Rating: G

Summary: With the Shadow turning Greenwood to Mirkwood, Thranduil must relocate his people from the Mountains to a new home.

Home for an Elvenking

By Nieriel Raina

Mountains of Mirkwood

Year 1067, Third Age

Thranduil paced before the small fire, anxious for word. He marched miles in the twenty-foot across room before the flickering light as the logs burned down to nothing but embers. It had been days – nay, weeks! — and still no word. They had not the time for delays. Something must be done soon.

For nearly two decades the Shadow had grown over his beloved mountains. Inch by inch, foot by foot, tree by tree, the Greenwood became known as Mirkwood. Evil creatures infested the lands where Oropher had moved the people long ago. Beautiful and deadly, many silky webs ten feet in diameter hung from once green trees, now shadowed and gnarled. His people fought hard with spear and bow, but daily they lost ground.

It had been one of the hardest decisions he had ever made as king, to concede the mountains were lost and to look for another home far from the Shadow. Already they had lost too many in the dark shadows under trees that had once been filled with light and song. The evil crept nearer, and Thranduil had his own family to consider. He had lost his father and his eldest son in the battle before the Black Gate; he would be damned if he lost another member of his family to the Shadow.

Swallowing hard, he turned on his heel and paced the other direction. Once the decision had been made, he had become impatient to see it done, to see his people removed to a safer home. To see his family free to enjoy the forest as elves were meant to do. He itched to be out there, searching, but such was not his place or his duty. And so when he could not take the waiting any longer, he paced, back and forth, back and forth, each day feeling as if it were a Long Year.

Finally, a knock resounded in the empty chamber, Thranduil's haven when he wished to pace and think. "Come," he called, fearing it was simply another mundane request.

To his surprise, one of the scouts entered, his boots ringing on the wooden floor. Finally!

"My lord!" Rifgaron bowed then stood. Was that a glow of excitement in the scout's eyes?

"Well?" Thranduil asked, forcing himself to sound disinterested, though his heart raced with hope.

Rifgaron's voice was filled with enthusiasm. "My lord, I have found a place!"

A thrill ran down Thranduil's spine. "Oh?" He kept his face a mask of indifference, but something spoke to him, some smell emanating from the scout's clothing called to him.

"Far from here, to the north at the edge of the wood. The trees still sing and the land is green and bright. And there is a hill…" Rifgaron's voice trailed off as Thranduil narrowed his eyes.

"A hill?" The last place they had lived had been on a hill – a hill that now bore a dark tower and felt so evil none would travel within miles of it.

The scout gulped. "Not just a hill, my lord. It is riddled with stone caverns. And the trees are strong and tall. With some work, it would make a fine home…" A smile tugged at Rifgaron's lips. "It reminded me of the old tales, my lord. Of Menengroth."

Thranduil raised a brow, showing more interest. Caverns would be easier to defend. Even now, some of the people dwelt in caves. "Go on," he encouraged.

"Before the hill runs a small river, pure and swift, its banks lined with beech and oak. There is only one entrance to the caverns on the other side of the river…."

Something deep within him responded to the description. He held up his hand, bringing the other's words to a halt. A slow smile spread his across his face, and Thranduil slipped to a corner and grabbed the pack he had prepared days ago. "Show me."

The scout blinked. "My lord?"

But Thranduil had already slipped the pack on his back, grabbed his bow and quiver and headed for the door. "We'll stop in the kitchen for provisions. Come."

A hand rubbing the back of his neck and a frown marring his face, Rifgaron followed.

—

The hill turned out to be everything Rifgaron had said. But even more, the land spoke to Thranduil, and refreshed him. This would be a home worthy of defending, with its mighty trees, plentiful game and a hill that could easily be converted into a fortress, if he could persuade the dwarves to help him. That thought caused him some unease, but he had jewels enough in the treasury that would buy the dwarves' labor, for his people were not trained to delve into stone. And they would need a pair of great doors to serve as a gate at the entrance, warded by charms…

Even now he could see them swinging open at his spoken word, and behind him, a wooden bridge spanning the rushing water.

"It will do."

— o —

Several Years Later….

"Ada!"

The voice reached him from over the rushing waters. He paused, and the returning hunting party halted, many of them, though weary, with amused grins on their faces. Thranduil continued between the trees lining the path alone. Many years had passed since he had first seen this place. But ever did it commune with him and hum with life. Even the stones sang.

A few strides from the bridge, he stooped to one knee and held out his arms.

A flash of gold darted towards him; little feet pounded the wooden planks, then launched his youngest son into his arms. "Legolas." Thranduil placed a kiss to the golden head.

"Welcome home, Ada!"

Oh, it was good to be home.    

Rating: PG-13 for some implied sexual content between married persons

Summary: Thranduil takes his wife to their new home in northern Greenwood with a plan in mind that will change their lives.

Transformed

By Nieriel Raina

Northeastern Mirkwood

Year 1075, Third Age

Early Spring

"Come."

Laerwen followed Thranduil down a slope through a grove of young beech trees just beginning to shimmer with new green leaves. Beyond them, she could hear a river flowing. As they drew near it, the sun glinted off the rushing water flowing under a small wooden bridge. Further upstream she could see where the larger bridge was still under construction.

With her hand clasped tightly in his, they crossed the tumbling stream and climbed up a hidden path. It wound up the side of the mountain, and they traveled a good distance before he halted her, inserting some a key into a lock only revealed when a stone was pushed to the side. Then he quietly spoke a soft word, and her eyes widened as a door opened into the mountain. She had not even seen it! It appeared to be part of the mountain itself.

Dwarf doors, she thought, remembering Thranduil's explanation for the dwindling treasury. He had hired dwarves to delve the mountain halls that would be their home.

She followed him into the darkness, shivering as the rock slipped closed behind them. She could feel the weight of the stone above them, the pitch black choking the life from her so that she nearly screamed in defiance of being so far from the sky and the wind. But then Thranduil spoke another word and torches sprang to life, lighting their path down a roughly hewn corridor, and she bit back her terror of being so far underground. It was not natural, but had they any choice? She looked up at her chosen mate. And she had vowed to follow him anywhere.

Reaching up, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, but he turned and captured her lips in a far more passionate kiss. Breathless, she pushed him back. "Thranduil!" she protested, quite aware of his amorous state.

He chuckled deep in his chest. "There is no one here. This is a private entrance to what will be our chambers." His dimple flashed, warning her of his intentions. "But it's much more comfortable there than here."

He led her onwards, until they came to a plain oak door. He unlocked it with another key, and he ushered her inside. There, she found that the cavern she had seen only once before had been transformed into splendid accommodations for the two of them. Tapestries of forest glades and elves dancing under the starlight hung on nearly every wall, hiding the stone and making it feel as if she were in wide open spaces.

Above, sunlight trickled down from some complex system of lighting that Thranduil had devised with the dwarves using mirrors and crystals and the far wall held a wide open window that opened out to a balcony, hidden from view below and easily sealed off if they were to come under attack. It made the room feel far more open and more like the hall where they had lived in the mountains rather than a room beneath a mountain of stone.

Laerwen turned her eyes to the room itself, the furnishings of polished oak, and the bed… She gasped as her eyes came to rest on the deep green coverings that graced a raised feather bed. It looked so soft! So…inviting.

She did not protest when he led her towards it, his fingers nimbly unfastening her dress as they went. Indeed, she applied her own fingers to the task of undressing his powerful form, marveling at the muscles revealed as she pushed his tunic from his shoulders.

"I thought here," he whispered in her ear. "Here in this new place we might —" He swallowed hard.

She glanced up, catching a glimmer of something she had not seen in his eyes for many years. She had not thought to ever see it again, though she had dared to hope. "Are you certain?" she asked.

He nodded. "Only if you wish it as well." He dropped his eyes, his fingers stilling.

Laerwen smiled compassionately at his hesitance. He had been so cautious and somewhat distant with their sons, still feeling the loss of Faervel and his father during that horrible War so long ago. He had felt he had failed as a father and had feared to repeat such. He was different with Anoriel, and perhaps… Perhaps another child was exactly what he needed. "Anoriel will be ecstatic. There will be no living with her until the child is born."

Thranduil's eyes snapped to hers, hope lighting them. Tracing his jaw with one hand, she leaned forward and kissed him, as with the other she let her dress fall to the floor where it pooled around her feet. "Take me to our bed," she whispered, letting her hand slide down his chest. "And let us show our people there is yet to hope for in this, our new home."

His eyes sparked with some of the mischievousness he had once been well known for, and he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the bed and laid her down and once again made her his.

An hour later, she laid with her head on his chest, her gaze on a small sapling just in view of the window, a single green bud beginning to unfurl on its upper branch, and she smiled.