed Elrond and Gil-galad for not providing the Silvan army with more suitable weapons and armour. Elrond had responded that Oropher’s pride had had already lead him to refuse such an offer, as he had refused to be lead by the High King. A fiercely heated and very public argument had ensued between the two proud elves as they defended the honour of their leaders.

“Fortunately Glorfindel was there, or it may have come to blows, as I now recall. If we had, I doubt that either of us would be here now, providing a source of interest for Elvendom,” Elrond commented wryly. It had been the steady voice and strong hands of Glorfindel that had eventually calmed them, but the hatred had intensified after the War was won and Isildur kept the ring. It had remained so for centuries afterwards.

“I have more to thank him for than you know,” said Thranduil as he rose from his chair to place his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders. “There is a part of that day that I have never told anyone, but I would tell Elrond now, with your permission, my friend?” he asked the elf lord, who simply nodded and indicated for him to continue. “After you had returned to your camp, Elrond, I began collecting stones to use as a burial mound for Adar and was surprised to see Glorfindel return and offer to help.”

                                 *****

“Why are you doing this?” asked Thranduil suspiciously.

“To pay homage to a fallen King, as is his right,” Glorfindel replied. “I had a great deal of respect for Oropher, for despite what you may hear others say of him, I believe he was a wise and noble leader, as he demonstrated by his commitment of his realm to this alliance, albeit not entirely how Gil-galad would have preferred,” he added with a chuckle, not quite willing to go so far as to admit that he liked the rebellious nature of the slain King. 

“Then I would be honoured to allow you to help,” Thranduil said with a polite bow. They completed the task in silence, and after Thranduil had said the words of mourning, Glorfindel put an arm around his shoulder and said quietly, “I have a bottle of Dorwinion in my tent. Will you join me?”

The grief-stricken Thranduil complied wordlessly, and downed the first glass in one gulp. The warmth of the liquid as it travelled down his throat provided little relief from the coldness around his heart, but he thanked Glorfindel nevertheless.

“What will you do now? Will you remain until the war is over or do you plan to return to Greenwood?” asked Glorfindel. Thranduil looked at his companion as if he had lost his senses.

“I shall remain, of course. Greenwood will honour its commitment. Adar believed very strongly that this was the right course of action, as do I.”

“Then I propose a toast to the memory of the old King, and to welcome the new,” said Glorfindel raising his glass.

“To Adar,” whispered Thranduil, trying desperately to prevent the tears that were welling from escaping until he felt a strong arm about his shoulders and the voice of wisdom in his ear.

“Let your grief out, Thranduil Oropherion. There is no shame in your tears.”

                                      ******

As he finished speaking, Thranduil quickly took a sip of his wine to help swallow the lump in his throat. Elrond looked at his friends with a new understanding. He had often wondered how their friendship had come about, but until now neither had offered an explanation, even when he had asked directly.

“So now my questions regarding your friendship are answered. Perhaps there is a use for ‘gossip’ after all,” concluded Elrond thoughtfully. “Maybe you should spread the word amongst the messengers that we have long since put the enmity of those times behind us,” he suggested to Glorfindel.

“I doubt it would work, considering the source. I am friend to you both, after all,” he added by way of explanation. “Besides an end to your ‘feud’ would be far less interesting than anther argument,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“If you ask me, I think Glorfindel enjoys allowing the misconception to continue,” guessed Thranduil.

“It is just that I strongly suspect that many would find it difficult to believe that two powerful warriors such as yourselves had been forced to put aside your differences at the insistence of your lovely wives,” laughed Glorfindel.

“You knew them both, what chance did we really have?” asked Elrond with a smile as he remembered the day he and Thranduil had received  ‘the ultimatum’. The Ladies of Imladris and Mirkwood, who had become close friends, were tired of having to dance around the pride and egos of their respective husbands in an effort to maintain their friendship and allow their children to become friends as well.  On the day in question, at the agreed time, Celebrían and Mirkwood’s Queen sought out their husbands and told them that unless a truce of some kind was reached, Lothlórien would find its population increased by the arrival of two mothers and their four elflings until such times as their Lords came to their senses.

“It was a good strategy, forcing us to ally once more against a common enemy,” commented Thranduil. “I wonder if they would have really gone had we not agreed to meet as soon as possible?”

“Most assuredly,” said Elrond. “Celebrían had already packed for the journey. How is it that that information is not widely ‘gossiped’ about?” he asked Glorfindel.

“They were both such lovely creatures, and always ready to listen to advice, particularly about keeping their private matters, well.., private,” said Glorfindel with a wicked grin. “I hope they have both found peace in the undying Lands, I miss them both,” he added in a respectful tone of voice.

“As do I,” whispered Elrond as he turned to stare once more into the fire.

Thranduil said nothing but nodded in agreement, sadly staring at the flames as his thoughts turned to his beloved wife who had succumbed to the call of the sea not long after Celebrían had felt the need to sail west after her capture by the Orcs. Sensing the now melancholy mood, Glorfindel placed a comforting hand on the arm of each of his friends, offering them the silent support of his love.

“Enough of this sadness,” he said cheerfully after a few minutes. “It is almost time for the noon meal, and I, for one am starving. Shall we go to the dining hall and have a little fun? There are still quite a few messengers around, no doubt with their eyes and ears wide open.”

“You are incorrigible, Glorfindel,” said Elrond, exchanging a look of amused exasperation with Thranduil.

“Whenever possible,” replied the elf lord haughtily, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

Several days later, after Elrond and his party had returned to Imladris, Thranduil found himself saying farewell again, only this time to his scouting parties. As was his custom, the Woodland King spoke to each of the members of the patrol, wishing them a safe return. This particular group was headed towards the western outskirts of Mirkwood, and the Elves had barely disappeared from view when Legolas turned to his father and requested permission to join the last party of scouts who were leaving to patrol the borders to the northeast. Thranduil met the request with stony silence, showing his reluctance to allow his son, who was still very inexperienced as a warrior, to place himself in such danger.

“There have been reported sightings of both Wargs and Orcs, as well as some strange men attacking the Men and Dwarves from the east. My skill with the bow would be most welcome should we encounter such creatures in our forest,” argued Legolas, full of confidence in his own abilities.  

“I do not dispute your skill, but there are already many fine archers in the border patrols,” countered his father, “and most of them have far more experience in battle than you.”  

“Exactly why I should be allowed to join them!” declared Legolas, hoping that Thranduil might be relenting slightly. “Besides, surely it is only fitting for the King’s son to lead by example?”  

Thranduil smiled at what appeared to be a sudden change of heart on Legolas’ part. “I thought you had no interest in being regarded as someone of title, or of becoming a leader?”

“In the past that was true, but I have come to realise that it is my duty, both as your son and a warrior of Mirkwood, I must find the courage to accept my destiny, rather than try and avoid it. I must follow whatever path is laid out for me,” Legolas replied. As he stood there, shoulders straight, head held high with pride and self-confidence, Thranduil felt as if he was looking back in time at himself as a young warrior. He had even used words very similar to those Legolas spoke when Oropher had asked him to help lead the Silvan Army, rather than ordering him to do so.  

 King Thranduil had no choice but to grant the request that the father in him would rather have denied.

                                                    ******* 

That had been many decades ago, mused Thranduil as he stood on the bridge in front of the gates to his Hall, staring into the clear waters of the river below. In the intervening years Legolas had spent most of his time in the forest with the patrols, learning the art of war from the older warriors and gaining the respect of all for his skill in Woodcraft and archery, his bravery in battle and the quality of his leadership. It had become a great honour for a warrior to be selected to join Legolas’ scouting party.  

Even so, Thranduil had been delighted when his son felt that he had learned all that he could, and finally decided to come home. There had been many nights of feasting and dancing under the stars in the following months until the young Ranger, Aragorn, had arrived with Gollum. Thranduil had reluctantly agreed that the Elves of Mirkwood would keep the creature in captivity at Mithrandir’s request, and Legolas was given the responsibility for Gollum’s safekeeping and well being.  

The tedious duty had been performed with a little too much compassion, in Thranduil’s opinion, making it relatively easy for the minions of Sauron to infiltrate Mirkwood and help Gollum escape. The cost to the Elves had been more than their loss of honour, for several of the guards were slain. Thranduil remembered that Legolas blamed himself totally, and had been so determined to set things right, that he immediately organised a search party which he lead south, in the direction that he believed the creature had fled.  

It had been over a month since Legolas and his warriors had ventured to the dangerous south of Mirkwood to find and recapture that miserable creature, Gollum, and Thranduil had not seen or heard from his son since. He was becoming extremely concerned for the safety of the search party.  

 While he waited for news, Thranduil had plenty of time to think and he had come to realise why he felt his kind hearted, if somewhat impatient son was not totally responsible for the escape. Thranduil and the older warriors had all been guilty of complacency as well. Certainly Legolas had been given the responsibility of keeping the creature captive, but he had failed to warn his son of the insidiously evil and calculating nature of the one from whom Aragorn had wrested Gollum in the first place. He should have known that there were spies of the Dark Lord, even in his own realm; he had certainly felt the chill of the darkness increasing ever since the Council meeting he had hosted many years ago.  

“Good news, at last, Sire!” exclaimed his Steward, as he stepped onto the bridge, waving a message tube that bore the mark of the House of Oropher.  

“So Legolas has finally found time to send me a message,” grumbled Thranduil hiding his relief for his son’s safety behind his disgruntled façade. He favoured his Steward, who had merely raised an eyebrow to indicate he was not fooled by the King’s demeanour, with a quick smile as he opened the tube, carefully removing the rolled up parchment from within.

Thranduil quickly scanned the brief letter; his frown deepening as he read the words written in Legolas’ elegant script that informed him the mission had been unsuccessful thus far.

“I take it they have not found him yet?” asked the Steward, easily reading his King’s darkened mood.

“No, and I fear that neither will they. Legolas mentions that they have encountered several bands of Orcs, some of whom seem to be able to withstand the daylight.” 

“The news about the Orcs is most disquieting,” commented the Steward. “I hope that there has been no loss of life?”  

“No, thank the Valar, but several of the party have sustained injuries. Legolas and the others are all skilled warriors, as you are aware, but I have to admit that they are totally outmatched by this particular enemy. I will not risk their lives further. Send word that they are to return as soon as possible. I suppose I must also inform Mithrandir, somehow,” he added wondering how one actually went about contacting the Istari and decided it would be unnecessary since in his experience, Mithrandir always seemed to simply ‘appear’ whenever he was needed.  

“I believe the Istari may be headed for Imladris,” offered the Steward, as if reading his thoughts.  

“How would you know that?” asked Thranduil curiously, constantly amazed by the information the Elf always seemed to possess. Obviously he also listened to ‘gossip’. The memory of a conversation long ago caused Thranduil to smile, and he wondered if Elrond had learned to hear all the news the messengers were telling him.  

“The patrol that watches the pass across the Misty Mountains mentioned they encountered him. He refused their offer to escort him to his destination, hinting that he was meeting the sons of Elrond at the pass,” he explained.

“Then I shall send Legolas to Imladris when he returns. It would be best if he explained Gollum’s escape to Mithrandir in person, and Elrond should be informed of these new dangers. No doubt both he and the Istari will have many questions that Legolas will be best qualified to answer.”   And it will also serve to keep him out of danger, at least for a short time, thought Thranduil, who was tired of worrying and waiting for news of his son’s safety from whichever patrol Legolas lead into battles with the dark creatures that tried to invade his home. Besides what harm could possibly befall him at the Last Homely House? 

Chapter 2: Resolutions

Elrond settled himself in his favourite armchair and picked up his book, pausing for a moment to watch the glittering particles of dust that rose from the floor beneath his feet dance lazily in a shaft of early morning sunlight. The soft whisper of the cascading waterfalls in the distance added to the serenity he found in this quiet time. It did not last long however for as he had done often since the Fellowship had begun their quest several weeks ago, he found himself wondering how they fared. He sent a silent plea asking the Valar to keep them safe and for the quest to succeed.

The beat of horses hooves, accompanied by Elladan's shouts for someone to fetch Elrond, disrupted his musings and he walked quickly to the balcony in time to see Elrohir carefully reach up and take a limp body from his brother's arms. Rather than go to the courtyard, Elrond hastened to the chamber he used as an infirmary and prepared to receive his patient. As soon as Elrohir arrived, he helped him settle the injured Elf on the bed, and then quickly began his examination, his eyebrow rising in surprised recognition when he realised who he was treating. Thranduil!

"What happened?" he asked as he took the wet cloth Elladan handed him, removed the blood soaked bandage and began cleaning the large gash across the woodland King's chest. The cut itself was not too deep, but it was a terrible grey colour and the flesh that surrounded it was cold and already covered by a large blue-black bruise.

"We were patrolling the pass through the Misty Mountains when we came upon the tracks of a band of orcs. We followed them and arrived to find Thranduil in this unconscious state, and his guards slain," explained Elladan. "I tended his wounds as best I could, but I think he must have been slashed by a poisoned blade, I have not seen a cut the likes of that before."

"I have seen these symptoms before, it is now a very rare poison now, but it was once often used by minions of Sauron," admitted Elrond, looking worried. His concern deepened when Thranduil did not even flinch slightly when he probed the cut to see if there were any slivers of metal in the wound. Finding none, he coated the wound with a salve that was used as a general antidote and bound it with fresh bandages.

"Do you need our help any longer?" asked Elrohir, watching as Elrond searched through the drawers that contained his herbs and medicines.

"No, it may take some time to find, but I believe I still have the ingredients for a cure. It would be best if I work alone," he said, favouring them both with an encouraging smile.

"We intend to return to the pass and bury the bodies, rather than leave them as they are," said Elladan.

"Then make sure you take a large patrol, in case the foul creatures return," Elrond instructed needlessly, for he knew his sons were well accustomed to travelling dangerous paths, and equally well aware of the risks.

"We will," they replied in unison, warmed by the concern shown for their safety.

"I hope Adar can find a cure," said Elrohir as he quietly closed the door. "I wonder what Thranduil was doing so far from Mirkwood?"

"You can be certain he will do all in his power to return the King to health, if only to hear the answer to that question," replied Elladan with a wry smile as they returned to the courtyard to organise those who were to accompany them back to the pass.

                                                     *******

Elrond found the medicine he had been searching for and walked back to where Thranduil lay, still unmoving. Placing a generous amount of the ointment on his fingers, he gently pushed them under the bandages and rubbed along the gash, coating it all over with the paste. Then, taking a limp hand in his, he closed his eyes and drew on his inner strength, willing the Woodland King to live. After several minutes he felt a distant but powerful stirring deep within Thranduil as the warm glow of his strengthening spirit drew the Elvenking back to consciousness.

Thranduil had no idea where he was as he slowly awakened. What he did know was that his chest felt so cold that it burned and his head ached worse than it ever had, even after he had consumed too much Dorwinion the night before. He shook his head as he tried clear his blurred vision and focus his eyes and groaned loudly as a fierce pain lanced through his skull. He felt someone remove their hand from his and gently place a cold, wet cloth on his forehead.

"I would try to keep still, if I were you," said a voice he recognised although it had been many years since he had last heard it.

"Elrond?" he managed to croak through his dry lips, his eyes finally coming into focus. "What am I doing here?"

"Greetings, Thranduil. Your party was attacked by orcs, and you were injured. My sons found you and brought you here to be healed," he explained briefly. "Let me give you something to relieve your headache," he offered seeing a grimace of pain cross Thranduil's face. Noting that his patient was too weak to sit up, Elrond sat beside him on the bed and held his head with one hand as he gently pressed the cup to his lips with the other. After Thranduil managed to swallow most of the unpleasant potion, Elrond helped him to lie back against the pillow.

"You should try and sleep now and allow your natural healing abilities a chance to work. We can talk more when you are feeling better," suggested Elrond.

"I am very tired," agreed Thranduil weakly, the words barely leaving his lips before his eyes glazed over once more as he drifted into sleep. Satisfied that his patient was no longer in danger, Elrond left the healing chamber just long enough to fetch a tray of food, some fresh juice from the kitchens and, from his study, the book he had been reading earlier.

"Ah, Glorfindel, I am glad you are here," he said to his old friend who was also in his study looking at one of the maps showing the route the Fellowship were expected to take. "Should anyone enquire, I will be spending the rest of today as well as the night, in the healing chambers."

"How fares Thranduil?" asked Glorfindel, who had obviously already heard all about the incident at the pass.

"He has regained consciousness, and is now sleeping. I will stay with him to change his bandages every few hours so that the wound heals properly," replied Elrond as he picked up his book and turned to leave.

"Let me know when he has recovered, for I would dearly love to see his face when he realises he owes you his life," said Glorfindel, his eyes alight with amusement.

Returning to the chamber where his patient still slept peacefully, Elrond noiselessly carried the tray containing his meal over to the small table near the open archway that lead to the balcony. Settling himself so that he was facing the bed in which Thranduil lay, he sated his hunger, making sure to leave a small portion of food and drink to give to the Elvenking when he awoke.

Pushing the tray aside, he opened his book to the place he had kept with one of his most cherished possessions, a bookmark embroidered lovingly by Arwen when she was very young. He smiled as he fondly remembered the sight of a very patient Celebrían sitting in the garden with Arwen, teaching her the finer points of needlework, and how proud his daughter had been when she presented her Ada with her very first sample. Naturally he had praised the somewhat uneven stitching, and the depiction of what, Celebrían had assured him later, was definitely a swan as Arwen had claimed. That had been many years ago, he told himself, now Celebrían was gone into the west and Arwen was living in Lothlórien, and he missed them both very much. A small melancholy sigh passed his lips as he returned his thoughts to the present and began to read his book.

It was not until several hours later, when he found himself having to squint to see the words in the fading light, that he realised twilight had crept up on him unawares and it was time to change Thranduil's bandages again. As he walked around the room, lighting the candles with a taper, a tingling sensation at the back of his neck told him he was being watched and he turned to find Thranduil, his eyes now clear and focussed, looking directly at him.

"How are you feeling? Does your head still ache?" Elrond asked as he collected the new bandages and the ointment he needed before moving to over to the bed.

"My headache persists, otherwise I feel quite recovered," Thranduil declared stoically, attempting to raise himself to a sitting position. His chest wound was not quite as healed as he thought and he grunted in frustration as he was forced to lie back down to ease the pain. "Where is my shirt?" he demanded only now realising he wore none.

"Your attacker cut a very long wound with his poisoned blade and I need to regularly change the dressing to make sure all the toxin is drawn out of your body," explained Elrond as he reached to remove the bandages. "I thought it would be easier if I did not have to remove your shirt every time."

"Very sensible of you," commented Thranduil, the slight sarcasm in his voice tempered by the smile in his eyes. "Are your ministrations succeeding? How long do you intend to confine me to bed?"

"You ask more questions that an elfling!’ declared Elrond good-humouredly. “The wound is healing well, you should be able to take a short walk tomorrow," he added as he covered rapidly healing wound with some more ointment and then expertly completed the task of applying the bandages. "Do you feel like eating something?"   Thranduil nodded and with much effort managed to finish the meal Elrond had saved for him.

"What kind of poison was it?" Thranduil asked curiously, feeling much better for having eaten.

"It was the one favoured by Sauron's orcs during the last war, I did not realise it was still in use," replied Elrond with a look of disgust. Many Elves had succumbed to the poison before he had finally developed a cure.

"Just as I suspected. The foul creatures that inhabit Dol Guldur have been using it for several decades and it has become common practice for all Wood Elves to carry the cure. Did you get the antidote from my guards, or from me?" enquired Thranduil, looking around as if expecting to see his companions also confined to bed in the infirmary.

"Neither, I used my own supply, but I will be sure to pass your information on to my sons and the Rangers," Elrond assured him as he poured some water into a basin and washed his hands. Turning to face Thranduil directly, he told him the sad news, "I regret to inform you that none of your guards survived the attack."

Thranduil closed his eyes to hide his grief and whispered words of mourning for his fallen companions. "Then I owe you my thanks for saving my life," he said grudgingly, "though I am not at all pleased with the thought of being so far in your debt, friends though we may be." Even when he was recovering from almost being slain, Thranduil was nothing if not direct.

"I am a healer, I was hardly going to allow you to die, regardless of the cost to your pride," Elrond replied lightly, a part of him enjoying his friend’s discomfort with the situation. "I think perhaps it is Elladan and Elrohir whom you should be thanking, for had they not found you when they did, you would now be with your guards in the Halls of Mandos.”

"Then I will thank your sons, but do not think to be rid of me so easily. This is not the first time I have felt the sting of the orc poison," Thranduil informed him.

"Then that would explain your speedy recovery," observed Elrond. He studied his patient silently for a few moments before voicing his thoughts. "You have become a powerful leader, Thranduil, and one that we cannot afford to lose in these troubled times," declared Elrond. “You may not realise it, but I have a great deal of respect for you and the way you are able to draw on the strength of the songs of the natural world to keep your people safe from the constant threat you face in Mirkwood."

"I appreciate your confidence in my ability to protect my people, it is something I am well practiced in, ever since it became apparent that the Dark Lord had risen again, seeking that which Isildur refused to destroy," the Elvenking said, referring to one of the causes of their past animosity. “You need have no fear, Elrond, I have no intention of allowing the Shadow to defeat Mirkwood now, or when he finally decides to attack in force, which I am certain he will do," stated Thranduil with deadly certainty.
 
"Let us not dwell on the past; it is only the present and the future that should concern us now,” suggested Elrond.  

“That would be wise,” agreed Thranduil, as he leaned back into the pillows.  

“Well, if you are not too tired at present, I would like to know what you were doing so far from your realm in Mirkwood?" Elrond asked as he made himself comfortable in the chair next to the bed.  

Thranduil was silent for a moment, slightly disconcerted; not so much by Elrond's question but by the answer he had to give. He was saved from having to respond when a softly spoken voice interrupted the conversation.

"If I am not mistaken, Thranduil was on his way here to angrily demand an explanation as to why Elrond selected Legolas to be a member of the fellowship, why he sent the young one on a dangerous journey," surmised Glorfindel, his eyes alight with mischief as he peered around the door he had opened without the other two noticing. Both Elves had jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, a fact that only added to his amusement.  

"May I come in, by the way?" he asked belatedly, not even waiting for Thranduil to nod his assent before he walked over and casually settled himself on one corner of the bed.

"By the Valar, Glorfindel, sometimes you behave as if you were still an elfling," said Elrond, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"And you are as arrogant and perceptive, and as quiet in your approach, as ever, " added Thranduil with a warm smile for the golden-haired Elf, whom he held in high esteem. Glorfindel was also one of the few Elves not of Mirkwood for whom the King felt a genuine affection. “It has been too long since we last met,” he added returning the Elf Lord’s firm clasp of his forearm.

"I am pleased to see you are recovering your strength," said Glorfindel sincerely. “I am eagerly awaiting your confrontation with Elrond, it should provide me with some quite interesting gossip to trade with the messengers.”

"I take it that Glorfindel is correct in his assumptions as to your plans?" asked Elrond brusquely, favouring Glorfindel with a look of displeasure which the Elf Lord pointedly ignored.

"I am simply anxious to discover your reasons for sending my son on the quest. I sent him here as my emissary with messages because I felt he needed a relatively safe assignment for a change, only to find I could not have been more in error. However, at this moment all I can think of is that my headache is returning and I am feeling very weary again," admitted Thranduil, the humility in his voice surprising both Elrond and Glorfindel.

"I will give you a potion that will relieve the pain and help you to sleep," said Elrond. "You are healing well, so you will not need your dressings changed until the morning, we will discuss this further then. For now, Glorfindel and I will leave you alone to rest." He quickly prepared the pain killing sleeping draught and gave it to his patient, then waited the few minutes it took for Thranduil's eyes begin to glaze as he fell into the misty land of elven dreams.

"I made that potion strong enough so that he will sleep peacefully the rest of the night," Elrond said as he closed the door quietly.

"A few glasses of good Dorwinion red would have had a pleasantly similar effect," observed Glorfindel. "Would you care to share a bottle with me over a meal?"

"An excellent idea," agreed Elrond as he accompanied his friend to the dining hall.

                                                   *********

As the first rays of the morning sun caressed the mountaintops, a feeling he could not name awoke Elrond with a start. His instincts as a healer caused him to suspect that there something was wrong with his patient, and he quickly covered the short distance to the healing chamber and rushed into the room. Seeing that the bed was empty, he checked the adjoining chamber, and finding no sign of the Elvenking there, he sought Glorfindel's assistance and was even more surprised to find his friend's room empty as well.

Deciding that it would be undignified to continue the search dressed only in his nightshirt, Elrond returned to his bedroom and hastily pulled on his robes. After a fruitless search of his study, the library, the dining hall and other places he thought they might be found, he turned his sights to the gardens.

Eventually he found them in the small grove not far from the house, and Elrond realised he should have searched here first for the Wood Elf. Thranduil was sitting with his eyes closed, his back resting against the trunk of one of the trees, listening to Glorfindel, who was sitting on a small stone bench, singing a song of the Trees of Light.

"What do you two think you are doing? How do you expect to recover if you are wandering about?" he asked, directing his question to Thranduil who was watching the angry Elf with some amusement.

"So many questions,” laughed Thranduil, throwing Elrond’s own words back at him.

“I am not an elfling, either,” declared Elrond, joining in the mirth, unable to keep his own laughter under control.  

“As you pointed out yesterday, Woodland Elves have a special rapport with the natural world. I am asking this gentle tree to help me recover quickly," explained Thranduil. "Do not place any blame on Glorfindel, for he merely offered to help me find this place. I am afraid he found me attempting to negotiate the labyrinth of passageways in your house in an effort to find a way outside."

"Why did you not simply return Thranduil to his chamber?" Elrond asked Glorfindel when he had stopped singing. "You should know better than to let my patient wander around."

"Thranduil desired to feel the light of the stars on his face and to hear the voice of the trees in his ears," came the simple response. "It seemed like sensible idea to me."

"It was, for I feel I am fully recovered," declared Thranduil, not entirely truthfully. He still felt a few twinges, but nothing he could not hide. Or so he thought.

"I am pleased to hear that, but it may be only a temporary reprieve. How long have you been out here in the cool moist air?" asked Elrond.

"Just for a few hours before dawn," stated the Woodland King, grimacing as a sharp pain suddenly spread fire along the almost healed scar on his chest, making walking difficult and painful.

"So you may easily have caught a chill and undone my work," said Elrond. "Let me help you back indoors," he said, offering his arm as a crutch, which Thranduil accepted. "Glorfindel, would you be so kind as to organise some breakfast for Thranduil and myself to be sent to the infirmary?"

"As you wish," answered Glorfindel and with a quick bow he was gone.

Walking was indeed painful and it took so long for the two Elves to finally return to the warmth of the chamber that they arrived at the same time as Glorfindel who was carrying the breakfast tray Elrond had requested. His two friends helped Thranduil back into bed and Elrond replaced the dressing on his chest before they ate their meal in companionable silence. He wondered if Thranduil would think to continue their unfinished conversation, and suspecting he would rather speak in private, Elrond indicated, with a slight incline of his head, that Glorfindel should leave them alone. Reluctantly the Elf lord headed towards the door,

"As much as I would love to stay for the 'entertainment', I must leave to attend to the messenger who has just arrived from Lothlórien. I will see you again Thranduil," he said.

"I thank you for your singing this morning, and I look forward to our next encounter,” replied Thranduil with a smile that enhanced his handsome features.   Then, as if he had read Elrond’s mind, the Elvenking turned his attention to the Lord Of Imladris and began speaking.

"I would hear your explanation for your actions concerning my son now, Elrond," he stated without preamble. "The brief note Legolas sent me failed to inform me of his plans, other than to say he was being sent on an important quest. I have heard no news about his whereabouts since he came here, and even though I can still feel his living presence in the depths of my heart, I fear for his safety. I questioned his guards when they returned, and they told me it had something to do with the Ring bearer, but that was all they knew. I thought the guards were mistaken, but I take it from Glorfindel's words that it is true that the Ring has been found?"

"Yes, it is true," he stated, watching Thranduil's eyes widen with shock and his already pale face turn even whiter, for he had hoped that his information was not correct.

"That is impossible! It was lost forever after Isildur was killed!" he exclaimed.

"Apparently not, it was found first by Gollum and then by a Hobbit. Gandalf has confirmed its authenticity. Legolas and seven others, including the Istari, are accompanying the Ring bearer to Mordor, to destroy the ring in the fires of Mount Doom."

"The quest you have sent my son is to travel to Mordor!" he shouted, his grey eyes flashing with the hot fire of his anger, a direct contrast to the ice-cold rage in his voice. "Why? Is this your idea of revenge for the escape from our custody of that miserable creature that Aragorn brought us?"

"Of course not! Do not be so ridiculous!" Elrond exclaimed, his voice also now raised in anger. "Aragorn is also one of the nine companions, and I would not deliberately endanger the life of anyone, especially my foster son, but there is no other way to prevent Sauron from regaining the Ring, and his full power with it. You know as well as I that it can only be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom."

"Yes, and this time it must be destroyed," declared Thranduil. "You still have not yet answered why you chose Legolas to represent the Elves."

"Let me explain. I did not specifically chose anyone for the quest. For various reasons, all members of the Fellowship were drawn to Imladris at the same time. I determined that some greater plan, the details of which I have no idea, was unfolding before me. I believe those who travel Mordor were 'meant' to attempt the journey," explained Elrond.

"It is possible, I suppose," agreed Thranduil, still seething with anger but endeavouring to remain civil.

"In all honesty, he would have been my choice to represent the Elves, had it been totally up to me," Elrond offered. "He is a strong young warrior, his archery skills are legendary, and most importantly, he has spent his whole life living in the shadow of Dol Guldur. Just as you were able to sense the darkness at Mordor, he insists he can sense it in Mirkwood, that he can sense evil approaching. He has had plenty of practice over the preceding years and his skills will help ensure the survival of the Nine Walkers."

"You have a high regard for my son, and I am very proud of him and his skills," said Thranduil. "I totally accept the need to destroy the Ring, the reasons for doing so are the same as they were when Isildur took it from the Dark Lord. As for Legolas being destined to be one of the nine companions, that may be so, for events certainly conspired to ensure he was sent to Imladris. It is a comfort at least to know that Mithrandir and Aragorn are also going on this quest. It is ironic, is it not that Isildur's heir and Oropher's grandson are attempting to right a past wrong/"

"Yes it is, let us hope that they succeed," agreed Elrond fervently.

"Can I perhaps convince you to prescribe a medicinal glass of wine, so that we can toast the courage of our sons and their companions?" asked Thranduil, a smile hiding the concern he knew he would feel for Legolas until his son returned safely to Mirkwood.

"Dorwinion red is your 'poison', is it not?" asked Elrond, a smile playing about his lips. "I believe I actually have a bottle here, for emergencies, of course," he added as he retrieved a dusty bottle from his medicine cupboard and poured them both a glass, which they raised in silent tribute to their sons and the success of the Quest.

Chapter 3: Letters from Lothlórien 

Despite his little foray into the cold morning air the day before, and the minor setback to his health that it caused; Thranduil’s wound had healed sufficiently overnight to allow his release from the infirmary.  

“I must make plans to return to Mirkwood as soon as possible,” declared Thranduil as Elrond removed his bandages.  

“I understand, but I think you should rest here for a few more days before attempting the long journey back to your forests,” said Elrond, leading Thranduil down a maze of hallways until they reached the guest room that had been prepared for the Elvenking.  

“Very well,” agreed Thranduil, glancing around the chamber before stepping out onto the balcony that overlooked the river valley below. “As comfortable and elegant as this room appears to be, I long to spend some time outdoors in the fresh air and the beauty of your gardens.”  

“Of course, you are free to do as you wish, but first I suggest we make our way to the dining hall where breakfast is being served. I will show you the path that leads to one of my favourite gardens on the way.”    

“An excellent idea, and now that you mention it, I am rather hungry this morning,” said Thranduil, once again following Elrond as he lead him to the main entrance to the courtyard, on the other side of which the dining hall was to be found. “The garden is through that archway over there,” said Elrond pointing to a moss covered structure.

“It certainly looks inviting, I will find my way there after breakfast,” said Thranduil as they entered the dining hall.  

“Good morning, Thranduil, I see you have been officially released from Elrond’s ‘prison’ at last,” said Glorfindel who was already enjoying his morning meal. Elladan and Elrohir, who were seated at the same table, chuckled at the Elf Lord’s facetious reference to their Adar’s infirmary, earning them a stern glare from Elrond.  

“Yes, and I have also learned how to find my own way into the gardens,” laughed Thranduil as he settled himself in the vacant chair next to Elladan. “I am told I have you and Elrohir to thank for my rescue,” he said to the younger Elf.  

“I am sorry we did not arrive in time to save your guards as well,” Elladan said quietly.  

“There is no need to apologise, the attack was sudden and we were greatly outnumbered. I offer you both my deepest gratitude for saving my life, and for seeing to the burial of my companions,” Thranduil said bowing humbly to his two young rescuers.  

“You are welcome,” replied Elrohir with a smile. “Since you no longer have your guards, Elladan and I will gladly arrange for a party to escort you back to Mirkwood, when you are ready to return.”

“Yes, and should the Orcs attack again, we will be ready for them,” declared Elladan, his hatred for the vile creatures evident in his voice.  

“I do not think that will be necessary,” said Glorfindel, entering the conversation. “Our scouts informed me this morning that a group of Elves wearing Mirkwood garb are approaching Imladris, they should be here before nightfall.”  

In fact, the Wood Elves arrived in the early afternoon, and to everyone’s surprise, a messenger from Lothlórien, whom they had met near the pass through the Misty Mountains, accompanied them.  

“I bring letters for both Elrond and Thranduil,” the Elf from Lothlórien told Glorfindel, who had made it his business to greet the new arrival in the hopes of hearing something newsworthy.  

“How did you know Thranduil would be here?” enquired Glorfindel suspiciously. He was well aware that spies of Sauron and Saruman where everywhere these days.  

“I did not know. Had I not met the Wood Elves on the path, I would have continued on to Mirkwood after leaving Imladris,” he explained. “The fortuitous meeting has saved me from a rather dangerous journey.”

“Yes, it has. I will show you to Elrond’s study, for I am certain he is eagerly awaiting whatever news you bear,” said the Elf Lord, feigning indifference to hide his curiosity. “But I believe that Thranduil is currently in the gardens with his people,” said Glorfindel as the soft strains of a lament drifted on the breeze. “I do not think they wish to be disturbed at present.”  

“Nor should they be,” the messenger replied respectfully. He had seen the newly built cairns on the mountain pass, and the telltale signs of a recent battle with Orcs. Lothlórien Elves were no strangers to such attacks for Orcs were frequently invading the outskirts of the Golden Wood, and more than one of the Galadhrim had gone to the Halls of Mandos as a result.  

“Thank you, I will see that Thranduil receives this,” Elrond said as he took both letters that were handed to him. “Glorfindel will show you a room where you can rest, or to the dining hall for some refreshments, if you prefer.”  

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” said the Elf, smiling to himself as he realised his golden haired guide would much rather have stayed to find out what news the letter bore.  

Having quickly discharged his duty to the messenger, Glorfindel returned to the study to find Elrond sitting in quiet contemplation, the letter still in his hand. He could see that it was actually two pages, and the one Elrond was just about to read was written in Aragorn’s strong hand.  

                                     *******

Greetings Elrond,

I am certain Lord Celeborn has informed you of the loss of Mithrandir. I tried to warn him of the dangers of Moria, but in his usual fashion, he followed his own path. The Hobbits are inconsolable at present, Legolas hides his grief from us, seeking solace among his own kind and Boromir and Gimli are also grief stricken.  

The leadership has fallen on my shoulders, a burden I feel unprepared for, and I am grateful for the strength and support offered by Legolas. It is easy to think of him as young, but his words remind me that he has already lived many centuries.  

 I have not yet faced the challenge of the power of the One Ring, but it calls softly to me even here in Lothlórien, and I am certain Boromir is fast being seduced by it’s evil influence.  

Lord Celeborn has offered us sanctuary until we are healed, but I fear to delay too long. We will continue the journey south, but we must be even more cautious.  

As ever you have my love, as I know I have yours,  

Aragorn  

                                                  ********  

“Sad news, I take it?” enquired Glorfindel as he watched the initial joy on his Lord’s normally stern features at receiving a letter from Aragorn quickly turning to melancholy.  

“Indeed,” agreed Elrond as he reread the message telling of Gandalf’s battle with the Balrog in Moria, and his subsequent fall. “Mithrandir has passed into shadow.”  

“What happened?” Rather than reply, Elrond handed his friend the letter from Celeborn and waited until he read it for himself. “A Balrog!” exclaimed Glorfindel, shuddering at the still painful memories of his own encounter with one of the creatures, albeit many centuries ago.  

“Aragorn must lead the Fellowship now, but he still has doubts about himself and the power of the Ring,” said Elrond.

“Surely Celeborn will offer some guidance,” suggested Glorfindel taking a seat in the armchair opposite Elrond.  

“Yes, he has made it clear he will help in any way possible, but they will be in great danger once they leave Lothlórien. They are no longer hidden from the spies of Saruman.”

“Well, at least you know he is safe for now and that the Ring will continue on the journey south,” said Glorfindel, offering a few words of comfort.  

“True, but whether Frodo and the others will actually find their way to Mordor remains to be seen, the loss of Mithrandir is a heavy blow,” replied Elrond morosely.  

“What is this about the Istari?” asked Thranduil, as he entered the study. “What news from that messenger sent by Celeborn?” Elrond handed him the letter addressed to the King of Mirkwood and watched as Thranduil’s already saddened features clouded over as he read the news. “I find it hard to believe the old wizard has met his end, it would be just like him to somehow escape that fate and appear unexpectedly somewhere else,” he said, using levity to hide his grief.  

“We can only hope that is so,” agreed Elrond. “Galadriel seems to think his part in this war is not yet complete.”   Thranduil merely nodded, his attention drawn to the second page of his message. A genuine smile lit his eyes as he saw it was from Legolas.  

                                                          *******  

Hello Adar,  

I hope this letter finds you well, and not too angry with me for agreeing to be a part of the Fellowship.  

We have reached Lothlórien, which, by the way, is far more beautiful than described in our songs. However, I am so filled with grief at the loss of Mithrandir, that I cannot as yet find joy, even among the mellryn.  

The Hobbits are devastated by the loss, as are the Men, and even the Dwarf.   I thank the Valar that I am amongst kinfolk at this time, amongst others who grieve as I do and whose presence is a great comfort.  

As strange as it sounds, I am beginning to feel drawn towards friendship with the Dwarf, Gimli. As the sole representatives of our people, we are both alone, and thus actually have something in common.  

When next you send word to Lord Elrond, please assure him that we all have every confidence in Aragorn, (more than he has in himself at this point), as our leader and that I will provide whatever support he needs. The Quest must not fail!  

Lord Celeborn says that there is a strange new breed of Orcs on the eastern shore of the river, ones who can travel even in daylight. This is ill news indeed!  

I do not know when, or even if I will be able to contact you again, but know that my heart lies in Mirkwood with you and I eagerly look to the day we can be reunited.  

Legolas  

                                                     ********  

“So, how is Legolas?” asked Glorfindel as he poured them all a glass of wine, astutely observing that both Elrond and Thranduil looked as if they would appreciate something stronger than herbal tea.  

“He is grieving for Mithrandir, as you would expect, but at least he is amongst those who understand his pain. He asks me to tell you, Elrond, that the Fellowship has every confidence in Aragorn, and that he will offer your son whatever support he needs.”

“That is a good to hear,” said Elrond. “I assume Celeborn mentioned the Orcs that can travel in sunlight?”  

“As did Legolas,” said Thranduil proudly. His son was ever mindful of the dangers to his home, and was always ready to protect it, even from a distance.  

“Sounds like Saruman’s brand of mischief to me,” said a concerned Glorfindel.  

“Yes, and a danger we all need to be wary of in future,” agreed Elrond.  

“In light of this news, I can no longer afford to delay my return to Mirkwood. I must prepare for the battle I am sure is coming, Sauron’s desire for the destruction of Elvendom has undoubtedly not diminished over the centuries,” said Thranduil, raising his hand to silence any protest from his healer. “We will leave in the morning.”  

“If you must,” conceded Elrond, knowing full well that once Thranduil had decided on a course of action, it was pointless to try and dissuade him. Besides, he was certain the Mirkwood King was correct; all three realms were in grave danger of attack. “I think you should find time to send Legolas a reply, just in case they are still in Lothlórien when the messenger returns.”  

Both Elrond and Thranduil wrote to their sons, but their words of wisdom and comfort were never read, for the Fellowship had long departed when the letters finally arrived in the Golden Wood.

Chapter 4: Of Elves and Dwarves

At first light the next morning, Elrond found Thranduil and the other Mirkwood Elves, who had come in search of their King, already mounted and ready to leave the gates of Imladris. 

“Glorfindel and my sons will accompany you as far as the mountain pass,” he said to Thranduil, in a tone of voice that sounded more like a demand than an offer, to the Woodland King.  

“That will not be necessary,” replied Thranduil, slightly affronted. He did not need extra guards, nor the Lord of Imladris issuing him orders.  

“I am afraid I must insist,” declared a seemingly immovable Elrond.  

 “I am not bound by your demands,” stated Thranduil, his raised voice echoing across the courtyard in the crisp early morning air. “Surely you can understand that I need to show my warriors that I have complete confidence in them; that I do not believe their fellow guards failed in their duty to protect me from harm. I tell you again, Elrond, Mirkwood warriors do not need to be escorted to the mountain pass.”  

“The danger from Orc attacks still exists, and is even greater now according to the news from Lothlórien. I will not have you injured again within my borders. Glorfindel and my sons will escort your party as far as the pass,” insisted Elrond once more, not quite as loudly, but just as forcefully.  

“It is very likely that the Orcs will be waiting to ambush us much closer to Mirkwood as well, so who will protect us once your escort leaves us?” argued Thranduil. “There is no safety anywhere on the road between Imladris and Mirkwood.”  

“I hope you both realise that you are putting on quite a display for our friend from Lothlórien over there, not to mention everyone else in hearing range,” said Glorfindel, stepping uninvited into the discussion and inclining his head first towards the fountain where Celeborn’s messenger was standing, unashamedly watching the argument with great interest, and then to the Elves of Thranduil’s party who were suddenly very interested in starting a conversation with Elrond’s sons.  

 As they both turned to stare at their audience, the Elf Lord continued, “I will have you know that I am looking forward to the journey, it has been many months since I last rode with Elladan and Elrohir, and we plan to check on some of our border patrols while we are in the area. I wish to make sure they are all well aware of the new dangers.”  

“A wise precaution, and had you explained your plans to me, I would not have objected so strongly to Elrond’s demand,” said Thranduil, emphasising the last word to highlight his displeasure once again.  

“I believe he was being deliberately vague when he suggested the idea to me as well,” said Elrond, eyeing Glorfindel suspiciously. “An argument between us makes for good ‘gossip’, as I recall, does it not?” he asked Glorfindel who merely shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate he had no idea what Elrond was talking about.  

“I have heard that said in the past,” agreed Thranduil. “Although surely such a well-respected Elf Lord would not stoop to such base tactics for his own amusement? Perhaps I will be able to repay my debt to you, Elrond, by allowing him to escort my party. At least then he will be unable to annoy you for a few days.”  

“Such a generous act would be more than enough payment and I would certainly be grateful for such a reprieve,” laughed Elrond, joining forces with Thranduil to tease Glorfindel, their argument now forgotten.  

“Then you agree to humour our dark haired friend in this, Thranduil?” asked Glorfindel, affectionately clapping the Woodland King on the back.  

“As you wish. I do not see how I can prevent you from accompanying me anyway, with or without my consent,” said Thranduil, exchanging a look of exasperation with Elrond at the elfling like antics of their mutual friend.  

“So it is agreed that we will travel with you as far as the mountains?” asked Glorfindel with a less than innocent wink at Elladan and Elrohir who were both now standing silently to one side, waiting for their elders to finish their argument.  

                                            ******  

Glorfindel and Thranduil rode together, a little apart from the eager younger Elves who were warily checking the path and its surrounds for any unusual tracks, or signs of Orcs. Although they took their task seriously, there was much good-natured banter between the Wood Elves and Elladan and Elrohir, who were well known to some of them.  

“You have been very quiet since we left Imladris,” commented Glorfindel, smiling as Elladan accepted a challenge to a footrace from an Elf who was normally one of Legolas’ guards. “Is something troubling you, mellon nin?”  

“Only normal fatherly concern for a son who has chosen to follow a dangerous path,” answered Thranduil with a melancholy sigh. “ It saddens me that I cannot be with him, to comfort him in his grief. The Elves of Lothlórien are strangers to Legolas; he needs his kin.”  

 “He is well past his majority, I am certain he will learn to deal with his grief, even among strangers. I am also certain that Celeborn will look past the estrangement that exists between the two of you and offer him the benefit of his wisdom and compassion.”

“Yes, I expect that he will,” agreed Thranduil, unable to deny his kinsman possessed such qualities.

“I also suspect that he will not let the Fellowship leave Lothlórien unless their hearts have found some measure of peace with their loss, and Aragorn has come to terms with his role as leader of the group,” added Glorfindel, voicing what he knew to be Elrond’s concerns.  

“That is also very likely. I know Elrond suffers from the same anxieties as I do in regards to them both,” said Thranduil. “It is just that it is painful to admit that we are helpless, that there is really nothing we can do to ease our sons’ burdens as they travel south to whatever destiny awaits them. ”  

“I hear that Legolas has taken a liking to the Dwarf, Gimli,” said Glorfindel, changing the direction of the conversation.

“So he wrote in his letter,” admitted Thranduil with more than a hint of displeasure at the thought of his son befriending a Dwarf, something he was certain he would never do himself.

“A wise move on the part of Legolas to inform you of such news from afar, given your history with Dwarves,” suggested Glorfindel, highly amused with the whole notion. “I imagine you were quite shocked.”  

“Very much so. He knew I would not approve of this particular choice, but he seems to have found a kindred spirit in Gloin’s son because they are both the only members of their respective races on the quest. I suppose that is as good a basis on which to form a friendship as any,” conceded Thranduil.  

“Well look at it from a strategic point of view, if that makes it easier to bear.   It is far better for the Fellowship members to be friends, rather than fighting amongst themselves. Such enmity would only be aiding Sauron’s cause.”

“That is certainly true. Sometimes you can be a very wise old Elf, mellon nin,” teased Thranduil, his melancholy mood driven away by his laughter at Glorfindel’s response.

“Wise, yes, but old? Nonsense!”

The journey to the mountain pass remained uneventful with no sign of any of Sauron’s minions other than the occasional crow flying high above them. All the Elves were well aware the birds were spies of either the Dark Lord or Saruman, and they maintained a constant vigil, with all their senses on the alert for danger.  

When they reached the place where Thranduil had been attacked, he and Glorfindel took a few moments to mourn the fallen, as they had done for Oropher millennia ago, before parting ways.  

“Once again, I thank you for my life, Elladan and Elrohir,” said Thranduil, bowing to the two young Elves. “Farewell to you all. May the Valar grant you all a safe return to Imladris.”

“May the light of the stars favour your journey to Mirkwood,” said Glorfindel, astonishing the Mirkwood Elves as he pulled Thranduil into a brotherly embrace, which the Woodland King returned with obvious affection. “I expect we will be meeting again in the not too distant future,” he added as they parted. “Come, sons of Elrond, let us look for our border patrols and see what mischief they have encountered lately.”  

                                                     ******  

Once Thranduil’s party was safely on its way back to Mirkwood, Elrond retired to his study to compose a reply to Celeborn, thanking him for the news of the Quest and expressing his own sadness at the loss of a dear friend. When he finished writing, he summoned the messenger from Lothlórien to his study.  

“I have replies to the letters you brought yesterday. If you are rested enough, I would ask that you return immediately to Lothlórien with these since two are for members of the Fellowship,” he explained handing the leather pouch containing the letters from himself and Thranduil to their sons, as well as his missive to Celeborn.  

“I can be ready to leave within the hour, Lord Elrond,” was the respectful reply.  

“Excellent. Before you go, however, may I ask if you have seen or spoken to any members of the Fellowship?” asked Elrond, suddenly grateful that neither Glorfindel nor Thranduil were here to witness this request for what Elrond knew they would class as gossip.  

“Not really, they keep much to themselves, for most of us cannot speak their language, nor can they speak ours. Except for Legolas, and Aragorn of course. Our Woodland cousin and the Dwarf, Gimli spend much time with us, returning to join the others for meals. I can tell you that they are all well, and although weary and saddened from their trials thus far, my Lord Celeborn believes they will rapidly recover their spirits.”  

“I see,” sighed Elrond, disappointed at not hearing more of Aragorn. “Did you say that Gimli spends time with the Galadhrim? Surely that is unusual, I know there is no love lost between his kind and yours?” More gossip, he thought with a snort of disgust at his own curiosity that made him unable to resist asking the question.  

“I think it is more that he spends most of his time with Legolas, they appear to be good friends,” answered the Elf. “The Dwarf has also won the favour of the Lady Galadriel.” Elrond raised an eyebrow at that, but made no comment, Galadriel’s plans were her own.  

“I wonder what Thranduil will think of that turn of events?” mused Elrond, a smile forming on his lips as he imagined the Woodland King’s likely adverse reaction to such news. He also realised that Glorfindel had been correct, sometimes there was something to be learned simply by speaking with the messenger.  

“Thank you for answering so candidly,” he said as he led his informant to the door. “May the Valar grant you a safe journey.” The Lothlórien Elf bowed, accepting the dismissal wordlessly.  

Within the hour Elrond looked up from the book he was reading and listened to the sounds of a single horse galloping along the trail leading south. 

Chapter 5: Out of the Shadow

Returning his attention back to his book, Elrond had barely had a chance to find his place on the page when he heard a light tapping on the study door. Such a delicate touch, he knew could only belong to one person, his beloved daughter.

“Come in Arwen,” he called, wondering why she was being so formal, usually only when he had guests did any of his children bother to knock before entering his study.  

“I am afraid you will have to have to open the door for me, Adar, my hands are full. I have brought you some morning tea,” she explained. Elrond put his book aside and walked over to open the door for her, smiling as he took the tray she offered.

“I see you have been baking,” he said as he placed the tray on his desk and selected one of the delicious looking pastries Arwen occasionally made for him and her brothers. “Elladan and Elrohir will be sorry they left so early, it has been quite a while since you last spent time baking for us.”

“I know, but my latest embroidery project has kept me fully occupied theses last few months,” she said as she poured them both some of the herbal tea that was Elrond’s favourite.

“And what have you been sewing?” he asked conversationally.  

“Oh… I am afraid it is a secret, for now.” Elrond knew his daughter well, but before he could satisfy his curiosity as to why she was being so secretive, Arwen picked up the bookmark that lay across the open pages of Elrond’s book. “I remember this!” she exclaimed, hoping to divert her Adar’s attention. She did not wish to lie to him, but neither did she wish to tell him of the banner she was making for her love. “This is the first sample I ever sewed. I see now that Mother was generous in her praise, for the stitching is really atrocious,” she said, laughing at her childhood handiwork as she inspected it with adult eyes.

“Perhaps it seems so now, but I have always thought it to be beautiful, just as you are,” he said, placing an affectionate kiss on his daughter’s cheek. Arwen threw her arms around his neck and hugged his as she had often done as a child, and buried her face into his shoulder. The thought of Aragorn’s banner, and all that implied for her future made Arwen suddenly realise how heartbreaking her eventual separation from Elrond would be for both of them. “I love you, Adar,” whispered her heart. “I love you, Aragorn,” whispered her soul. Elrond had not heard the words, but he had easily felt her emotions and he gently removed her arms and took her hands in his.

“Promise me that you will remember that you will always have my love, Arwen, even should we one day find ourselves in conflict,” he said, for even now he felt the stirrings of ill feeling at the thought of her remaining behind with Aragorn rather than sail to the West with her kin.

“I will remember,” she promised, lifting one of his strong hands to her lips and gently kissing it to seal her vow. The tender moment was broken by the sound of heavy mortal footsteps treading down the hallway, followed by an extraordinarily loud knock on the door.  

“Enter,” called Elrond, surprised to see Halbarad, one of Aragorn’s Dúnedain kinsmen stride into the room.  

“Greetings, Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen,” he said bowing respectfully to them both. “Forgive my intrusion, but I come on an urgent errand,” he said. “I received your message that Aragorn is somewhere in Rohan and is in dire need of reinforcements. I and thirty nine Dúnedain will travel to his aid.”  

Elrond knew he had sent no such message, but a voice at the back of his mind whispered to him that Halbarad was speaking the truth, as he knew it. Elrond easily recognised the voice as Galadriel’s, and he suddenly knew that Elladan and Elrohir would accompany the Grey Company south to aid their foster brother.  

“My sons are not here at present, they are on patrol with Glorfindel,” said Elrond. “I am not expecting them back for at least two weeks, but I think they would wish to join you.”  

“Their presence will be most welcome. It will likely take until they return for all my men to arrive here. I hope you have no objection to my use of Rivendell as our meeting place?” asked Halbarad.  

“No, of course not, Dúnedain are always welcome here.”  

“Let me show you to a guest room,” offered Arwen, taking the Ranger’s arm. “I will see you at the evening meal, Adar,” she said over her shoulder as she led her guest out into the hallway.

                                               *******

Two weeks seemed but a mere blink of an eye as far as Elvish time is measured, and as the days quickly passed by, an increasing sense of dread, of something dark and evil approaching weighed heavily on Elrond’s mind. He knew it would not be much longer before Sauron revealed his presence, and all of Middle Earth would be under attack. He felt an enormous sense of relief when the day finally arrived that Elladan and Elrohir returned safely from their patrol with the incorrigible Glorfindel.  

“I tell you, Adar, we could smell the aroma of the freshly baked bread a league away,” declared Elladan, who had been eagerly anticipating a nice hot breakfast almost since the day that they left to escort Thranduil back to the Misty Mountains.  

“A slight exaggeration, Elladan,” scoffed his brother. “I estimate the distance to be only several hundred yards, but I cannot deny that the aroma is also making my mouth water!”  

“Well, it is now only a short distance to the dining hall, and I am not waiting a moment longer,” said Elladan as he headed quickly towards the door behind which the fresh bread awaited. Elrohir was not far behind.  

“What news from the borders?” Elrond asked Glorfindel as they followed the hungry younger Elves into the dining hall. 

“There are reports of an increase in the frequency of attacks by not only Orcs, but stray bands of wolves and other dark creatures,” replied Glorfindel. “I think it will not be long before the forces of Sauron attack. I can now feel the chill of the shadow approaching, just as Thranduil has been able to do all these years. It is very disturbing, and it is very close.”  

“I feel it too,” said Elrond, declining the fresh bread roll Elrohir offered him with a shake of his head.  

A loud burst of laughter from a table at the other end of the hall caught the attention of the Elves at Elrond’s table.  

“Well met, Halbarad!” shouted Elrohir across the room.  

“Well met indeed, Elrohir, Elladan,” replied the Ranger walking over to their table to join them.  

“What brings you to Imladris?” asked Elladan.  

“A summons and a message requiring my company to ride south, to Aragorn’s aid. I was merely waiting for all my men to arrive, which they now have. We depart in the morning for Rohan.”

“We will be ready, we knew Aragorn could not win a war without our help,” said Elrohir light-heartedly.

“Exactly!” agreed Elladan, joining in the laughter.  

“What is this about a message?” asked Glorfindel, his voice lowered so that only Elrond could hear.  

“I know of no such message, but it appears to have come from Lothlórien. In his letter, Celeborn hinted at something Galadriel had seen in her mirror, but he did not fully explain. I heard Galadriel speak to me when Halbarad arrived, confirming she had sent the message, and that my sons are to accompany the Dúnedain, but I know nothing more of her plans” replied Elrond with a wry grin.  

“You are fortunate she told you as much as she did,” said Glorfindel with a snort of disgust. “I can understand why Thranduil is often at odds with those two, for I also find their mysterious behaviour irritating at times. Are you going to permit your sons to ride to war?”  

“I have already sent one, and I appear to have no choice in regards to the other two, they certainly wish to go,” replied Elrond with a shrug of resignation.  

“As I told your equally morose friend, Thranduil, Legolas and your sons are well past their majority, they have the right to chose their own paths, and they are well able to deal with the cosequences of their actions.” 

“I realise that, but I do not have to like it!” declared Elrond. “Nonetheless, I would have sent them south anyway. I have an important message that must reach Aragorn, and whilst I trust his kinfolk, I prefer that my sons deliver it in person. I can not leave Imladris yet, or I would go myself.”  

“No, you most certainly cannot leave while you have Imladris to defend. No doubt Sauron will be seeking to destroy all his enemies, and I am sure you know that we Elves are one of his most hated foes,” advised Glorfindel.

“Yes, I am well aware of that fact. Imladris will be safe, protected by both those who remain here, and Vilya, but I am somewhat concerned about Mirkwood. Do you think Thranduil has the strength to survive an attack?” asked Elrond, seeking reassurance from the Elf Lord.  

“Yes, of course he does. The Wood Elves have been preparing for this war for a long time, and this time the attack will come on their own ground. Thranduil is a very powerful Elf in his own right, as are most Sindar, and he has developed such a harmony and rapport with his forest that there is no doubt Mirkwood will hold, even without a ring of power,” answered Glorfindel, showing nothing but total confidence in his friend.  

Early the next morning, Elrond and Arwen were at the gates of Imladris to farewell Elladan, Elrohir and the rest of the Grey Company. Elrohir carried messages for Aragorn from both his Adar and his sister, and Elladan lead Aragorn’s horse. Halbarad carried a tightly furled banner rather than a spear, and with a barely perceptible nod of his head, he acknowledged his promise to Arwen to deliver the banner, which she had crafted in secret, to Aragorn.

                                                   *******

Thranduil and his guards were surprised to have arrived at the outskirts of Mirkwood without encountering even a single band of Orcs. Nor did they glimpse any of the spiders that infested parts of the forest as they travelled the Elf Path back to the King’s Hall. Anyone but Thranduil might have believed that the forces of evil had withdrawn from the area, but the Elvenking knew better. He could feel the weight of shadow grow heavier every day, until finally the day came when Thranduil did not need to look to the morning sky to know that the cloudy darkness of Sauron's shadow had finally blanketed his realm; the chill of fear that penetrated to his very soul told him it was so. It had taken three thousand years, but the battle he had dreaded, ever since Isildur took the One Ring, had finally begun, only this day when he looked south, it was not fear of the Dark Lord that filled his heart, it was fear for the safety of his son. 'May the Valar keep you safe, Legolas, wherever you are,' he whispered.

The distant sound of horns, warning of intruders in the forest, reawakened the fiercely powerful warrior who had once fought bravely against Sauron, and Thranduil quickly donned his armour and sought out the captains of his army. Only a few of the most senior warriors had also fought alongside him at Dagorlad, and survived. At his insistence they had spent the last few centuries training the younger elves in the skills of war, and the defence of their realm. Thranduil watched proudly as, with the precision learned from many practice drills over the centuries, every Wood Elf quickly moved to their appointed place, either in the trees outside the entrance to the caves of the palace, or to within the safety of the stone walls.

The forces of Sauron were also well prepared, and from behind the advancing ranks, flaming arrows were being fired into the dwellings that were built in the forest as well as into the trees themselves, setting everything alight. The agonised whispers of the burning trees only further enraged the Elves, who cared not so much for the destruction of their homes, as for the senseless destruction of the living forest. Quickly realising the danger of the blazing trees to his archers, most of whom had chosen to hide in the branches, Thranduil ordered a retreat to the caves that, in his wisdom, he had foreseen would become a refuge.

The warrior King stood guard at the end of the bridge leading to the entrance of his palace until the last Elf had reached the safety of the caves, his very stance a challenge to the approaching evil horde, his bow at the ready daring them to attack. As the wave of swarthy men and Orcs bore down on the defiant Elf, the air was filled with the singing of arrows, and the ringing of metal on metal as swords locked in their deadly dance. Discarding his bow in favour of his sword, and barely able to see or breathe in the thick smoke that now shrouded his beloved trees, Thranduil skilfully defended his retreat from the bridge to the gates. He ignored the shrieks of the enemy that echoed through the burning forest as they fell, but each silent cry as the light of immortality of another slain Elf faded away, cut deep into his heart.

As the gates were slammed behind him, he leaned wearily against them, and wiped the grit and grime from his eyes, bidding a safe journey to the Halls of Mandos to those of his people he had seen fall in the battle.

The palace was now under siege, but Thranduil was well prepared for this outcome, and he allowed himself a small smile, knowing that it would take more than mere stone or wood or even brute strength to break through the seal that he had placed on the gates with his own power. With a sigh of relief he walked quickly to his throne room, which had now become the war council room, and it suddenly occurred to him that this attack was likely not an isolated incident, but part of Sauron's final war on Middle Earth. 'Be safe, Legolas,' was his next thought before his attention returned to the battle plans.

Spreading the plans to the palace onto the large table in the centre of the room, Thranduil and his captains quickly reviewed the next stage of their defence; the destruction of the attacking horde. Small groups of Elves were to leave by the 'escape route' through the floor in the cellars that the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins had 'discovered' many years ago. This would allow them to make forays into the forest from the river, the surprise attacks hopefully gradually reducing the numbers of the enemy at the gates. These were similar tactics the Wood Elves had often employed in their defence of Mirkwood over the centuries and all the warriors had the skills and the expertise to make the plan succeed. And it did. After several days, and many surprise attacks, the forces of the Dark Lord were greatly diminished in number, and had abandoned a direct attack on the unyielding gates in favour of hunting the Elves in the remains of the forest. Taking advantage of the situation, Thranduil opened the gates and a final battle was waged and, as he had predicted, the Silvan Elves easily defeated the remnant of Sauron's forces.

The celebrations were somewhat subdued that evening, for there was a need to lament their slain warriors, and the destruction of the forest. Despite the sadness, there was now an undercurrent of hope, and as they feasted beneath the stars, somehow the Silvan Elves felt that Sauron had been totally defeated this time, that the shadow had been lifted from all of Middle Earth.

  Chapter 6: Reunions

In Imladris, the celebration marking the downfall of Sauron was slightly different to that of Mirkwood, but it was equally as joyful. Whereas the Woodelves sang and danced under the stars, the Elves of Imladris preferred to celebrate in the Hall of Fire. Even there, however, music and laughter could be heard for many long nights, and although Elrond joined willingly in the merrymaking, a part of him remained filled with anxiety for the safety of all three of his sons. No word had reached him from Gondor as yet.

“Good news, Elrond!” exclaimed Glorfindel as he strode into the Hall almost a week after the festivities had finally come to an end, waving a piece of parchment.  

“A message from Gondor?” asked Elrond smiling with anticipation as he reached for the letter. Glorfindel shook his head and disappointment clouded Elrond’s features.  

“No, I am afraid not. It is from Thranduil; he and his people survived a fierce invasion by Orcs and Easterlings,” said Glorfindel, obviously pleased with the news.

“Yes, that is indeed good to hear, but what of that dark pall of smoke that was reported to be hanging over his part of Mirkwood?” asked Elrond. The grey cloud that was the shadow over Mirkwood had been visible from the high mountain pass ever since Dol Guldur had been reinhabited centuries ago. With the fall of Sauron, it had dissipated, only to be replaced by a thick cloud of smoke directly over Thranduil’s realm that had hung there for several weeks.  

“Unfortunately that is the unwelcome part of his message. He reports that the invaders burnt much of his forest, and all of the dwellings under the trees. Many Wood Elves lost their lives in defence of their home,” he said sadly.

“I think you should go to Mirkwood and offer him any assistance Imladris can provide,” suggested Elrond. “He will surely be too proud to ask for help from me, but will not refuse any aid you may offer.”  

“That was my intention, but he informs me that he is meeting Celeborn at the ruins of Dol Guldur shortly. I will wait until he returns before setting out, hopefully we will have had news of your sons by then,” said Glorfindel, placing a comforting hand on Elrond’s shoulder in silent understanding of his grief, and wishing he could be in two places at the same time.  

“What would Thranduil and I do without you?” asked Elrond, acknowledging the friendship; compassion and support the Elf Lord gave to them both.  

“Probably be at each other’s throats a lot more often, I assume,” was the light-hearted reply. “Keeping you two in line is definitely a challenge, much like the one you face when trying to keep Elladan and Elrohir out of mischief.”

“A challenge you enjoy, but I am afraid neither of us is likely to call you ‘Adar’, unless you insist,” teased Elrond, a glint of amusement in his eyes at the look of disgust on Glorfindel’s face at such a notion.

“I hope Thranduil returns soon, at least I can expect a sensible conversation from him, not to mention a decent glass of wine!” declared Glorfindel haughtily, his smiling eyes telling Elrond his offended attitude was merely a pretence.  

“Very well, I will open that bottle of Dorwinion you have been longing to try,” said Elrond, taking the hint. “Would you care to accompany me to the wine cellar?”  

“An excellent suggestion, mellon nin!”  

                                    *********** 

By the time Thranduil sent word that he had returned from his meeting with Celeborn, and had heard the wonderful news that Legolas was alive and well, Elrond had also finally received the long awaited message that told of the well being of his sons and Elessar’s coronation. It was bittersweet news; his joy at his sons’ survival was overshadowed by the pain in his heart caused by the imminent loss of his daughter. He had no choice but to honour the promise he had made to Aragorn; the King of Gondor and Arnor had won the hand of the lovely Arwen.  

For her part, Arwen was filled with longing for her beloved Aragorn, or King Elessar as he was now named. She had suffered their separation, as she knew she must, never giving up hope or faith in her lover. At last their time had come and she was more than eager to rush into his waiting arms.  

“Arwen and I will leave for Lothlórien shortly, after which we will travel to Minas Tirith,” said Elrond as he bid farewell to Glorfindel, who was himself headed for Eryn Lasgalen, as Thranduil had renamed his realm. “Tell Thranduil that I will make time to speak to Legolas, for I am sure he wishes to hear news of his home.”  

“I am sure he will be pleased to speak with you, and do not forget to ask after Gimli, I hear they have become very close friends,” said Glorfindel with such an innocent expression that Elrond suspected the golden Elf Lord knew about the conversation between himself and the messenger from Lothlórien at the start of the Quest. Apparently Glorfindel made it his business to know everything that happened in Imladris, and probably Mirkwood as well, thought Elrond.  

“A strange pair, indeed, especially in light of their father’s feelings towards one another,” commented Elrond, wondering, not for the first time, what Legolas’ Adar thought of it all. “Please tell Thranduil that I will visit Eryn Lasgalen as soon as possible after I return from the wedding. I am certain to have much to tell him. Perhaps I will be able to convince Legolas to return with me.”  

“Send my warmest regards to King Elessar, and tell Elladan and Elrohir I expect to hear all their tall tales when they come home. Oh, and Elrond, give all three of them, and young Thranduilion, a hug for me,” said Glorfindel as he mounted his horse and rode swiftly towards the sunlit trail that lead to the pass through the Misty Mountains. The knowledge that Glorfindel was so fond of his and sons as well as Legolas, and was behaving very much like a father, made Elrond smile as he watched until the last glint of golden hair disappeared from view.  

                                                              *******  

As Glorfindel rode along the Elf Path, tears filled his eyes at the sight of the charred and blackened remains of the once beautiful trees of Thranduil’s realm. The Woodland King had fought long and hard to maintain as much of the living forest as possible throughout the long years, and to see his efforts finally overcome by the fires set by his enemies was heart breaking to his friend.    

“Glorfindel! I heard you were travelling to my Hall!” exclaimed Thranduil as he rode up to meet the Elf Lord.  

“Greetings, Thranduil! I am pleased to see you well, I had no doubt that you would hold Mirkwood against the Evil One,” replied Glorfindel. “But I am sorry to see your victory cost you so dearly,” he added glancing around at the devastation.  

“Yes, it is heart wrenching, but it was really a small price to pay for the end of the shadow. Did you know that I have renamed my realm, Eryn Lasgalen, for it will soon be green and fair once more. Come and see for yourself,” he offered, leading the way back to his Hall. To Glorfindel’s astonishment, the trees closest to where the Wood Elves dwelt were all covered in new green leaves, their blackened trunks the only sign of the recent fires. Many new houses had already been built in the as yet meagre shade beneath the trees and even Glorfindel could feel the sense of peace and happiness that emanated from the forest.

“It will take some time, but we will heal the trees and the forest will be more beautiful than before, for there is no longer a shadow to darken our days,” said Thranduil proudly.

“I came to offer whatever help you may need, in your restoration, but I see I was working from a false assumption. All the forest needs is the love and power of its Wood Elves.”

“Of course, it has always been so,” said Thranduil. “However, I thank you for your concern, and appreciate your offer of assistance, it was well meant.”

“How was your meeting with Celeborn?” asked Glorfindel, following Thranduil’s lead and dismounting as they reached the bridge that lead to the entrance to Thranduil’s Hall.  

“Very enlightening,” replied Thranduil enigmatically. “Come inside to my library and I will tell you more over a nice glass of wine.” Once they had seated themselves comfortably and Thranduil had poured the wine, he continued answering Glorfindel’s question.

“As you know, Celeborn and I have not been on very good terms for quite some time, but the war has changed many things, including our respect for each other. The Galadhrim fought long and hard to protect Lothlórien, just as my Silvan Elves did here, and we all achieved victory. However, Galadriel and Celeborn did the one thing I have never been able to do; with the help of her ring of power, they threw down the walls and destroyed Dol Guldur, and set all of Mirkwood free from Sauron’s evil. I am very grateful to them both, and Galadriel thanked me for the part my people played in defending Mirkwood. It is a strange thing to admit, but until Celeborn asked to be given the rule over Dol Guldur, or East Lorien as he now calls it, I never fully realised that he loves the trees and all things that live in the forest as much as I do, and that he always has. We are very much alike in that respect.”  

“I have always thought so,” said Glorfindel nonchalantly, sipping his wine while Thranduil almost choked on his.  

“You never voiced that opinion to me,” he spluttered. “Why?”  

“I would not presume to interfere in matters between kin or to try and influence your judgement,” said Glorfindel. “Besides, it would have been a wasted effort. You would not have heeded my words on the matter of Celeborn and Galadriel, and may have even taken offence. I value our friendship too highly to risk losing it in that way.”  

“I fear you know me too well, you have gauged my reactions precisely. I most likely would not have listened to you on that subject,” agreed Thranduil with a shrug. “However, we have now made our peace, and may even become friends again, given time.”  

“That is welcome news. Did Celeborn have any more to say about Legolas, other than what you wrote in your letter?” asked Glorfindel, moving to a safer topic.  

“He said he had spoken to him a few times during the time the Fellowship was in Lothlórien, and that he seemed to be dealing with his grief. But that is old news now, for Mithrandir returned, and the war has been won,” said Thranduil raising his glass in a silent toast to the victory, a gesture Glorfindel copied.  

“Elrond is soon to leave for Lothlórien and then Minas Tirith. He says he will speak to Legolas, and maybe they will journey back together after the wedding,” said Glorfindel.  

“So the King Elessar has won his bride. The days ahead are going to be very difficult for Elrond, I do not envy him,” said Thranduil, genuinely concerned for the Lord of Imladris.

“Have you considered going to the wedding yourself? You would be able to spend time with Legolas and offer some moral support for Elrond at the same time,” suggested Glorfindel.  

“I cannot leave Eryn Lasgalen right now, the healing process is a delicate matter and I need to be here. Elrond has his sons, as well as Galadriel and Celeborn for support should he need it. And as much as I desire to see Legolas, I know he will understand why I cannot be there, and that I expect him to act as my ambassador at the royal wedding. We will have plenty of time together once he returns home,” Thranduil said confidently. Glorfindel was not fooled by Thranduil’s casual manner in regard to his son’s absence. He could feel the same eager anticipation to be reunited with his beloved son in the Woodland King that he had sensed in Elrond ever since his sons rode to war, and he sincerely hoped that Legolas would soon return home.  

Chapter 7:   Farewells

“Glorfindel!” exclaimed Elrond, surprised to see the golden haired Elf Lord ride through the stone archway that stood at the entrance to Imladris. “What brings you back so soon?   How fares Thranduil and his people?” he asked, a worried frown creasing his brow, as he assumed Glorfindel’s rapid return meant that the Woodland King must require urgent assistance. 

“Quite well, all things considered. They paid a high price for the peace they now have, but the Silvan Elves are a resilient lot, and under Thranduil’s care, their spirits, as well as the trees, are already healing,” replied the Elf Lord as he dismounted and followed Elrond to his study. “Eryn Lasgalen does not require assistance from Imladris, although Thranduil thanks you for the offer. I would have stayed there longer, but he had the audacity to send me back to you on an errand!” declared Glorfindel, not in the least as affronted as he tried to sound.  

“Surely the role of messenger appeals to you, fond as you are of keeping yourself well informed,” teased Elrond.

“A warrior does not only need sword or bow, information and knowledge are also two very powerful weapons,” commented Glorfindel.

 “I cannot argue with that,” conceded Elrond. ”What errand did Thranduil request of you?” 

“I have a wedding gift for King Elessar and his Queen, which I am to give to Legolas to present to them on behalf of his father,” answered Glorfindel,

“I see,” said Elrond. Apparently Thranduil knew how much Glorfindel wanted to be at Arwen’s wedding, and had ensured that he had a sufficient reason to accompany Elrond’s household to Minas Tirith, rather than stay behind and miss the celebrations that Thranduil himself could not attend. Elrond was touched by the unselfish act that demonstrated a deep understanding and affection between the two golden haired Elves.

                                                    *********

As they journeyed south, the feeling of unease that had begun to blossom in Elrond’s heart grew and he decided that the cause was the increasing distance that was growing between himself and Arwen.   They had barely arrived in the Golden Wood before it seemed as if Arwen had been spirited away by the many young female Galadhrim of her acquaintance. Elrond saw very little of her during the days of their stay in Lothlórien, and when he finally suggested that he be allowed to accompany her on one of her daily visits with her friends, the request was met with silvery laughter, and a slight shake of her head indicating denial.

 “Ai, Adar, I doubt very much that you would be interested in discussions of fabrics suitable for a wedding gown, or what flowers might be used to decorate the banquet hall at the palace in Minis Tirith,” she answered, reaching up to kiss his cheek affectionately to indicate she did not wish to hurt his feelings.

“Or how handsome Elessar will look in his kingly finery,” added Elrond, his words filled with an understanding of young love eliciting a very becoming blush from his daughter’s cheeks. “I believe I hear Glorfindel calling,” he said, allowing himself a graceful retreat, embracing Arwen warmly before taking his leave.

  course she is happy and excited, she is in love. Do try not to feel so neglected, or even jealous,” said Glorfindel as he and Elrond wandered among the mellryn of Lothlórien, before selecting a small grassy area amongst the trees on which to sit while they sampled the bottle of wine Celeborn had given Glorfindel earlier that day.

“The closer we travel to Gondor, the more radiant she becomes,” said Elrond, a bitter note in his voice that spoke eloquently of his breaking heart, and yes, even a little jealousy.

“And the more bitter you become,” observed Glorfindel.

“I do not want to lose her, I wish I had never even given her hope that she and Elessar might one day be wed,” he said regret tinging every word he spoke.

“You knew he would fulfil his destiny, just as you knew that she was a part of it, whether you willed it or not,” said Glorfindel, not unkindly, stating what they both knew was the truth.

“Perhaps, but I cannot find it in my heart to accept what will be,” said Elrond, unashamedly allowing his dearest friend to see his eyes bright with tears that remained unshed until the time of his final bitter parting from Arwen.

That night, when he learned she had made the choice of Lúthien, and accepted a mortal life, the Lord of Imladris found himself wrapped in the comforting embrace of the golden Elf Lord’ arms, and he finally gave into his grief, and let his tears fall freely.

                                              **********

Elrond found he had little time for despair on the return journey to Imladris, accompanied as he was by the Hobbits and Gandalf. Whenever he appeared to be falling into the depths of sadness or self pity, either one of the Shire folk, or occasionally Gandalf himself, would start telling stories of their adventures. Once the stories were told, many a merry song was also sung about the campfire at night, lifting everyone’s spirits.

“It appears that your position as my caretaker is under threat, Glorfindel,” said Elrond one night after he had actually joined in the laughter that rippled through the group as Gandalf told one of his rather humorous, and greatly exaggerated tales of his dealings with the Dwarves.

“It is of no concern to me who lifts your spirits, I am grateful to whoever can make you smile,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

“Do you think we could convince Gandalf to work his magic on Thranduil?” asked Elrond in a tone of voice that spoke of a friendly conspiracy. “The news I bear for him will not be easy to hear.”

“About Legolas, you mean?” surmised Glorfindel. Elrond nodded sadly. “Do you really think it is your place to tell him?” enquired the Elf Lord, who apparently did not agree with the notion.

“I understand how he will feel,” came the simple reply.

“I know, and no doubt Thranduil will later look to us both for support, but Legolas is headed home, he should be the one to break the news.”

                                         ********

As he travelled through the remains of the forest that was his home, Legolas listened with increasing heartbreak to the sad songs the trees whispered to him. Even had he not been able to see the devastation with his own eyes, the melancholy voices that he heard in his soul told him of the ravaging of Mirkwood. His grief at the loss was immeasurable, and deepened as he listened in vain for the many voices of beech, oak and elm that he had once known, but were no more.

Word of Legolas’s arrival quickly reached Thranduil, and he rode out alone to greet his son, unwilling to share the first precious moments of a long awaited homecoming with anyone else. Legolas saw his Adar approach and whispered the word that would halt his steed, allowing him a few moments to simply drink in the beloved features of one he had missed terribly. As if their minds were inextricably linked, Thranduil did likewise and time, even as measured by elves, stood still for the few seconds it took before they fell into each other’s arms, tears of joy giving a salty flavouring to the many kisses of welcome.

Not since he had left the Galadhrim of Lothlórien had Legolas been amongst his own kind, nor had he realised until now, as he danced and sang amongst the trees of Eryn Lasgalen, just how much he missed the kind of merrymaking only his elvish friends could provide. Despite the obvious happiness and delight Legolas felt at being home, there was a melancholy dimming of his light that only Thranduil could easily see, and he needed no words of explanation from his son to tell him why.

“The sea calls to you, does it not, Legolas?” Thranduil asked when they were once more alone.

“How did you know?”

“One has but to look into your eyes, as is our way. Your inner self is even now being called by the pounding of the waves, the cry of the sea gulls, the salt air, but I see that as yet you strongly resist.”

“I am not ready to leave Middle Earth, I have made a promise to Aragorn,” explained Legolas. “I will not leave until his time has ended.”

“And then you will leave me,” stated Thranduil sadly, already mourning the day that had not yet come.

                                    ***********

Not long after Legolas had returned to Gondor to begin preparations for his permanent move to the forests of Ithilien, and the Hobbits and Gandalf had left Imladris to deal with their own affairs, Thranduil received word that Elrond would soon be arriving in Eryn Lasgalen. It came as no surprise to Thranduil that his friend would wish to see how the Wood Elves were faring, and he was pleased to be able to show him a vastly renewed forest, that was well on its way to becoming as beautiful as the once great Greenwood it had been.

“Glorfindel did not accompany you?” asked Thranduil needlessly, the Elf Lord was nowhere in sight.

“No, he is helping with our preparations to leave, it will not be long before the time of the Elves is over and the Ring Bearers sail West,” said Elrond as he settled himself in his usual chair in Thranduil’s study and sipped the wine that his friend had provided.

 “I am astonished at how well your forest is thriving, obviously the power of the Elves is not fading as rapidly here.”

“Our numbers are gradually diminishing as the call to the sea is answered by those who hear it, but for now there are still many who wish to remain,” said Thranduil. “The trees of Eryn Lasgalen do not wish us to leave, for they still bask in our light, as we do in theirs.”

“That is quite apparent. I do not wish to cause you pain, but last time I spoke to Legolas he told me that the sea longing had taken him. I am sorry that he has heard the call, I am sorry you will lose your son,” said Elrond, closely watching his friend’s reaction to his words, fully expecting him to appear grief stricken and surprised when he seemed to be calmly accepting the situation.

“It haunts him, but he has the determination to resist, for now, and it will be a sad day for me when he does leave,” said Thranduil. “But I take comfort in the knowledge that he will not really be lost, merely living elsewhere. I do not desire to see the beauty of Valinor yet, as I have said, but one day I am certain we will be together again. He will never be lost to me, just living on a distant shore.”

“I envy you your certainty, and your acceptance of what is. I only wish it were so for me,’ said Elrond sadly. “All I can be sure of is that I have lost my daughter forever, and that she will die here in Middle Earth, my sons have not yet decided their future, and I will soon be taking the white ship, leaving all that I love behind.”

“As Glorfindel so rightly pointed out, our children are also adults and must live their lives as they see fit. Do not despair, you will always have their love, but is it not time for you to look to your own future?” asked Thranduil, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I will miss you when you sail west, but do not forget who is anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

“Celebrían,” whispered Elrond, closing his eyes for a moment as he imagined what it would be like to hold his beloved wife in his arms once more. “Yes, I long to see her again, and she is certainly the one who will be able to ease my pain and grief,” said Elrond, smiling at the very thought of being with her once more. “But surely you are also anxious to be with your Queen?”

“I will be, in time, and until then, she and Legolas will have each other. She understood when she left that I would remain here until my duty to my people and to Oropher’s legacy was fulfilled.,” explained Thranduil

“Then I wish you well, mellon nin and look forward to the day you finally decide to sail to Valinor,” said Elrond, raising his glass in a final toast.

“May the stars shine on you, and the Valar watch over your journey,” answered Thranduil, raising his glass in response. “Farewell, mellon nin.”

                                 ***********

As Elrond boarded the white ship Círdan had prepared for the Ring Bearers, he moved to the bow of the ship and looked sadly to the south. He had already said his goodbyes to Elladan and Elrohir, who were remaining in Imladris, but he had not spoked to Arwen since the day they had parted so bitterly.

“Farewell, my beloved Arwen,” he whispered into the salty sea breeze, raising a small piece of cloth to his lips, lightly brushing them over the clumsily, yet to an Adar’s eyes, beautifully embroidered swans.

Epilogue.

Aragorn’s death had been a grief too hard for Legolas to bear, as he himself had always known it would be, and he no longer resisted the call of the sea. So it was that barely a year after the passing of King Elessar, Thranduil stood on the banks of the Anduin, watching sadly as the ship Legolas had built sailed down the mighty river to the sea and into the West. The final image of his golden haired son, his face alight with anticipation, one hand resting gently on the shoulder of his friend, Gimli as they stood at the bow and waved goodbye, still brought tears to Thranduil’s eyes, even though he knew in his heart that he and his son would one day be together again.

That had been centuries ago, and Thranduil’s pleasure in the green, sunlit forest of Eryn Lasgalen had waned with the fading of his people from Middle Earth. The only joy he now seemed to find was in the forest of his dreams, as he wandered among the trees of Valinor arm in arm with his beloved Queen. He was becoming overwhelmed with a longing to be with her and their son and he knew that before much longer he would join them in the Undying Lands.  

Before he left Middle Earth forever, he decided to pay a final visit the remains of the Elven realms that had flourished during the time of his kin. It was a sad journey, for nature had reclaimed most of what was hers, and the light of the forests had dimmed so that even places once only able to be seen by elvish eyes had become well hidden. In these realms, the forests were no longer inviting, so he continued on until he reached Ithilien, and the part of the woods that Legolas and his friends had long since left. On his arrival he found, as he had in Lothlorien and East Lorien, no sign that Elves had ever been there, and even the memory the trees had of the Fair Folk had faded to a greying mist of shadow.  

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, the flickering changes from light to shadow reflecting the uncertainty that had entered into Thranduil’s thoughts in recent times. He knew that there was little left for him in Middle Earth, but it was harder than he had expected to make plans to leave.  

The lonely Elvenking wandered around amongst the trees that still flourished in Ithilien, and was surprised when he heard the sound of childish voices, arguing loudly in a nearby glade. Curiosity overcame him and he quickly climbed into the trees and made his way soundlessly along the branches to a position above where the children were fighting.  

“Grandpa says there are no such things as Elves,” the younger of the two shouted at his older companion, pushing him to emphasise his point.

“Well, my grandpa is the King, and he said that once there were many Elves in this forest, and they used to sing and dance in the starlight. He knows more than his Steward and besides, they were friends of his great, great, grandfather!” declared the elder child hotly, not touching the younger one, but glaring daggers at him all the same.  

“Well then show me where they once lived,” challenged the Steward’s son.  

“Around here somewhere,” said the Prince, vainly searching for a sign, becoming angrier at the smirk on his friend’s face, as he taunted his older enemy.  

“See, I told you there were none! My Grandpa is smarter than yours!” he exclaimed, poking out his tongue for good measure. They were prevented from any further argument by the sound of someone approaching, and an adult voice calling their names.  

“Cease your squabbling immediately. It is such undignified behaviour for young princes,” admonished the grey haired man who was accompanied by one of the King’s guards. “Your fathers are not pleased that you wandered away from the hunting party. Return with me at once!” ordered the one Thranduil assumed to be the grandsire of one of the errant youngsters. He smiled as he recalled dealing with similar problems between Legolas and Elrond’s sons when they were mere elflings.  

That night he as he slept in the branches of an ancient tree, he dreamed again of Glorfindel and Elrond, raising their wine glasses in invitation to their friend.  

“Come, mellon nin, we miss you,” whispered a voice in his mind that he easily recognised as that of Elrond.  

The image faded to be replaced by that of his beloved wife, only instead of walking in the woods, he was watching her gently holding the babe Legolas had placed in her arms.  

 Thranduil’s heart allowed him no other choice but to follow them to the Undying Lands.