I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this story.

This story is a response to a challenge that Jay of Lasgalen set at the Mirkwood Castle Yahoo site. She wrote the opening paragraphs (which are in italics) and anyone accepting the challenge took it from there.

*******

The Decision

Thranduil looked up from the documents he was studying as there was a knock on the door and a messenger entered.

"A letter, my Lord. The courier said it was most urgent."

Curiously, for the seal was unfamiliar, Thranduil opened the message and read it swiftly. Then he read it again, more slowly, and looked at the messenger in silence for a moment before responding, making sure he had control of his emotions and his voice. “Is the courier waiting for an answer?”

“No, my Lord.”

Thranduil made a face. If the courier had not waited, then the writer of the letter must have been certain that he would do what was asked.

“You may go.”

The messenger bowed and departed, and Thranduil looked at his desk without seeing it as he tried to decide what he wanted to do in response to the demanding letter. He could not say he was surprised by it; he had known that his correspondent was becoming increasingly impatient. And he had known what the letter writer wanted of him, for the writer had always been open about it. What he did not know was if he was going to grant it.

Another knock sounded at his office door, and this time it was Ithilden who entered. “I have finally had word from Todith, Adar,” he said without preamble.

Thranduil tensed slightly, forgetting, for the moment, the letter he still held in his hand. Ithilden had not had a dispatch from the Southern Patrol’s captain in nearly two weeks, and while he had reminded Thranduil frequently that the patrol’s movements could be unpredictable and had admonished Thranduil not to worry, Thranduil still knew that his oldest son had been nearly as concerned as he was about the lapse in communication.

As usual, Ithilden’s shrewd eyes missed very little. “Eilian has a cut on his left shoulder, but it is not serious,” he said immediately, and Thranduil let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. Eilian was wounded; that must be why Thranduil had felt so fretful about him lately. But his wound was not serious.

“They found an unusually large number of Orcs moving eastward,” Ithilden went on, “and they have been pursuing them. Todith did not feel he could spare anyone to serve as a messenger to me before now.  Four warriors were lightly wounded, including Eilian, and Todith sent Elvón home with the messenger because his hurt is serious enough that he needs a healer, but the fight went well, and he assured me that all of the wounded will be fine.”

Thranduil leaned back in his chair and briefly closed his eyes. Then he opened them again to find Ithilden waiting patiently. He straightened. “You wished to speak of something else?”

“Yes. I wanted to tell you that I intend to order the Eastern Border Patrol to join forces with Todith’s warriors for a time to be sure that the Orcs they were chasing are gone.”

Thranduil nodded. Ithilden was the realm’s troop commander and did not need Thranduil’s approval for such actions, but although he had centuries of experience at command, most of it had occurred during the Watchful Peace, which had ended only nineteen years earlier, and as a consequence, he was not as sure of himself as Thranduil might otherwise have expected him to be. Any leader of the realm’s forces would have kept the king informed of his actions, but Thranduil knew that Ithilden was allowing him the opportunity to object if he wished. Thranduil almost never did object. Indeed, he felt fortunate to have someone with Ithilden’s brains and strength managing his troops.

“A wise decision,” Thranduil said, and Ithilden’s face relaxed slightly.

Thranduil glanced down and suddenly realized that he still held the letter and needed to decide how to react to it. Perhaps he could meet with its writer and negotiate, he thought. He tended to believe that would be pointless, that any meeting now was likely to lead to an outcome that could not be undone and would settle things permanently. Could he accept that? he asked himself, half in despair.

“Adar?”

He looked up at Ithilden, who had one eyebrow raised.

“Is something the matter?”

“No,” Thranduil said firmly. Tucking the message into his belt, he rose. He would see what time brought. He had never shrunk from difficult situations, and he did not intend to start now. He came around his desk and left the room with his son at his side.

“Are you going for your afternoon ride?” Ithilden asked.

Thranduil nearly laughed. “I am going for a walk in the woods. You may send my guards to do more useful things than wait around for me.”

Ithilden frowned. “Your guards should go with you.”

Thranduil made an exasperated sound and turned to face his son as they emerged onto the steps leading down from the Great Doors. “I will be in my own woods, within half a league of my stronghold. I will not have guards watching me every second I am out of the palace, Ithilden!”

Ithilden hesitated, plainly torn between his concern for Thranduil’s safety and his recognition of the imperious tone of his father’s voice. “You really are going no further?” he asked cautiously.

“I am going no further.”

“Very well,” Ithilden conceded reluctantly. With difficulty, Thranduil restrained his irritation at being treated like a helpless child. He could have dismissed the guards on his own, of course, but he did not want to undercut Ithilden’s authority, and his son was only doing what he thought was responsible and right.  The Valar knew that Thranduil had spent enough years trying to make sure that his sons acted out of such concerns.

They started down the steps, and as they were crossing the bridge over the Forest River, a sudden shout made them both turn their heads to see a group of youths running along next to the trees edging the Green. Two of their number were throwing themselves in a reckless race through the branches overhead. The racers reached a tall oak that must have been their goal, for those on the ground sent up a ragged cheer.

Thranduil paused to watch them soberly. They had the lanky look of those who had left childhood but were not yet fully grown into their adult form. He recognized it; indeed Eilian still had the same look. How many years would it be before these young fools were carrying a bow and a sword and facing a swarm of Orcs? What was his realm like as a place for the young to grow up in? He knew that Eilian was valiant, but he occasionally felt pain that was almost unbearable when he thought about the dangers faced by his still much-too-young second son.

“If you wish to make my guards useful,” he said to Ithilden, “send them to stop those idiots from breaking their necks in seeking amusement. Let us keep them safe as long as we can, shall we?” Ithilden grimaced, nodded, and turned left toward the warrior training grounds, while Thranduil continued along the path that would lead him into the woods.

With a whisper of welcome, the trees closed around him, bending their branches slightly toward him. Without his willing it, he could feel his song attuning itself to theirs. He had been king of the Woodland Realm for longer than any of these trees had been alive. They had never known another ruler, and his being was so linked with theirs that he drew on their strength and their deeply-rooted connection to Arda almost without effort.

You are troubled, they rustled in concern.

I am.

Be comforted. We are here. We sing our song yet. We will shelter you and yours, as you fight back the Shadow that engulfs us.

I try, but I cannot protect you all. You know that is true.

We reach toward the sun nonetheless. We endure. We send our seeds to Arda, and we are renewed.

He inhaled the fragrance of leaves and earth and rotting wood and heard the birds singing songs that seemed too full ever to have come from so small a source. Woodland creatures rustled unafraid through the bushes on either side of him. He rounded a bend in the path, and there, seated on a log, was Lorellin, bathed in a fall of sunlight coming through an opening in the canopy that the trees had made just for her. She lifted her dark eyes to him and gave him a smile that pierced his heart.

“I knew you would come,” she said.

He felt the flood of warmth that her presence always called forth in him, and he hastened to give her news for which he knew she had been anxious. “Ithilden has received word that Eilian has been slightly wounded, but he will be well.” Her face lit up, and he walked to stand close enough to her that he could have reached out and touched her, but he held back, still unsure. “And you are a deceiver, my Lady. Whose seal was that on your letter?”

Her smile deepened to an impish grin. “I borrowed one from a guard. I had to seal it. I would have been disgraced if anyone but you had read it.”

He recalled the passionate words of the letter and had to agree with her. For another moment, he left the distance between them. “If Ithilden knew you were out here alone, he would have something sharp to say.”

She reached out and took his hand, driving all the breath out of him. “But I am not alone. I am with you.”

“I am not sure that makes you safe.” His voice was tight.

“I hope not. Are your guards about?”

“I told Ithilden to send them away.”

She grinned again. “Did you tell him why?” she asked innocently.

He laughed. “He had work to do and did not need the distraction of knowing what his shameless parents were up to.”

She rose and handed him the blanket she had been holding in her lap. “Come, my Lord,” she said, taking his arm and beginning to draw him off the path and into the deeper woods.

“Lorellin, wait.” The time had come for him to make up his mind, and he needed to do it now before he was in her arms and between her thighs and his thinking became far less clear. Reluctantly, she stopped tugging on his arm and turned to face him.

“I want another baby,” she declared, her face set in stubborn lines.

He frowned unhappily, pulled her into an embrace, and began to stroke her hair. “Nothing would give me more joy than to welcome another child into our lives. You know that. But the Shadow is growing. How can we put a little one in its path?”

She pulled back a little and looked pleadingly into his face. “But that is just why we should have a baby now. Think about it, my love! There can be no better way to defy the Shadow than to have a baby.”

He looked at her, this Elf-woman whom he loved with his body and his soul. He felt the life throbbing through her where his arms touched her, and the song of his Shadow-darkened world slid into harmony. The trees sang; Lorellin breathed; and his heart beat in time to it all. Abruptly, he was certain of the rightness of a child whose very presence would declare all this to the powers that might be trying to destroy it. This was where he was meant to be; Lorellin was the person he was meant to be with; and this child they were about to beget had had a part to contribute to the Song of Arda from the beginning of time.

She scanned his face and smiled slowly. “Come, my Lord,” she said again, and he followed her into the woods.

***

Thranduil collapsed back on the blanket. Perhaps he should have allowed Ithilden to send guards after all. At the moment, he was not sure he could have protected himself or Lorellin from a chipmunk. A cool breeze slid over his sweat streaked body. His wife laughed softly. “No guards,” she declared, and he smiled, realizing that she had read his thoughts.

She sighed softly, turned toward him, and stretched to kiss his cheek. He put his arm around her, and for a time they lay in silence with her head pillowed on his shoulder and the green leaves rustling overhead.

“This one’s heart will be given to the trees,” Lorellin finally said.

Thranduil smiled. “Like yours is,” he said, kissing the top of her head. He could feel her smiling into his shoulder, and then, suddenly, her breath caught. “What is it?” he asked.

For answer, she took his hand and placed it over her flat belly. And there it was: new life had entered into the Shadow-marred world. What future lay there? he wondered. Who knew? He and Lorellin had taken a chance on what Arda would hold for this tiny new being. Only time would tell if they had been right to do it.

The End