ERNIL

Chapter 3 ~ Into the East III

The first bloom of summer was upon the wood when they reached it, displaying its best colors to welcome its new sovereigns, bright with birdsong and dappled with shadow.  Thranduil could barely contain his mounting excitement as they rode ever deeper into their new domain.  Eryn Galen was everything he had hoped it would be.  The wood was old and full of peaceful memory, but also full of fresh life.  A healthy growth of saplings stretched their slender limbs amid their tall sires, oak and beech and a scattering of pine.  The familiar echoes of his father’s presence were already established, and after the ocean shores of Lindon and the plains of Eriador, Thranduil felt more and more that he truly belonged amid the trees.  The gentle path through the brush was shaded and quiet, muffling the passage of the horses in the soft layers of spent leaves and scrub and occasionally on a green stretch of sun-warmed grass.

They went on and on into the bright reaches of the wood, past idyllic paths and clearings, streams and waterfalls.  Bright-eyed deer crossed their way, and squirrels chattered in the branches above.  Everything was so alive and so content, far from the festering cares on the western shores.

Then the wood seemed to erupt in a growing roar of glad shouts and cheers, and their whole party was inundated in crowds of Elves singing and welcoming them all to Eryn Galen in playful lilting voices.  They came from all sides, hanging even in the trees, waving garlands of wildflowers down at them.  Oropher spoke to them in what must have been their own tongue, and several capable hands took charge of the pack horses, letting their lords and ladies ride into their new home properly.

For a moment, Thranduil was rather shocked by the striking informality of the people, but he quickly decided it was endearing.  The noise was deafening and the road grew ever more crowded, leaves and petals flying.  Already three festive garlands had been thrust around his horse's neck.  The general shouting coalesced into joyous singing, and a few spontaneous dances had begun inside the clearings along the road, rings of barefooted maidens with flowers in their hair.  There were also more children scampering about than they had seen in many years.

The path itself had widened into a royal woodland corridor carpeted with grass, huge and stately oaks standing like sentinels in regular formation.  Thranduil guessed his father had planted those in the first years after he had come there, and he had the odd feeling of finally coming home to a place he had never seen before.

As impressive as the approach was, it in no way prepared him for what lay in the valley.  At last they reached the timberline, emerging into the vast clearing, and as all voices came together in one mighty song Thranduil at last beheld Amon Lasgalen in all its woodland glory.

The huge cluster of hills rose majestically amid the forest, ringed by a lightly wooded stream with six bridges for each of the six roads.  Following Oropher’s lead, they rode across the first of these and over the great stretch of lawn on the opposite bank.  From there they began their ascent by way of the gently sloping road built around the side of the mount.  This way was wooded as well, rows beech trees planted in precise order, but allowed to grow as they would.  On the wide summit grew a grove of mighty beeches.  In and around them were built the halls of Oropher.

Tingling with an almost youthful excitement, his pack in hand, Thranduil bounded up the open stairway onto the first terrace amid the trees.

“Follow me, my lord!” Gwaelas offered with a beaming smile as he darted ahead of him.  “I will take you up!”

Thranduil followed gladly, and it seemed Gwaelas was simply bursting with pride as he led him through that leafy maze of arboreal halls.  If Amon Lanc had previously been the name of this mount, it was certainly no longer appropriate.

“Here is the King’s Hall,” Gwaelas announced as they entered the most spacious room yet, built on many different levels to accommodate the natural growth of the tree.  It was without a doubt an impressive construction, though there was nothing of gold or jewels adorning it.  Elaborate carvings and living branches made up for the lack.  At the far wall stood a royal dais with three thrones, twelve others standing against the walls.

“The royal chambers are above this.  Come, I will show you!”

They left the hall, and Gwaelas nimbly scaled yet another open staircase leading up and around the great bole of the tree.  Amid the higher branches was built what Thranduil guessed to be his father’s room.  Gwaelas turned aside and walked over a bridge of wood and rope to the next massive beech.  There was the mirror image of the king’s quarters, and over the door was carved and painted the initial, “Th.”

Gwaelas held the door for Thranduil as he stepped inside.  He took it all in at a glance, and immediately loved it.  It was a large room, fully furnished, rounded in shape with the tree towering through the middle.  The scent of green life permeated everything, and as much as he had learned to appreciate the smell of sea rain and salt, Thranduil knew it was this he loved best.

He strode across the floor and set his bag down on the bed.  He could hear familiar voices sounding through the trees as the rest of the family found their own quarters.  He pushed open the tall latticework shutters and looked out across the way to another room nestled among the branches, apparently Galadhmir’s.  Life actually amid the trees was one thing he had not yet experienced fully, but he already felt as though he had been born to it.

“Do you approve, Thranduil?”

He looked back to see Oropher in the doorway, wearing a self-satisfied smile.

“Completely!” he replied, allowing his father the triumph that was his due.  “I could not have done better.”

“Well, I am glad,” Oropher said, stepping inside to make way for his silvan companion, a surprisingly noble one.  “Thranduil, this is Brilthor, the chieftain of the Danwaith of Eryn Galen.  He has been the spokesman of his people and I have maintained him in his position.  Lord Brilthor, my son, Thranduil.”

“Indeed, I have heard much of you, my prince,” Brilthor said with a bow in as perfect Sindarin as he could manage, though his gravity was lightened by a smile.  “We have long expected you, so I fear you may find the exuberance of the people overwhelming for a time.”

“It will be a pleasure, my lord, I am sure,” Thranduil assured him.

“Make yourself presentable, son, for I doubt you will have any sleep tonight,” Oropher instructed.  “You will soon have the entire local population clamoring for a piece of you.”

“We are celebrating already?”

“Of course!  Dress up; you will be receiving your crown from Brilthor’s hand.  I shall expect you down in time for supper.”

When his father had gone, Thranduil was left alone again with Gwaelas feeling as though he had landed atop this new plateau at a running pace.  It was wonderful!

“Come, Gwaelas,” he said amiably, putting on his new role as he began emptying his things onto the bed; “what does one wear to his own coronation?”