Chapter 1.  The Return

Anólindë sat upon a hilltop with a basket of uncarded wool beside her.  She sat against the trunk of a stately willow tree, and her fingers were busy cleaning the wool to prepare it for spinning, while her mind wandered far afield.  She sensed someone approaching a moment before she heard the voice of her guard, challenging the newcomer at the base of the hill. She smiled at the serious tone of his voice.  Her guards had taken it upon themselves to guard her peace of mind along with her life.  When she came here looking for solitude, they restricted access to all but those whose needs were urgent.  For that small deed she forgave them all the other chafing restrictions they placed on her movements.

She had to wait but a moment more before Celleth, her old friend and advisor, crested the hill and swept under the boughs of the willow. 

“Forgive me for intruding,” Celleth began, continuing when she waved off his apology..  “There seems to be a problem with our latest delivery from the human settlement.  The council requests that you come and…” he paused searching for words, “offer your opinion.”

She felt the mirth bubble up inside of her and she smiled broadly.  “That was very diplomatic. Is my husband’s mother being difficult?  That sounds very near a plea for reinforcements.”

Celleth grinned at her sudden good humor. For usually when she sat upon her hill she was melancholy, her spirit weighed down with worry and concern.  “I think it is indeed a plea, for Thalarîn is a forbidding elf.”  He offered her his hand, and she pulled herself to her feet and made a token effort to brush off her skirt.

“Shall we go then?  Bring aid to the council in their time of need?”  But Celleth stopped her before she could lead them on.

He cleared his throat uncertainly, “Anólindë, I should warn you that Lamathen has returned.  You may want to clean up a bit first.  She is waiting to explain the details of the problem to you.”

Her eyes widened at his statement and she gave a quick frantic look around to make sure Lamathen was not hiding behind a bush, that she had not snuck past the guard and was about to pounce on her and wage war once again on her image.  Lamathen was convinced that a proper ruler of the realm was always neat, tidy and properly coiffed and she was forever pointing to Thalarîn as a good example.  So although she was not yet ruler of anything, Lamathen was determined to change her habits for that eventuality.

“Celleth, you realize your wife is a menace, do you not?” Anólindë asked, now putting more effort into cleaning and straightening her skirts and smoothing down her hair.  “She makes Thalarîn seem almost easygoing by comparison.”

“My lady, you wound me. Lamathen is a joy, she is the sweetest, most wonderful, most managing elf I have yet to meet.  Well next to you and the Queen…” he broke off and jumped quickly back to avoid the mock punch aimed in his direction.

“It will be good to have her back, although you may not tell her this. I believe I actually have missed her managing abilities.”

Anólindë laughed again and wondered at the joy she found.  A little laughter made all the difference to the feeling of a place.  She had come here so often burdened with duty, fear and sorrow, that the hilltop seemed a careworn place, full of darker emotions.  Now it seemed brighter, and she wished she could laugh away all the sorrow of her heart.  

She sighed, her mood suddenly sober.  For years now they had waited for the return of their warriors.  It was the first time in her long existence she thought she understood a mortal’s fascination with tracking time.  For the last seven years had seemed to last a century, and she felt she had aged accordingly.  Seven years of worry and concern relieved only by the occasional messenger with desperate requests for supplies and the incoherent gossip of the birds.    The Alliance was their best hope for peace, but the costs already seemed so high.  She was concerned for her people, but her biggest worry lay with Thranduil, her husband.  They had had so little time together as a married couple before he left for battle.  So few memories to recall when she wished so desperately to distract herself from worry of his fate. 

She shook herself out of the sudden reverie and tried to regain her old mood with a small smile.  “We should go.  I believe I am now presentable enough to pass muster, even with your wife.”  They started down the hill, but had made it only halfway when several of her guards converged on them and prevented their passage.

“Apologies, my lady, but someone is approaching fast,” Her guard explained.  “Please wait here a moment.”

Anólindë felt a twinge of concern and her stomach churned as she tried to mentally sort through the possibilities of what could be wrong.  With the absence of so many of their hunters and warriors, they had been having a difficult time. The last several winters had been unusually harsh and game was scarce.  They were not yet desperate but could easily become so if certain events did not favor them. 

There was an all clear signal, and her guard gave a quick bow and cleared from her path.  Before she could take more than a step however, Lamathen came into view, almost at a run.  She drew up suddenly when she came upon them.

“Anólindë, there you are…” Lamathen paused to draw breath and regain her composure.

Celleth looked as if he would interrupt but Lamathen shot him a quick look and nod indicating that she was well, and he nodded for her to continue.

“A scout has reported back early today. There are riders on the road,” Lamathen continued her words rushed.  “They are here!  They have come home.  The king has come home.”

Lamathen then lost what little composure she had and pulled both Celleth and Anólindë into a fierce embrace whispering over and over, “They are home.”

Anólindë thought her heart had stopped when she heard Lamathen’s words.  The fate of her husband changed suddenly from a nagging fear to full-blown terror.  She would know if he lived in a matter of hours.  She closed her eyes tight and prayed to the Valar with all her heart that he would come home to her this day.  She did not wish to consider the alternative.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.  The hillside was the same as it been a moment before, but she felt her world had been turned upside down, and she struggled to pull herself back together and to contain the tears that had gathered in her eyes.  She returned the embrace of her friends and then stepped out of their arms and rebuilt her composure a breath at a time.

“Come my friends, we have much to do and now little time to do it.”

She ushered them down the hill and back towards their people and as they neared one thought kept clamoring for attention in her mind.  In a short time she would finally know her status, wife or widow.

Chapter 2:  Homecoming

Thranduil drew his horse to the side of the forest road and halted.  He nodded at the commanders as they rode past, each followed by the warriors under his command.  They were close to home, and at the pace they were traveling he hoped they would arrive as darkness fell, although his second disagreed with that assessment.   He examined the faces of his people as they rode past.  Some were happy; many seemed to be having difficulty containing their excitement as they neared their homes.  They needed to keep slowing their horses, as their excitement kept spurring the animals to greater speed.  Then there were those who seemed unaware of their surroundings.  They paid little attention to those around them and responded only to the direct commands of their captains, each locked in his own despair.  The majority of his command seemed to switch between deep sorrow and stoic acceptance.  It was not unusual to see a warrior trust his horse to continue on without direction when its rider was lost in overwhelming sorrow. 

They had changed in so many ways since they had departed Greenwood, he thought.  Many of these elves had never fought in so large a battle.  They were unlike the troops that Gil-Galad and Elrond had commanded, veterans of the continual struggle to destroy Morgoth before the Valar had come.  Of his people, few had fought in any of the battles of Beleriand.  They had been inexperienced in the kind of combat seen on the fields of Dagorlad and the slopes of Orodruin, but no more.  Those that survived had learned the harsh lessons of war and had grown closer as a result.  They had arrived in Mordor independent fighters, but they returned home forcibly schooled in the high elf style of combat.

Thranduil pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind, returning his attention to the present.  A full half his command had passed while he had been caught in thought.  He checked forward and back to find the nearest of his commanders, and then rode to join Mandel, one of his youngest commanders, who had just passed.

“Mandel,” Thranduil began as he drew his horse alongside.

Mandel gave a quick half bow in response and Thranduil continued.  “ I have a task for you.  When we arrive home, deliver the names of the wounded and healers still in the south to the heads of each house.  I do not wish for their families to assume the worst.”  

“I will see to it, my lord,” Mandel replied, but his countenance was puzzled.

Thranduil waited, but Mandel remained silent.  After a time Thranduil asked, "Is there something you do not understand?"

 Mandel turned in the saddle, his face clearly showing his discomfort and embarrassment.  “Forgive me, my king, but I wondered if their kin would not already know who had fallen and who is well?  When my father...,” Mandel paused and drew a deep breath to steady himself.  “When he fell, I knew.  Not the exact moment, but when I was no longer in the heat of battle, I felt his absence.  Our connection had been broken.  Would that not also be felt by those at home?”

Thranduil looked ahead, but his gaze was unfocused as he thought for a moment how to answer.  “Many that await word are not bound to any.  They seek word of friends, siblings and distant relations.  Of those who are bonded, many will still wait for confirmation.  So I would provide comfort to those few that I can. Some perhaps will know for certain before we arrive.  The feä bond does not stretch over infinite distance.   It is strongest when you are close.  It weakens the greater the distance separating the two feär.  The bond does not break, but becomes silent.  The bonds of husband and wife are strongest.  Often when one is under extreme duress, the other will know, even across great distances.  Which is why some will know their husband or wife is gone.  For there are few things more likely to cause duress as the sight of an orc sword coming toward you when there is nothing you can do to block it,” he grimaced at the memory.  Only the timely actions of another elf had saved his life.

Mandel glanced over at this king, and his own eyes were dim with memory.  “Or a goblin spear,” he added.

Mandel started when a voice piped up from behind them. “Or a stampeding Oliphant.”

Then from further back another added “Or a swarm of Easterners.” 

Thranduil bit back his grin as Mandel squirmed in momentary discomfort, for he had not realized that those under his command had been listening to his conversation. 

“I think my wife may have been convinced I was dead when the mountain fell on my scouting party,” Nadennor offered to the conversation.  There was a pause and those around him turned to stare at him.  Nadennor had spoken infrequently since that day when many of his companions had been killed by the rockslide, and not at all about the actual event.  There was a silent moment, and Mandel found himself looking to Thranduil, uncertain how or if to respond.

Then Thranduil heard a muffled snort from another elf. “So dramatic, Nadennor! Your wife likely thought you had gone to live with the Naugrim instead.” 

Mandel’s eyes widened in shock, and he turned back to see how Nadennor would react.   

Nadennor’s eyes sparked back to life as he turned his attention on Bangamir.  “Then perhaps I should tell your wife the truth, that you were not in fact under attack by the Easterners, but instead were trying to trade your sword for some of their cooking spices.”

Bangamir smiled broadly.  “You may tell her that, and she will likely believe your words, for I have missed her cooking dearly.  I have never met an elf than can season venison like she does.”  His grin turned sly and he lowered his voice to a mock whisper.  “I will tell you this secret: I have brought back some spices, but from the west not east.  Some of those Noldor had the most ingenious cooks.  You and your wife should join us for dinner one evening, Nadennor. We would welcome your company.”

Nadennor smiled faintly at Bangamir’s antics and nodded, “I would like that.”

Then the conversation turned to a new topic and Thranduil turned his attention back to Mandel.  “Are you surprised?” he asked.

“I think…,” Mandel began, his voice lowered for privacy. “I would not have tried to tease him.  He already seemed so very fragile.”

“I think you will discover that some thrive on challenge more than comfort,” Thranduil sought to explain, drawing on his own memories of battles won and lost.  “They do not feel they deserve comfort.  Some find more difficulty in living on after a battle, than in enduring the battle itself.”

Mandel nodded. “One more question, my king? 

Thranduil nodded and Mandel continued.  “We are no longer far from home.  Do you once again feel the feel the bond with your wife? 

There was a long silence following his question and Thranduil stared off toward the horizon.  Mandel, fearing he had caused offense, made to retreat.

“Forgive me, my king.  I did not mean to intrude…” but Thranduil stopped him before he could finish. 

“No, no apologies are necessary.  I am not perhaps the best authority on this issue, but I know that some bonds will strengthen as we draw closer, others will take longer to reestablish.  Each bond is different.” He turned his gaze back to Mandel and nodded reassuringly.  “Now I must go.  You will see those names delivered?”

“With all haste,” Mandel replied solemnly.

Thranduil nodded and urged his horse forward.  As he rode back to the front of the column he could not seem to let go of the topic.  Some bonds were already returned.  He could dimly feel his mother, and stronger still was the bond with his wife, but he was not yet ready to acknowledge it.  She was likely little changed from the day he had married her, shortly before leaving for battle, but he was not the same. She deserved so much more than he could now give.  It felt like joy and happiness had been burned from his heart.  All that remained were the ashes of the dead, and he was drowning in them.

So many had passed into Mandos’ Halls.  Ten thousand warriors had left Greenwood and of that number only a company more than three thousand were once again among the trees.  He reached his hand up to his tunic.  Tucked into it was a scroll.  The paper crackled and reassured him it was still there, and he dropped his hand back to his lap.  It was a precious and horrible burden he carried, for committed to the parchment were the names of the dead.  The very first name on the list was written in his own hand, that of Oropher, his father, King of Greenwood.  

**

Several hours later, they turned north off the Old Forest Road and headed toward the distant hills of Emyn Duil.  The sun was setting over the Misty Mountains and night had fallen before they had reached the settlement borders.

“It appears, my king, that we will be arriving home by starlight, rather than sunlight,” said Tulukrad, second-in-command of Thranduil’s army.

Thranduil glanced at the sky, visible through the occasional openings in the canopy of leaves, and turned to regard his commander with narrowed eyes.

“How good of you to point that out.  I had feared a blindness had settled across my vision, hiding the sun from me.  I am relieved to hear it is not so,” Thranduil answered, ignoring the suspiciously triumphant look on Tulukrad’s face.  He glanced again down their path and through the trees, and a grin stole across his face.

“But you are wrong just the same.  We will not arrive by starlight, but rather by firelight.  Look onward and tell me those are the lights of stars,” Thranduil commanded.

For in the near distance, flaring to light on the path, were torches, held in the hands of elves.  Thranduil felt his heart clench as the lights continued to ignite and voices rose up in a song of welcome tinged with sorrow.  Soon their final path home was a tunnel of light, and at its end it appeared the whole forest was aglow.  His people had come to light their way home and to honor those who would never return.

**

A/N:  According to a couple of sources, Thranduil’s elves were originally settled on Amon Lanc, where Sauron eventually built Dol Guldur, almost due west of Lorien.  In the second age, before the battle of Dagorlad, Oropher moved his people North of the Gladden Fields in order to put more distance between his people and the dwarves of Moria.  So I’m placing the Elven settlement just North of the old Forest Road, but South of the Emyn Duil (Emyn – nu- Fuin).  It was not until almost 1100 years into the Third age that Thranduil moved his people to the northwest corner of Greenwood/Mirkwood

Also, the number of Greenwood elves that fell in the battles of the Last Alliance is unknown.  It is only stated that Thranduil lost 2/3rds of his people, including his father.  So the numbers you see listed are made up, but do have a bearing on later story elements.

Chapter 3:  What Price is Peace

Thranduil rode into the main clearing of the settlement at the head of his column of elves and there he halted, waiting for the last of his troops to arrive.  As the soldiers dismounted, each of them was quickly met and led away to seek home and family.  It was not the elvish way to worry about speeches and proclamations when there were more important things to consider.  Instead his people disappeared in twos and threes, visible only by the torchlights that glided through the forest.

He watched as Mandel moved quickly among those elves gathered, carrying out his task as quickly as possible.  Then, after the last group rode in and was met, the song changed from one tinged with grief to one of anguish.  Then those remaining elves with torches extinguished their lights and disappeared into the darkness, their song of grief carrying through the forest for all to hear.

Throughout the homecoming, Thranduil remained mounted on his horse.  When the torches were extinguished, he had closed his eyes, for a moment wishing he could block out the sight and sound of so much grief, but he quickly opened them again.  He chided himself for his momentary weakness.  They were his people, and he would not hide himself from their pain, for it was also his own.  At last the voices faded to a haunting echo and he turned his attention to the two remaining lights in the clearing.  There in the dim illumination stood his mother, the proud and undaunted Thalarîn, and his wife, Anólindë.

He dismounted and a young elf detached herself from the shadows behind his family and led away his horse.  He barely noticed, but now he stood alone with his family in the dim light.  He glanced first at his wife but found he could not meet her gaze, fearful that she would see into his heart and find him wanting.  He was not yet ready to face her.

He turned his attention to his mother and met her gaze.  It took all the courage he possessed to hold himself unflinching as he saw the pain flare anew in her eyes.  She crumpled before him, no longer needing to be strong for her people.  Her eyes were sad and defeated and the strength that had so characterized her seemed to drain away into nothing.

“Mother…” he whispered and then he choked as his own grief came roaring back to life.  The tears that fell from his mother’s eyes were echoed in his own.  He pulled her into his arms and they stood together, silently sharing their grief for the husband and father who was now missing from their lives.

Anólindë looked on as Thranduil and Thalarîn stood grieving in each other’s arms and could not stop her own tears from falling.  She had had little chance to get to know her father by marriage before he left for Mordor, and although she did grieve for his loss, it was the pain of those he left behind that moved her. 

To be able to do nothing to lessen the pain of Thalarîn, an elf she had grown to greatly admire and care for deeply, and Thranduil, the other half of her very heart, was difficult to endure.  She was helpless in the face of their pain.  So she stood silent and honored their grief.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually Thalarîn stepped back from her son and motioned her over, reaching for her hand.

Anólindë offered her hand to her mother by marriage, and Thalarîn tugged her into a swift embrace and then quickly released her.

“Forgive me,” Thalarîn whispered, turning back to Thranduil.  “I knew he had fallen; I received word long ago, and yet still the knowledge of his death grieves me anew.”  She reached out and ran her fingers down the side of her son’s face.  “You have his strength,” She said, then gave Anólindë’s hand a gentle squeeze, “and you have the will to temper his strength with compassion.” Thalarîn passed Anólindë’s hand to Thranduil and stepped back from the couple.  “Lead your people well and wisely.”

Thalarîn moved to the side and pulled one of the remaining two torches from where it was set and quickly smothered it.  She turned to walk away, but paused a moment, glancing back.  “Welcome home, my son.”   Then she continued on and disappeared into the darkness of the trees, her voice adding to the lament still haunting the air.

Thranduil stood there, gazing into the trees where his mother had disappeared, lost in memory.  His hand unconsciously tightened on Anólindë’s, drawing comfort from her without intent.  She squeezed his hand in return and he glanced down, surprised to find her hand still in his.  He moved his fingers over her knuckles and down to her fingertips, almost mesmerized, then turning her palm up, he traced a path along the base of her thumb and over the calluses on her hand.  He wondered what they were from and if they had been there before he left for Mordor.  Try as he might, he could not remember.

Her other hand came up, capturing his between hers.  He glanced up and realized she had been watching him.  Her eyes were still bright with tears, but along with grief he saw love and concern.  He closed his eyes and turned his face away from hers, looking back toward the trees and forcing his mind to consider duty instead of love.

Her voice broke into his thoughts, laying to dust his desperate attempt to avoid thinking of her.  “Are you well?” she asked.  Her query was softly spoken and full of concern.

“I am well of body, but perhaps not well in mind.  Forgive me, but I do not know how to greet you.”

“I will greet you then, for I too wish to welcome you home, husband.  I have missed you.”  She moved closer to him, but he held up his hand forcing her to keep her distance.

“Nay, please, do not come closer.  You will destroy me.” He said, and the composure he had maintained for his troops and his people began to crack.

She stared at him in confusion and more than a little hurt.  She had longed for his return, and his rejection of her greeting stung.  Then his emotions flashed across his face revealing some of his burden.  Instead of reaching out to him with her hands, she reached out with her heart.  She searched for him along their bond and was swept away as a wave of despair and self-loathing bound up in seething anger washed over her.  Then it was gone as he shut her out.

He took a step back and spun around, turning his back to her.

“Forgive me.  I am not the person I was.” He paused, taking a deep breath and then let it out and continued.  “There are things to be done. I should go.”

He made to leave but she caught his arm above the elbow preventing him from departing.

“No.”

He reluctantly faced her again, bracing himself for her reaction to his rejection, however bad, but there were no harsh words.  Her expression was intent, yet calm.

“There is nothing more to be done this night.  You are weary and covered in dust.  As of now you are not king, not commander, not son, and not even husband.  You are Thranduil,” she paused and wrinkled up her nose. “And you need a bath.  As fortune would have it, there is one waiting for you.”

His eyebrows climbed all the way up to his hairline and he choked on a laugh.

“You are not angry?” he asked.

She was silent as she gathered her words. 

“You are angry and sad.  I do not understand what it is that has caused you to feel such rage, but I have far too great an understanding of the sorrow. You need to rest and grieve, and you need time to heal.”

He judged her words and found them to fit, albeit a bit uncomfortably, but he still did not know the answer to his question.  “I fear I have spent too much time among men.  Was that a yes or a no?”

She smiled but her expression revealed nothing more than a slight amusement at his words.

“You say you are not as you were.  That is true of all beings who feel the passage of time, even elves.  We did not get a chance to know each other well before duty called you to war, so perhaps it is better to begin again.  So I will withhold my affection for now and learn of you anew.  When that is accomplished, you will know the answer to your question.  I can offer you no less.”

He did not understand the generosity of her words, for she had felt his soul and knew the darkness that touched him.  “You offer me too much.  I am not worthy of your affection.  I have witnessed too much evil and betrayal, even from allies.  My soul is mired in darkness.”

Her resolve did not waver, and she answered him truthfully from the heart.  “If you believe yourself trapped in darkness, you are not alone there.  For wherever you go you carry part of my soul with you.  We are bound, and I would have it no other way.  I love you.”

“Do not.”  He replied, his voice thick with emotion, but sharp with command.

“Not even a king can command my heart.”  She walked off to retrieve her torch, leaving him standing there staring at her in shock.

Deep within himself, Thranduil prayed that it might be true.

**

He woke up the next morning in a gloriously soft bed.  It had been so long, that the common had become a novelty.  He was so comfortable, he was sorely tempted to drift back into the depths of sleep, but duty called and it was time he answered.  He was clean, thanks to a late night bath, and now he was rested.  He thought it amazing how those two little things could improve one’s outlook.  He found his dressing gown hanging where he had left it long ago, and pulled it on.  It smelled fresh, as if someone had aired it out recently, and he was amazed that such a small detail had been seen to.  He walked over to the shutters that blocked out the light and pulled them open, letting in the sun.  At a glance, his home seemed little changed.  The trees still stood, their voices echoing the mood of the elves.  The buildings were the same. It seemed the only things that had changed were his people, he noted wryly, and his room.  He turned back to examine it again.  It was no longer his, he had helped his wife move in here himself before the war, but he had not seen it lived in.  She had obviously been staying here, but she had not remained the previous night. 

He thought back; no, she had not stayed. She had removed his armor and helped him scrub off the road dust.  The bath had been a wonderful treat, but not more so than the scrubbing she gave his hair.  Then she had handed him a towel and bundled him off to bed like an errant elfling.  It had been a great many years since someone had taken care of him so.  She had not spoken a word of their earlier conversation, and when she was sure he was well set she had departed.  It had been both a relief and a disappointment when she left. 

There was a knock on the door and he opened it a bit to see Lamathen standing there. 

“Good Morning, my king” she said, and after giving a precise bow of respect she continued in the most formal tones.  “Your wife and mother invite you to join them for breakfast in the garden when you are ready.”

“Thank you, Please tell them I will be along shortly,” he replied, somewhat bemused by the formality.

“I will pass on your words.”  Then she paused, and a smile slipped past her guard.  “Welcome home, Thranduil.” 

She departed quickly, and he thought as he closed the door that it was indeed good to be home.

**

A short while later, properly attired, he ventured out into the garden.  Set up in the shade of the trees was a round table.  It sat on an island of flagstones, cleverly placed to create a level surface.  Connecting the small eating area to the doorway were a series of stepping-stones.  He remembered these quite fondly.  He had been convinced when he first saw this garden that the stone placement was a puzzle and he had spent many hours examining them, looking for a solution.  He had meant to one day ask the stone layer his secret, he thought and then his mood turned dark once more.  He would not be asking that question now unless something unforeseen happened to him.  The stone layer had died on a goblin spear on the field of Dagorlad. 

He tucked that memory away, unwilling to deal with it that morning, or any morning if he could help it.  Instead he crossed the stones to join his family.  His wife and mother sat near one another. They had been talking quietly, but had glanced up when he had entered.  He made to greet his mother, but she waved him off with a gruff command.

“Sit!  I have things I wish to accomplish this day, and the tears you would inadvertently set off must wait until later.  There are things happening around here that you need to be made aware of, before some of those posturing fools decide to bother you.”

Anólindë quickly picked up her napkin and wiped at her mouth to hide her smile.  She was well aware of Thalarîn’s growing frustration with the heads of houses, but she had not heard them referred to as posturing fools prior to that morning.

She watched Thranduil to see how he would react, but his expression betrayed no obvious sign of amusement as he turned to his mother.  He had glanced at her for a moment, though, and she was almost sure she had seen a twinkle of amusement in his eye. 

Thalarîn’s moved her now empty plate away and pulled her napkin from her lap.  She pulled together her composure and some of the steel went back into her spine.

“I will make this brief.  You will eat while I talk,” Thalarîn began.  “We have three major problems vexing us.  The most concerning is the potential food shortage.  The weather has been unseasonably cold and the winters especially harsh.  The cold has killed or driven off much of the game.  We must hunt more frequently and further from the settlement then was typical when you were last home.  The cold has also affected the growing things.  Our gardens produce less, and the fruit on the trees are often small and few.

Thalarîn paused, and Anólindë continued the explanation.

“We have hope that this winter will be milder, for many believe the severity of the weather was related to the evil in the south.  We have been planning for the worst.  There are too many things that need to occur just as we would wish to not have contingency plans.  We have been experimenting with growing gardens indoors under glass.  Many of the people are uncomfortable with this, so unless the need is great, I do not think they will welcome this solution.  It will take a large number of glass gardens to truly make a significant contribution, but it is possible.  We also have planted many more crops this year than we have in the past, in the hope that the extra might offset the low yields.  

“Then there are the sheep,” Thalarîn added.

“The what?” Thranduil asked, momentarily nonplussed.  He had been listening with growing concern.  He had always assumed that those back home had been fine, that their daily routines would have been unchanged.  It was probably a stupid assumption he concluded, but the extent of their difficulties surprised him.

“Sheep,” Thalarîn explained.  “We have become sheep farmers.  I find the creatures to be not all that bright, but Anólindë has persuaded me of their contribution.  They are useful now for their wool, and if pressed we can use them as a food supply.”

Thalarîn finished her explanation and watched as her son took in her news and then finally nodded.

“That is the biggest problem you said, there were others?” Thranduil inquired.

Anólindë answered him this time.  “Indeed, the second greatest difficulty would be the shortage of skilled hands.  There are several projects we have not been able to start.  We work around the problems when we can, but it is growing to be an issue”

“The return of the troops will do much for relieving this problem, however worse it makes the first,” Thranduil commented.

“It will help,” Anólindë agreed, “Which brings us to the third problem.”  She glanced at Thalarîn who nodded and then drew breath to explain.

“We now return to the heads of houses,” Thalarîn continued.

“Posturing fools?” Thranduil questioned.

“The very ones.”  Thalarîn answered.  “When faced with adversity, how do the Silvan elves react?”

“They return to the basics.  They look first to caring for themselves and family, then for their house.”  Thranduil replied almost fondly.  “It was one of the things that most drew Father to their society.  They were so independent and close to nature.”

Thranduil glanced quickly at his mother, unsure of how the mention of his father would affect her.  She seemed well, although her eyes where unusually bright.  Then he noticed Anólindë had reached out and covered the hand his mother had left on the table.

Thalarîn straightened her spine and distracted herself from her grief another way.  She examined her son and the plate in front of him.

“You are not eating.  You have obviously been short on food in the south, and as you will likely be short on food at home you need to eat when you can.  I will not continue this discussion until you eat,” Thalarîn declared.

Thranduil stared at his mother for a moment in disbelief.  He gave a quick glare at Anólindë, daring her to make something of his actions and then resumed eating his breakfast.  While he was chewing, he raised his eyebrows, giving a silent imperial gesture for Thalarîn to carry on.

Thalarîn nodded in approval and then continued her explanation.  “Their independence is both their greatest gift and weakness.  I can not imagine that independent thought and motion was the most beneficial thing to have on the battle field,” she paused looking at Thranduil in confirmation and the black look that crossed his face was all the answer required.  “Nor is it necessarily the best thing here at home.”

“They work at cross purpose to one another,” Anólindë explained.  “Each is convinced that their actions are for the best, but usually it is for the good of a few at the expense of others.  In fair times, their actions would be acceptable and not unduly damaging, but these are not fair times.”

Thranduil finished his breakfast and then spoke.  “I think I grasp the problem.  What have you been doing thus far?”

Anólindë smiled suddenly in recollection of a previous encounter.  “We have not made any headway on this one.  We usually just deal with the consequences.  That usually involves Thalarîn flaying the hide from the offender with her voice.”

Thalarîn hmmphed.  “After they were suitably chastised, Anólindë would kindly explain to them the error of their ways.”

“It has gotten so bad of late, I believe they have begun to live in fear of her,”  Anólindë explained.

Someone cleared their throat, and all three turned toward the doorway to see Celleth standing there.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, but several people have asked to see you, my king,”  Celleth explained looking ill at ease.  “There is apparently some confusion on whom they need to ask, and I’m afraid they have settled the task on me.”

Thalarîn turned back toward Thranduil, looking stricken.  “Aranef did not return?” 

“He is at my father’s side still,” Thranduil replied gravely, wishing he did not need to be the bearer of more bad news. Arenef had been his father’s advisor and herald.  He had managed much of the details of the day-to-day routine and had been close to his mother.

 Thalarîn stood up and stepped away from the table.  “I did not know…you need to find someone whom you trust to fill that role.  Now if you would all excuse me, I wish to be alone.”  She turned and strode quickly across the garden, nodding politely at Celleth as she swept past him.

Thranduil and Anólindë exchanged a sad look, each unsure of what to say, until Celleth cleared his throat again, feeling exceedingly uncomfortable.  Anólindë waved him over to their table.

“Have you met Celleth?”  She inquired of Thranduil.  “He came from the outlying settlements with me. I believe I mentioned  him to you when we met, but I do not believe you were ever introduced.”

Thranduil gave a swift appraisal of the young elf who stood before him.  He did in fact remember Celleth, but he was not going to admit that to Anólindë. He had initially feared Celleth was a rival for her affection, not knowing then that she loved him like a sibling.  He was not yet ready to think on that topic.  “Well met, Celleth.”

“Well met, my king,” Celleth replied, looking only slightly less ill at ease.

“Celleth is my aide.”  Anólindë explained.  “He manages me.”

Thranduil heard Celleth grumble, “When you let me” under his breath and was for a moment envious of their easy interaction.  He knew he was the sole author of the problem in his and Anólindë’s relationship, but he could not see a way out. 

“I do not have time to go looking for a keeper,” Thranduil spoke his thoughts out loud and turned his attention to Celleth.  “Do you think you could do the job for both of us temporarily?” 

Celleth paled and then drew himself up straight.  “I am honored that you think me capable, my king, but I do not think I could manag….ah, advise you.”

“Few could,” Anólindë replied sweetly, and Thranduil scowled at her in return.

“I can think of one possibility, “ Celleth replied seriously.  “Lamathen might be up to the task.”

“I believe I met her again this morning,” Thranduil mused  “I remember her assisting Aranef before we left.”  He turned to look at Anólindë “Do you agree with Celleth?”

Anólindë’s face was a picture of calm serenity.  “I do indeed agree, for although Celleth might be a bit biased, as she is his wife, I am absolutely certain she’ll be able to…manage.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but was unwilling to engage his wife further to determine what she was hiding from him.  Instead he turned away and began to fire off orders to Celleth.

“There are several things I need done today.  First gather up the heads of house for a meeting; have them informed also that this will be quick and that I will meet with them individually on another day. Then track down Tulukrad, I need to see him.  After that is done, I need to speak to the people. Find me a location where they can gather, and I have a chance of being heard by most of them.  If your wife would like the job temporarily then let her take care of it, if she declines….” He trailed off, trying to think of someone else to take the job.

“If she declines,” Celleth finished,  “I will take care of it until you find a replacement.”   He had watched as Thranduil had suddenly donned the cloak of command and Celleth found he was filled with the desire to do his king’s bidding.  Although he still did not believe he was up to the task, he would not fail to do the job in the meantime.  “If there is nothing more, my king, I will go.”

Thranduil waved him off and Celleth departed the garden at just short of a run.

 “I think you have inspired him,” Anólindë commented quietly.

“Let us pray I can do more than that,”  he replied, and stood.  “I must go, excuse me.”  Then he departed, his demeanor intent.

“No,” Anólindë whispered.  “ We do not need to pray. They have already been answered.”  Then she too got up and left the garden.

**

Thranduil arrived on the field to find it full of his people and not a blade of grass was visible where they stood.  He climbed up on the platform that Lamathen and Celleth had managed to arrange that afternoon.  Already standing on the platform were his wife and his mother, and he nodded to them and then strode to the edge and looked out over the crowd.  He stood tall, and seeing him there, the crowd went silent.  Thranduil reached into his tunic and pulled out a rolled up scroll, then he took a deep breath and began. 

“This scroll contains the names of the fallen.  One day perhaps this list will be read, when we can hear the names and not be buried under the weight of grief.  Until that day I will hold this list safe.  I have asked a scribe to copy the names belonging to each house and to send them on.  So if you wish to discover the fate of friends and family you may check with their house.  I may not be able to read these names, but I will tell you their story.

“Ten years ago, you listened to my father’s words and prepared for the coming war against the darkness. We knew the cost of failure would be the domination of evil over all that we held dear.  So when the voices of Gil-galad and Elendil called for a great host to gather and defend middle earth from this darkness, we were ready.  We answered that call to battle and marched from Greenwood seven years ago.  We were willing to risk all to bring peace to middle earth and destroy the shadow. 

“We rode away from home, confident in our abilities, and reassured by the sheer numbers gathered to our cause.  There has been no greater gathering in the history of middle earth since the Valar came at the end of the First Age and cast down Thangorodrim and bound Morgoth. 

“We went to battle for the first time on the field of Dagorlad and we fought Sauron’s troops back through his black gates and all the way to the slopes of Orodruin.  Every step we took we paid for in blood.  Our companions from Lórien were driven into the dead marshes, and they remain there still.  But we held up the promise of peace and continued on. 

“Sauron retreated to his tower, and there he was besieged.  He sent forth from his tower a host of dark creatures. Faced with such a threat, my father led our people into battle and there he fell.  He actions taught a harsh lesson to those he left behind.  We learned a better way to fight upon those slopes, but once again the cost was high.

“Eventually Sauron himself rode out to battle. We discovered only the mightiest could stand against him.  Gil-galad with his mighty spear Aeglos could not hold him back.  Elendil with his sword Narsil could not hold him back.  Working together, they managed to stop his advance, but they were unable to finish him and fell before his power.

“At that moment, fortune favored the alliance.  Isuldur, son of Elendil, cut the ring of power from Sauron’s hand with a broken shard of his father’s sword.  Thus Sauron’s body was destroyed and the will of his dark creatures broken.

“Darkness was driven back and we return, but we are diminished.  We left this place 10,000 strong, yet only one of every three has returned.  So I ask you to consider my father’s words a decade ago, when he convinced you the cost of failure was too high.  Now you know the price of peace.  Will you bear it or will you let the blood spilled in Mordor drive you apart? Will you become a broken people?

“I do not wish to choke on the ashes of victory.  If we must suffer to know peace in middle earth, then I ask that we do it together, as one people.  Will you stand behind me, united?  Will you follow me?  Will you let me lead you?”

His voice faded away and the elves of Greenwood stood in silence, taking in his words.  Thranduil stood before them strong and self-assured, but behind the mask he wondered.  He had not meant to leave it such an open-ended question, but he needed to know for certain that they wished for him to lead them.  They had asked for his father’s guidance, not his, and so he asked them and stood proud waiting for their answer.

He felt someone take his hand and glanced quickly to see Anólindë step up beside him.  She squeezed his hand and together they waited to hear the word of their people. 

The silence was broken by a chorus of voices as Mandel and the troops Thranduil had commanded stood together and granted Thranduil the right to lead them. More affirmations were added until the field thundered with elven voices, but even amid all the noise he heard Anólindë say, “I will follow you.”  He let their approval wash away the tension of the moment, then he raised his hand and the field quieted again.

“So together we will bear this burden.  We can make Greenwood greater than it was before. We can bring forth children into this land and know they will grow in peace.  We must proceed with care.  It may seem easier to keep things the same as they were seven years ago, but that is not the path we dare tread. We paid dearly for the lessons learned in Mordor and I will not forget them.  Instead we must take those lessons of cooperation and apply them to our way of life here in the trees.  We must find a way to turn the independence from the liability is has become back into our greatest strength.  So we will change, and in doing so we will be greater than before.”

Thranduil finished speaking and the elves gave a great cheer.  They hugged and danced and sang and would not leave the field.  For this day they chose to stand as one.

Chapter 4:  Foreign Relations

Thranduil surveyed the common storerooms where the foodstuffs were kept with disbelief.  He had wanted to assess the food shortage his wife and mother had told him about, but the view before his eyes was drowning out all rational thought and he could feel his anger grow.  He stared at the neat stacks and piles before him and knew that they had not been grown by elves.  He spun on his heel and made to track down his wife, his eyes sparked with anger.

He found her sitting outside, in a circle of elves, who were weaving small intricately detailed pieces of cloth on hand looms.  She glanced up to see him walking toward her, and her smile of greeting died when she saw the expression on his face.

“Anólindë, I would speak with you,” Thranduil ordered, his voice stern and changing to one filled with anger after a slight pause. “Now.” 

She rose, confused by his manner, but unwilling to make a spectacle by responding to his tone. She brushed off her skirts and then cocked one eyebrow and gave a meaningful glance at their audience. 

Thranduil reached out, graphing her arm and placing it through his, and then set off back the way he had come, almost pulling her off her feet.  She stumbled once in surprise and then matched her stride to his, her own anger growing at his treatment.

Thranduil guided her back to the storerooms and let go of, pointing an accusatory finger at the neatly stacked supplies.

“Explain that!” he ordered.

She stared at him, confusion evident on her face.  “Explain what? These are our winter stores.  They are neither more nor less than what I reported.  There is just eno…,” she tried to explain.

“Enough!” Thranduil interrupted with a bellow.  “We did not grow this.  Where did it come from?”

Her eyes narrowed at her own temper soared.  “We traded for it,” she replied evenly, desperately holding onto her own temper.

“Traded with whom?” Thranduil asked, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

“The human village on the western border, several miles west of the edge of the forest on the Old Forest Road.  They have come from the west to settle there,” she replied, trying to determine why he was so angry.

“We will take nothing more from the people allied with Isildur.  I will not tie our people to the fate of men.  What have you given them?  What have we supplied them?” Thranduil demanded, unthinking in that moment of rage.

Anólindë stared at him in shock as his anger boiled over for the first time since she had known him, but his words struck her and she would not let her governance go undefended.

“Why not?”

“I will not explain myself to you.  I have given the order. We will take no more from these people,” he replied, incensed that she had questioned his rule.

“We will take more from those people, regardless of how worthy you see them, or you may sentence your own people to starvation,.” Anólindë countered her own voice rising.  “How dare you condemn them, when you have not done business with them before!”

“We did not need to,” Thranduil countered, furious that she would argue with him.  “My father never drove his kingdom to the straights that you have driven us.”

“You would blame me for the harsh weather?” she asked incredulously

Thranduil stared at her, realizing his argument was false, but he was unwilling to back down.  “We will not trade with them, we will deal with them no more,” he stated with finality and turned to leave.

“If you make that order you will bring about more death,” Anólindë countered, desperate to understand his intransigence.

He turned back.  “What do you mean?”

“You asked what we give to the humans.  We trade them wood for their fires.  If you break our agreement and the winter is harsh, they will come to Greenwood and indiscriminately cut down the trees.”

“They would not dare,” Thranduil replied

“Then you will have to protect the trees with your forces, for they will dare anything to keep their families alive.  Just like I would dare all to keep our people fed.  Do you wish that?  That is what may happen if you make that order.”

Thranduil forced himself to even out his breathing and slowly brought his temper under control again.  Her words had merit, but she did not know what he did.  He had no wish for his kingdom to be dependent on others for their survival, especially men from the west.  Slowly, not wishing her to draw back, he brought his hand up to caress the side of her face.

“So fierce you are,” he whispered and then he sighed.  “I will not break whatever agreement you have made, but neither will I allow any new agreements to be forged except at great need.”

“But…,” her words trailed off as he moved his thumb over her lips. He replaced his thumb with his lips and felt the tension slowly drain from her body as she returned his kiss, inviting him further in.  Her arms came up to hold him, but he captured them and held them away from him.  He broke the kiss and set her back from him.  She looked as if she would protest, but he shook his head.

“I will not explain to you, not now.  Let it be.”  Then he stepped back away from her and strode from the building, leaving her standing there, bewildered, her emotions in turmoil.

**

“Celleth, is anyone in dire need of my company tomorrow?” Anólindë inquired her voice sounding strained as she finally found her aide that evening.

“I do not believe there is anyone who would object to being put off for another day,” Celleth responded.  “Are you going to visit the willow?”

“No, I do not think so.  I need to be surrounded by trees, and feel the wind on my face.  No…I think instead I will hunt,” Anólindë explained.

“Hunt?” Celleth inquired perplexed.  “The hunting parties are not leaving for several days and you yourself set the rules…”

“Celleth,” Anólindë interrupted.  “I am not hunting game, but bees.”

“Ah, I had forgotten you planned this,” Celleth exclaimed with a touch of relief.  “Do you wish me to accompany you?”

“Only if you wish to Celleth.” 

“In that case, I think I would like to stay here.  The king will be busy most of the day and that means Lamathen will have some free time and I find I would like to spend some time with my wife,” Celleth explained.

Anólindë smiled sadly and nodded.  “Enjoy your day then.  I am going to prepare for my trip.”

“I will have your horse and gear waiting for you in the morning,” Celleth replied and mentally cursed his tongue for inadvertently making her sad.  “Enjoy your hunt.”

“Thank you Celleth,” Anólindë replied and departed.

**

Anólindë stepped out into the courtyard at first light dressed for a hunt.  She wore the browns and greens that so characterized a Greenwood elf and her hair was braided down her back and out of the way.  Over her shoulder hung her bow and quiver.  She did not plan to hunt for game, but she was not going to turn her nose up at it if something edible jumped in front of her.  Today she was determined to enjoy herself and let go all her cares.

Waiting for her was a single male elf she vaguely recognized and two horses.  She was only going to be accompanied by one guard.  That was a bit unusual.  In the past she usually had three guards although she would have preferred none at all.

“Good morning my queen,” her young guard greeted her.

“Good morning…” she paused and raised her eyebrow in inquiry.

“Ahh, forgive me.  I am Mandel,” he answered.

“Well good morning Mandel. I take it you are to be my guard for the day?” she inquired, hoping he did not have companions hiding out of sight.  A day in the woods with just one guard was even better than three.  For where two horses could travel at speed, four sometimes could not and she always felt guilty when she temporarily would lose one.

“I am indeed.  Your regular guard was ordered to report for retraining.  So I am afraid it is just me today. Is that acceptable?”  Mandel inquired a trifle unsure.

Anólindë smiled broadly and swung up onto her horse.  “I am sure we can muddle through. Tell me, have you ever hunted bees?”

Mandel mounted his own horse and motioned her forward and then reined in beside her.  “Bees?  No I have never hunted bees.”  He seemed perplexed for a moment. “I assume there is some other purpose to hunting bees than shooting and eating them, but perhaps while I was gone someone invented a wonderful new delicacy of bee soup?” he inquired with a humorous smile.

Anólindë laughed delightedly. “No, not that I am aware of, but I will ask the cooks next time if perhaps they have a recipe.  My words are perhaps imprecise concerning this expedition.  We are not so much hunting the bees, as going on a trade and diplomatic expedition.  We venture forth into another kingdom to meet a foreign queen.  First, however, we must find her.”

Mandel grinned broadly and replied “At last I understand.  I know well what role I must play now.  It is my duty to stand silent behind you and look competent and menacing.  We must not let our kingdom be thought of as weak.  So we must make a strong showing.  It is too bad you did not explain that to me ahead of time my queen.  I could have brought the Greenwood standard and served double duty as both your guard and standard bearer.”

Anólindë threw back her head and laughed.  The image Mandel had painted in her head sent peals of laughter coursing through her.  She clutched her stomach and drew in a gasping breath.  She tried to control her laughter, but every look at Mandel set off a fresh wave.  She gave up and buried her face in her horse’s mane so she could no longer see him.  Eventually she managed to stop laughing and sat up.

She turned to regard him and said with all the dignity she could muster “I will be sure to inform you next time of the nature of our mission.”  She was proud of herself for only pausing once in that statement to stifle a laugh.

Mandel nodded, swallowing his own laughter disinclined to set her off again with his own amusement.  So he tried to be dignified but his eyes almost glowed with merriment.

Anólindë suddenly realized they were under the trees and on the trail.  She had not been paying close attention to their location, and was thus surprised to find herself clear of the settlement.  Her eyes took on a wicked gleam and she turned to regard Mandel.

“Tell me Mandel, do you like to feel the wind against your face and miles falling behind you?  I ask you to say yes, for I feel the need to run.  The trees beckon and the trail teases.  I would break the fetters holding me to this ground and fly.”

“Go as you will. You will not lose me,” He assured her and then leaned forward and said in a mock whisper into his horse’s ear.  “You had best not make a liar out of me, my hoofed friend”

Without another word they flew across the ground. 

**

Thranduil entered the garden that morning preparing to make amends and partial explanations.  He knew his behavior towards his wife the previous afternoon was unacceptable.  He had let his anger overrule his sense.  He would not change his stance, however, she deserved an apology from him.  He had spent much of the previous night preparing himself for facing his wife this morning. 

It took him by surprise when he realized he was the first to arrive.  He sat down and attempted to eat, but found the silence of the garden disconcerting.  He wondered if both his wife and mother had abandoned him this morning and was partially reassured by the one other place setting on the table.  It seemed only one of them would join him and he was almost surprised to admit he hoped it would be his wife.  He had spent so long preparing himself to apologize; he doubted he could convince himself to do it again.

He was doomed to disappointment however when his mother swept into the garden a short while later.  She glanced at Thranduil and then at the empty spot at the table before joining her son. 

“Good morning” Thalarîn greeted him.

“Good morning mother” Thranduil replied, his gaze flowing from his mother to the doorway behind her in the hopes that Anólindë had followed her in. She was not there.  Instead mother and son ate in silence.  Thranduil finished eating and again watched the doorway, hoping she would appear. 

Thalarîn cleared her throat and Thranduil turned his attention completely to his mother for the first time that morning.  He took one look at the expression on her face and wished he had not come to breakfast at all.  It was the look most children dread to see on their parents face.  Her expression was one of disappointment and clearly proclaimed that she expected better behavior from her offspring and that his actions had hurt her.  He hated that look, hundreds of years of being an adult and it still made his gut clench in shame.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Thalarîn inquired.

“I had hoped to apologize to my wife.  Do you by chance know where I can find her?”  Thranduil admitted reluctantly.

“She is gone”

Thranduil heard those three words and felt he was suddenly drowning beneath the weight of his own despair and anger.  They echoed in his head and he feared she had left him because of his harsh words.  “Gone where?” he asked his voice suddenly harsh with emotions.

“I believe Celleth mentioned she was hunting this morning.”  Thalarîn replied, secretly pleased by his reaction.  She had not meant to be ambiguous in her answer, but the unexpected reaction reassured her. Whatever issues lay between her son and his wife lack of feeling was not among them.

“Hunting?”  Thranduil repeated, unsure he had heard his mother correctly. 

“Yes.  I expect she will return this evening,” Thalarîn answered.

“Hunting” Thranduil repeated to himself and then stood quickly.  “Excuse me. I have duties to see to.”  Then he left without another word, leaving his mother sitting in the garden smiling at his back.

**

“Ai, grounded once more,” Anólindë lamented as she and Mandel drew their horses back to a walk.  “Would that you truly did have wings my friend,” she said while patting her horse on the neck.

“I think it is best she does not,” Mandel added, slightly winded.  “I think if you could truly fly, you would never choose to land.”  He had been somewhat amazed by the fierce way she rode.

She looked at him and her eyes were melancholy.  “Oh, I would land for her sake, but if I had wings it would be a different story.  Perhaps what you say would be so; I would fly until exhaustion took me and I could no longer keep myself above the trees.  I would fall, but perhaps I would have flown free long enough to die with no regrets.”

Mandel considered her words for a moment and was unsure of what to say.  “You may go without regrets, but do not doubt that you would leave others behind who would have them.  If you fell, I would never know the pleasure of carrying your banner before a foreign queen,” he reminded, trying to reintroduce levity to their conversation.

Anólindë smiled at his gentle rebuke and tried to shake her sudden dark mood.  “Indeed, I do think it is time we continued our quest.  Listen carefully for their singing.  They do not work silently.  If we can find a drone, he will lead us to his queen.”

They rode around quietly for a time, trading idle conversation and stopping at one point for a meal.  They continued their hunt until Mandel heard the buzzing of a bee.  He pointed it out and they followed it back to its hive.  Then Mandel watched as Anólindë sang a song of greeting, and a short while later the queen bee herself flew out and landed on Anólindë’s outstretched hand.  She sang again, but softly and he was only able to distinguish certain words like tree and flower and song.  She would pause every so often and listen carefully and eventually she stopped singing all together and nodded regally to the foreign queen perched on her hand.  The queen bee flew off and Anólindë stood there frozen for a moment and then turned to regard Mandel her eyes once again fey and full of happiness.

“I believe she will come.”

“I am glad.  I wonder, is this a common practice? I do not recall ever hearing of someone coming out to negotiate with the bees.”

“I do not think it is common in our home, although I may make it so.  We did it where I grew up, further to the southern edge of the Eastern bight.  My father was a great lover of all things sweet.  He went through honey like most of us go through water.  My mother finally got tired of hiking through the woods looking for the bees.  She tracked down the queen and entreated her to move her hive close by.  Eventually she found a willing queen.  It is not easy.  I have asked other queens before and failed.  This is my first success,” she explained.

“Congratulations,” Mandel replied.

“Thank you, but I have an ulterior motive.  My father was not the only one to have a sweet tooth,” Anólindë explained somewhat ruefully.  “There are other benefits as well.  We need candles, as summer turns into fall, if we wish to have any light at night besides the stars.  The bees provide wax for that task as well.  The honey is an added benefit.”  She paused then and glanced at the position of the sun in the sky.  “We should return now, I think. We have been gone awhile and it will soon grow dark.”

“I was about to suggest that,” Mandel agreed and the two of them set out towards home.  They traveled in companionable silence, Anólindë lost in thought and Mandel scanning the area for danger.  It came as some surprise to Anólindë when Mandel came to an abrupt halt and pulled his bow and nocked an arrow.  She halted her horse and quickly scanned the area he was aiming at.  Standing in a beam of light not far from them stood a buck.  He stood there, eyes locked with Mandel’s, frozen.  Mandel let out his breath suddenly and slowly let the pressure off his string and then returned his arrow to his quiver.  The buck chose that moment to escape and he disappeared into the bushes.

“That was him, was it not?” Mandel asked in a quiet voice.

“Indeed, it was,” Anólindë answered.  “As far as the forest caretakers have been able to determine, he is the last of the bucks in this area.  We need him to help repopulate his herd, which is why we laid down the rules about hunting in this area.  I am glad you were told.  We do not wish to lose him.”

“No, but perhaps one day when the herd is healthy and we again have plenty to eat I will find him again.  By then he will be a canny old fellow with the knowledge to be a worthy foe.”

She nodded and they continued their journey towards home.  A short while later, Anólindë grew tired of the silence.

“Tell me, Mandel, next time I go on a quest, can I count on you to accompany me?”

Mandel’s face grew serious.  “I do not know, my queen.  I do not think I am meant to stay in the guard.  I do not believe I am very good at it.”

Anólindë turned in the saddle to look at him.  “You are one of the troop commanders are you not?  If you are not good at what you do, how do you explain that?”

Mandel’s turned his gaze into the distance, searching his memory.  “I believe there were several abilities I had that were necessary at the time.  I speak and write fluent Sindarin and Westron.  We were tightly integrated with many of the units from the west.  Most of our people could speak Sindarin and some Westron, but there are few that bothered to learn to read either, which was a liability as you were never sure which language the message being delivered to you was in. Also,” he added somewhat proudly, “my command was never late.  If I had orders to be somewhere by some time, then we would be there.” 

Mandel shifted his gave from the horizon back to Anólindë who was watching him intently.  “I do not believe I am an inspired commander.  I received a great deal of help and support from those under my command, but not enough to change my nature.  I do not believe I was meant to be a warrior,” he explained, although the admission seemed to pain him.

“What else calls you?”  Anólindë inquired.

“I had thought once that I should be an artist,” Mandel offered.  “I used to take great joy in watching a picture form from lines on a page.”

“Used too? It no longer brings you joy?”  Anólindë asked.

“Not as it used to.  It brings me peace, but it is not how I wish to spend my time,” Mandel explained.  “So I will keep looking until I find something that does bring me joy.”

Anólindë watched him for several moments more, her eyes narrowed in thought.  Then she turned her attention back to their trail and they rode the rest of the way home in silence. 

**

A/N:  Thanks to Nilmandra and Daw for tag team beta-ing this chapter, also to Nilmandra for the in depth explanation on the problems of soldiers returning home from war.

Chapter 5:  Domestic Relations

The sun was low in the sky, providing a warm glow to the forest.  The shadows cast by the trees were longer and cooler and told of the coming night.  Through the occasional breaks in the tree canopy, Anólindë could see white puffy clouds ambling across the sky.  It was a lovely evening for a ride.  It had been a wonderful day and she pondered how she could finish it.  A filling meal, a touch of music and then a long sleep, she decided.  She snapped out of her reverie when she noticed Mandel tense.  She focused on their surroundings and knew her plans were not to be.  Up ahead, just out of sight, waited her husband.

“My Queen, someone…,” began Mandel.

“I know who it is, Mandel,” Anólindë replied somewhat wearily.

Mandel gave her a questioning look.  He could not yet see the person; they were too far ahead for even elven eyesight to determine identity and the trees were not forthcoming with details.

“The king awaits our return,” she explained, and then bit back a smile as Mandel began a quick check of his appearance.  He brushed the dust from his tunic, straightened his hair as well as he was able and sat taller on his horse.  By the time he was done, Anólindë had given up the attempt of hiding her amusement and grinned openly at him.

After checking the trail once more, he glanced back at Anólindë and caught her smile and realized what he had done.  His face was suddenly suffused with color and he shrugged.

“He is my king and commander,” Mandel explained, his face still rosy.

“He is indeed,” Anólindë agreed, still amused,  “but all your careful work will be for naught if you do not remove the leaves still caught in your hair.”

She dropped back further behind him and let him regain his composure.  Anólindë gave her own appearance a once over.  She too was covered with dust.  She checked her own hair for leaves and then stopped.  She had spent the day in the forest; she would make no excuse for her appearance.

**

Thranduil watched them approach and felt his patience seep away.  He wished they would hurry up.  Finally they drew near and he would wait no more.

“Mandel, take the horses and return home. I would speak with my wife,” Thranduil ordered never taking his eyes from his wife.  He watched her eyes flare with anger and then her face became expressionless, and he cursed his own impatience. 

Anólindë dismounted with deliberate slowness from her horse.  She paused to stroke her mare’s neck and whisper thanks for a wonderful ride in her ear.  Then she pulled an apple slice she had saved from her earlier meal and let her horse lip it from her hand.  She gave her one last pat and then nodded to Mandel.  She stood there, saying nothing until Mandel had ridden away, leading her horse home. When Mandel was gone, she spun around to face her husband, eyes sparkling with anger. 

“I do not…” she began, her voice low

“I apologize,” Thranduil interrupted, a hint of contriteness in his voice.  “I have been ordering Mandel around for the last several years, it has apparently become habit.  Let me begin again.  Would you walk with me this evening so we could talk?”

Some of the tension left her body at his words, and she nodded her acceptance.  They strolled back into the forest until they were some distance away from the trail.  He stopped and looked around and found a nice grassy spot and invited her to sit.  She sat and watched him try to make himself comfortable without damaging his clothes.

“You are a bit overdressed for a wander through the woods,” she commented.

“I came directly from a meeting with several of the heads of house.  Putting on a show for them seemed rather appropriate,” he replied, finally giving up on his clothing and sitting down.  “Did you enjoy your hunt?”

“I did. Is that what you wished to talk about?” she asked, not wishing to linger in small talk.

“You will force me right to the point, I see.  I owe you an explanation for my anger yesterday, but I am not ready to give it.  My heart will not let me share it with you yet,” Thranduil explained.

“I understand that whatever this is, it is causing you pain. I can see that easily, but I do not appreciate being locked out of your life because of it.  I do not want to only share with you those things that affect our realm and people.  I am your wife and I want to share your life,” Anólindë answered, emotion thick in her voice.

“I want you with me, Anólindë,” Thranduil replied but then he trailed off.

“That is good, my husband, because not even death will break our bond.  You may want me with you, but that does not mean that you will let me into your life and heart.”

“I have seen much darkness and suffering.  It fills me with grief and loathing.  I do not wish to inflict that on you.  I care for you too much to burden you with that,” Thranduil explained softly, staring off into the trees so she could not see the emotion in his eyes.

Anólindë closed her eyes, trying to see past her own pain.  “If you will not share it with me, with whom will you share it?” she asked, her voice intense.

“What?”  Thranduil asked surprised.

“With whom will you share it?  I have to assume you are not alone in bearing this burden of grief and anger.  Your warriors are adjusting well.  If you cannot talk to me, is there one of them you can talk to?” she responded, trying to be rational.

“I do not think so,” he replied thoughtfully.  “If my father had survived, I believe we would have eased each other’s minds.  My warriors can talk to each other.  They shared similar experiences and can find common ground.  They were not responsible for the orders that were given.  They went where I told them…and so many of them died.”  He choked on the last sentence and drew his knees up toward his chest in a defensive posture.

Anólindë reached out and put her hand on his shoulder but he shrugged off her touch.  She moved her hand to the grass and clenched her fingers tight on a fistful of grass.  “If there is no one here you will talk to, then get on a horse and ride until you find someone you can speak to.  There were other hosts on that battlefield. Other commanders had similar responsibilities. Find one of the surviving leaders and speak to him.  Your absence would be better than this half person you offer me,” she responded heatedly.

Thranduil’s eyes blazed with anger and he locked eyes with hers as his anger boiled forth. Her goad had done what her comfort could not, and the anger escaped despite his desire to contain it.  “I will not speak with either of those two.  It is partially their fault.  Do you know what they did?” he asked incredulously, then without waiting for her reply he continued, “It is because of them that evil endures!  Isildur kept the ring.  He kept it! He has failed all of Middle Earth, and you suggest that I speak to him about my grief?  I will not!”

Anólindë felt her own emotions well up at his words.  She had believed that they had won peace, and to find it was temporary was a bitter blow.  She swallowed back her own emotions, unwilling to ease up now that Thranduil was finally speaking with her.

“What about Elrond?  He ordered troops on the field.  Surely he would understand?” she asked.

“I will not speak to him,” Thranduil replied harshly.

“Why not?”  Anólindë asked, exasperated.

“He stood aside and let Isildur keep the ring.  They stood together on the edge of Orodruin, and Elrond let him walk away.  He failed!”  Thranduil explained hotly

“What would you have done differently?” she inquired, trying to keep her own voice calm.

“I would have made sure that ring was destroyed,” Thranduil replied.

“How?  Are your words more convincing than those Lord Elrond used?”  Anólindë inquired, a sharp edge to her voice. “I understand he is well known for his gift with speech; or perhaps you would have taken the ring from Isildur?  Wielded it, when not even the greatest of our people would choose to be near it.”

Thranduil made to reply, but then stopped to consider her words more carefully.  He was silent for a long moment as he turned over possibilities in his mind.  He had replied once in anger to his wife, and he did not wish to do it again.  Instead he tried to think through all the consequences of the actions he had thought would have been better than Elrond’s.  The conclusions he reached were as uncomfortable as they were surprising to him, and this realization quenched the flame of his temper, leaving him with the harsh truth.

“I think you are correct.  If Elrond could not sway Isildur with words then no one could, although I do not appreciate the unfavorable comparison.  If you feel the need to compare me to Elrond in the future, please choose something where I may come out ahead.”  Thranduil smiled weakly and continued,  “If words could not sway Isildur, that only leaves force.  I think that if I had been on that mountain, I might not have seen the evil I was doing.  I do not believe I would have chosen to wield it, although its evil is insidious so I cannot say for certain.  Instead I think I would have pushed that fool into the fire myself.”

“So the evil of the ring would have been destroyed,” Anólindë replied.

“Yes, and instead we would have been left with the evil of the elves.  I do not wish my name to be remembered in the same thoughts as those of Fëanor and his sons,”  Thranduil replied and then sighed.  “I am going to have to apologize to him now.”

Anólindë blinked surprised,  “Who? Fëanor?”

“No, Elrond.  Our words of parting were not kind.  I will have to think on this, for I hate apologizing.”  He again focused his attention on Anólindë.  “I did not mean to speak to you of this.”

“So you said,” Anólindë replied quietly, “but news of the ring would have reached us here eventually.   Grief is not such a heavy weight upon me as it is others.  My losses were suffered long ago, but I can see why you have not told the people.  To add this on top of their grief would be too much for many of them to bear.”  She paused and give him a considering look.  “This is why you have not released your warriors from service?”

“It is.  As long as Isildur can hold the ring, we are probably safe, but I do not trust the strength of men.  I would rather watch and be ready.  Never again do I wish to be dependent on the deeds of men for our safety.”  Thranduil closed his eyes again and leaned back against the tree.  They sat in silence for a long while before a small sound caused him to open them.  He watched his wife, staring past him, with tears rolling down her face and hands clenched tight in the grass.  It was the grass tearing that had alerted him.

Anólindë?” he asked, concerned.

“All those deaths,” she whispered, “and all they did was buy us time.  A hundred, a thousand, or a hundred thousand years of peace, it is time bought in blood.  We will have to do it all over again.”

Thranduil opened his arms to her, and she crawled into his embrace.  He was not willing to be comforted, but could not deny his wife the comfort she needed after he had caused her pain.  She tucked her face down onto his chest and cried silently while he stroked her hair, and he carefully considered his reply.

“We will have to do it again, but we will not do it the same.  We will be ready next time, trained, and outfitted to better withstand the evil of Sauron.  I do not intend to repeat the mistakes of the past.  Now you see why I did not wish to tell you any of this.  I should have trusted my instincts and not said a word.”

“You feel better, do you not?”  Anólindë responded.

“I feel both better and worse.  I have unburdened part of my heart, but caused you pain.  I would rather have spared you that,” Thranduil replied.

“You would have been wrong then,” she said, and sat back up.

“That seems to be the ongoing trend.  What am I wrong about now?”  Thranduil inquired with some acerbity.

“You can not hope to protect my heart.  I will feel your pain or your joy even if I do not know the cause.  I would rather you share with me what you can, and let us deal with things together rather than separately.  I would offer you comfort and receive it in return.  Is that not what married people do?”  Anólindë asked intently.

“I do not know if I can accept your comfort.”  Thranduil replied slowly.  “I still do not feel as if I deserve it.  It is all still a confused mess in my mind.  I want you to touch me, but every time you do, I think of all those others who are gone.  They can no longer feel the touch and care of their loved ones, so why should I be able to?”

Anólindë sighed.  “It was not your sword that killed them, you can not bring them back by refusing to find joy in your life.”

“I know, and I fear I am wallowing in my own guilt,” Thranduil replied.  “I think…”

“You are thinking too much,” she interrupted and then stood up and stepped away from him.  She walked under the limbs of a nearby tree and disappeared into it. 

Thranduil stared after her startled by her abrupt change in mood.  Her voice floated down to him from above.

“If I can not offer you comfort, perhaps I can offer you distraction. You have not had time for yourself since your return.  Instead you take over the rule of the realm.  I would suggest you go hunting, but game is scarce nearby.  So I will provide you something to hunt, a challenge: me,” she said.

Thranduil tried to find her in the tree, but the leaves were thick and he could not see her.  He felt his heart speed up at the thought of hunting his wife, and he wondered at his own reactions.  “I wonder if it would be a challenge,” he teased, but his voice was intense.  He let all the heavy emotions drop away as he responded to her words.  “I move through the trees faster than you.”

“I think my chances are pretty good, especially given your current attire.  But if you wish to make it more of a challenge, you should give me a head start,” she countered, and her voice was no longer coming from the tree in front of him.  She had moved through the trees and he had not heard her.

He felt energy course through him in response to her words.  He turned towards the tree her voice had come from.  “I accept your challenge, my fierce one.  How much of a head start do you think you need?” he asked, with a slight mocking tone.  He was answered with silence.  She was already gone.

He took to the trees and followed her.  He extended his senses, listening for her movements, checking the wind for her scent.  He let his cares and concerns drop away as he focused his whole attention on tracking his wife.  He heard a distant sound of a branch creaking under an added weight and he moved in that direction.  He moved quickly, but not as fast as was his wont.  The outfit that was so appropriate at home in his court was hindering his speed.  His wife was right; his clothes were slowing him down. 

She led him on a merry chase. He caught sight of her several times, but each time she slipped away and he wondered how she managed.  He was determined to end this game the winner.  He dropped back to the ground to attempt to even the odds that were so obviously in her favor.  He pulled his long tunic over his head. He folded it and left it at the base of the tree.  His shoes joined it until he was standing in just his leggings. 

He pulled his hair back behind his ears and let his toes curl into the cooling earth.  Slowly he let the feel of the forest wash over him.  He heard the trees and felt the breeze on his chest.  The feel of the forest swept away the worries that had lingered in his mind leaving him clear headed and even more intent on his goal. Then he dropped the last mental barrier without a thought and sensed the connection to his wife via their feär.  He grinned suddenly, realizing that was how she had stayed one step ahead of him in this game.  She had used all the tools she had and had tracked his location with their bond, but now that he knew it, it was no longer an advantage.  His grin turned predatory, and he once again disappeared into the trees.

**

Anólindë paused in the arms of a great beech tree and looked around.  She could tell that her husband was nearby, but not precisely where.  Until just recently, his own sense of awareness had helped her locate him, but it seemed that he had caught on.  If that was the case, then she was more than ready to be caught.  Pride however would not allow her to make it too easy, so she edged out along the branch and leaped to the next.  She landed silently and glanced back to see if there was any motion in response.  She saw nothing, but suddenly the branch she was standing on bowed further down as an additional weight was added.  She turned back and blinked several times in surprise.  Standing in front of her on the branch was a half naked elf, her half naked elf.

“Where…” she started.

**

Thranduil dropped squarely in front of his wife from a higher branch when her attention had turned to check her back trail.  With a heady amount of male satisfaction, he watched her reaction to having him in front of her.  Her attention seemed focused on his chest.  He heard her beginning to speak, but words no longer interested him.  His blood was up and seven years of abstinence was suddenly making itself heard.  He craved his wife, like the men from the desert craved water.  Before she could complete her thought, his mouth descended upon hers, cutting off her words.

He pulled her against his body; his arms locking her into his embrace.  He was gratified to feel her arms return his embrace and caress his back.  He kissed her until he thought his blood would boil.  He pulled back a fraction, trying to catch his breath, and realized they were still standing on a tree branch.  It was not the best place for an assignation, even for wood elves.  He glanced at the ground and then back at Anólindë. 

“Hold on,” he ordered as he pulled her hard against his body and made to jump.

“Wait, I can….” She protested, perfectly capable of getting down from the tree herself.

At the first word of protest, he reached down and swept her legs out from under her until she was cradled in his arms.  Then he jumped.  He landed easily even with the additional weight.  He carefully lowered her feet to the ground.

“I appreciate your capabilities, but I’m not letting you go,” Thranduil growled and kissed her again.

She pressed her body as close to his as she was able, and then dragged her fingernails lightly down his back.  He moaned softly into her mouth and threaded his fingers into her hair under the braid.  He pulled her head back in a move that was just short of painful and met her gaze.  His eyes were predatory and possessive.

“Mine,” he declared with a purr in his voice.

Anólindë’s eyes sparkled with both desire and anticipation.  “Prove it,” she challenged.

He did.

**

They lay entwined on a bed of leaves, their bodies exhausted and content. Anólindë lay curled around his body, her head resting on his shoulder while he held her.  She could feel herself drifting off to sleep content when the chest beneath her rumbled.

“Forgive me, Anólindë,” Thranduil said, the rumblings turning into words.

“What for?” she asked sleepily and cuddled closer to him.

“I am not sure how to answer that,” Thranduil chuckled.  “Either I have made no mistakes worth asking your pardon, or I have made so many you need me to clarify.”

Anólindë nipped him in response, hoping her pillow would stop moving.

“I shall take that to mean the latter.  Forgive me for what I said to you in the storage rooms.   You and my mother have done a wonderful job in keeping our people together and fed.  I said some cruel things and I am sorry,” Thranduil said quietly.  He got no reply.

“Anólindë?” he questioned, shaking her a bit.

“Hmmm?” she replied

“Did you hear me?” he asked, vexed.

“Mmmm hmmm,” she replied.

“Indeed, then tell me what I said,” Thranduil asked, disbelieving her answer.

“Hmm…you said that I am right, and you are wrong, and I am a wonderful person,” Anólindë replied

Thranduil laughed and sat up, pulling her with him.  “Come, my sleepy one.  We had best return before Mandel sends out search parties.  I do not think we present a very good image of command laying naked on the ground.”  He stood up leaving her sitting there and went to gather their fallen articles of clothing.

He returned to see his wife stretching like a cat, arms over her head, back arched and eyes closed tight in the bliss that can only come from a good stretch.  The sight of her aroused him again, and he wondered if maybe returning home could not wait a bit longer.

She eased down out of her stretch and saw him watching her, and she raised an eyebrow at his appearance.

“I do not know, Thranduil, you appear rather kingly to me,” she replied with mischief dancing through voice.

Thranduil took a step forward, but was stopped cold by a raindrop plopping on his forehead.  He glanced up, and Anólindë did the same.  What had been puffy white clouds earlier and changed to dark thunderclouds and they had not noticed.  Thranduil eyed their bed of leaves and the sky and sighed audibly.  Anólindë laughed at him while she dug through the pile of clothes Thranduil had dropped at her feet.

“Thwarted by the weather,” Thranduil groused, and found his own clothes and began dressing.

“I understand,” Anólindë began, pausing to pull a tunic over her head, “that there is a comfortable bed under a dry roof not too far from here.”

“Is there now,” Thranduil replied, returning her banter.  “Is this same bed near windows to watch the storm and a fireplace to keep us warm?” 

“Well, I suppose it is,” Anólindë answered, pulling on her last boot and standing up,  “but I rather hoped I could use you to keep me warm.”

“I will see what I can arrange,” he answered wryly and offered her his hand.  “First we should get home.”  She took his offered hand and glanced back up into the sky as the rain began to fall in earnest.

“I do not think we can avoid the rain,” she said, looking back down at him, “so we will return home drenched in any case.  Do you wish to search for the rest of your clothes?” she inquired innocently, admiring him openly.

“I think perhaps I had better,” Thranduil replied, reaching out and placing one finger under her chin, returned her gaze to his face.  “I should hate to distract you before we reached home.  It would be a long way to carry you should you fall and injure yourself.”

She mock scowled at him, but quickly fell into step beside him as he started back through the trees.  In almost no time at all they found his clothes and he finished dressing.  They moved quickly as the storms let loose the rains in full force.  Then they raced together back to the comforts of home, laughing all the way.

**

The next morning the storm still raged.  Lamathen had enjoyed her morning immensely, watching the storm safely in her husband’s arms.  She was loath to leave her bed, but duty called her.  There was not a whole lot scheduled for the king that morning, but what little there was needed to be addressed.

She knocked on the king’s door and waited a moment for his customary reply.  He was usually almost ready to go when she arrived.  Today there was no answer.  She knocked again, thinking perhaps he had overslept.  She was about to knock again when a voice answered her.

“Lamathen, is that you?”

Lamathen paused, and then smiled, recognizing the voice as Anólindë’s.  “Yes it is, the king has several things on his agenda this morning.”

Through the door, Lamathen heard a muffled grunt and then Anólindë spoke again. “Reschedule them for this afternoon or tomorrow.  Tell them all to go home and enjoy the rain.  Also, please inform Thalarîn that we will join her for the noon meal. After all that is done, take the morning off.”

Lamathen grinned broadly, glad they could not see her.  “I will see to it,” she replied and departed, already planning on how to spend the remainder of her morning.

**

A/N: Thanks to Nilmandra for introducing me to that little curvy thing she calls a comma.