ERNIL

Chapter 17 ~ The World Is Changed

Not long after the unsettling breach of the northern guard, King Oropher came to the staggering conclusion that Amon Lasgalen had to be abandoned.  His justification was that the dangers of the world outside Greenwood were growing too great, and that a position so near the western timberline was not as defensible as he would like.  Thranduil suspected that it also had at least something to do with the fact that the influence of Gil-galad and Galadriel had been growing both in Eriador and Rhovanion ever since Sauron had been defeated and borne away to Númenor.  He would never understand what had possessed Ar-Pharazôn to take such a captive as that, yet he had his suspicions.  Still, surely the Men of Númenor retained wisdom enough even in their mortal race to guard themselves against what had been the undoing of Eregion. 

It had been expected that most families would be inclined to remain where they were, and that the royal household would establish itself among new intimates in the deeper regions of the wood.  Yet half of the population surrounding Lasgalen were more willing to follow their king than to see his banner leave them.  Oropher had been constrained to order them to remain where they were, at least until the new capital was firmly established, and he left Brilthor to govern in his name.  The only ones permitted to travel with them would be the King’s Guard, the master builders, and their families.  Thranduil gathered his wolves, and Lindóriel her roses. 

Several temporary moves in slow succession brought them nearer the center of the great wood.  The ways of their people who had been far removed from Lasgalen had not yet changed in any significant way, and thus were as rustic as they had been at Oropher’s first arrival.  Wearied of wandering, the king chose to establish himself for the moment, yet because he was still unsure exactly where he wished to remain, the new royal city was in truth no more than a grand cluster of pavilions.

For some years they lived that way, adjusting to what had become an almost nomadic lifestyle.  The people welcomed them with open hearts for the most part.  Thranduil was quietly dissatisfied with the arrangement, not because he disliked living in a tent, but because he had not easily left Amon Lasgalen and he did not appreciate being set adrift in the world.  Moreover, since the war had ended, he had finally been preparing to wed Lindóriel, but now they found themselves with no home and an unbelievable amount of work to do.  The summer months were pleasant enough, but the winters were a bit harsh, though the silvan people made certain their king did not truly want for anything.

It was there in the heart of the wood that Galadhmir and Gwaelin were betrothed and wed at last, heedless of the circumstances.  Theirs was the first marriage among Oropher’s chosen children, and the great occasion seemed to rekindle an old spark of hope amid the increasing gloom of the world.

The king finally selected a suitable site for his next abode, but the household was still obliged to wait several years more while he prepared it.  This time Thranduil was able to help him in the endeavor, growing and conditioning a beech grove of majestic proportions for the purpose of bearing yet another arboreal city.  It was a slow and steady task, though the royal trees grew with greater alacrity than their wild fellows.  It was positioned almost in the foothills of the Emyn Duir, the pine-forested Mountains of Greenwood, just north of the road that had been cut directly through the heart of Oropher’s domain.  The king expressed a wish to regularize the management of the traffic on this road which had been created without so much as his consent or leave.  It lay due east of the ford over the Anduin and the High Pass through the Hithaeglir, rendering the position of even greater importance.  It was an unfortunate location if one’s goal was to avoid familiarity with the world outside Eryn Galen, but perhaps Oropher’s purpose was not to avoid the growing influence of Gil-galad, but to counter it. 

When the king’s house was built, the place was given the name Galadhremmen Lasgalen.  The rest of the city was soon built up around it, and word was sent back to those who were willing to follow their king into the north.  It was difficult to begin again, yet time would reward the patient among them, and within a few seasons life had almost settled back into the familiar routines that had characterized their first city on the hill.

Yet not all would be as it had been, for the family was growing.

“After you, Thranduil,” Galadhmir smiled, standing aside to allow his prince the use of the stairway.

“As you wish,” Thranduil replied with equal banter, accepting the gesture and bounding upwards around the trunk of another beech, slightly removed from the King’s House.  At long last Galadhmir had built a home of his own for himself and his wife.  It had been a project Thranduil would have very much liked to share with him in memory of the many things they had built together in the past, yet the royal headaches and hassles of the move had required almost every spare moment he possessed.  Therefore, Galadhmir had refused to let him see it unfinished, waiting to impress him with the final masterpiece.

Lindóriel and Gwaelin already awaited them when they gained the first apartment and entered the modest reception hall.  Thranduil stopped to take in the architecture.  The house occupied a picturesque position near the stream, and its general appearance inside suggested a noble but comfortably informal air.

“Well done, Galadh,” he nodded approvingly.  “Very commendable.”

Galadhmir put on a face of mock offense.  “Oh, now, is that all you can say?”

Thranduil could not help smiling broadly.  “It is wonderful,” he said, obliging him with a more earnest voice.  “You should be proud of him, Gwaelin.”

“Indeed, I am,” Gwaelin assured him, bearing a tray of refreshments to the table.  “He never fails to exceed expectations.”

“Please, allow me,” Lindóriel insisted, relieving her of the tray.  “You sit.”

The fact that Gwaelin was now with child had only recently become obvious, though the happy news had been announced to Greenwood long ago.  The new family had become quite the pride of Oropher’s house, and the king had already proudly claimed some measure of a grandfather’s right.  In truth, only Lindóriel could boast a true blood relation to the child, but Thranduil already considered him a nephew.

“Excuse me,” Galadhmir said, moving to follow Gwaelin from the room.

Lindóriel smiled at him when they were alone.  “It makes me so happy to see them together,” she said.  “I cannot imagine another couple so perfectly suited for one another.”

“Yes, I know,” Thranduil agreed, sitting on the divan and beckoning her to his side, “although I would like to imagine that we are at least as well matched ourselves.”

“Nonsense,” she smiled, sitting beside him and letting his hand claim her own smaller one.  “I hardly deserve you.”

Thranduil sighed contentedly.  “Do you know when I first began to love you?” he asked.

“When?”

“After much reflection, I have decided that it was the time I caught you watching Lúthien’s celebration from that tree.”

“When my slipper fell?” Lindóriel asked, still mortified by the memory of the incident.  “You certainly did not let on about it.”

“Do not think too ill of me.  I am not certain I was entirely aware of it at the time.  But I could hardly help but notice when it fell on me that its companion had to be nearby.  You looked as though you would faint when I looked up.”

“You were with Lord Maeron’s daughter at the time.”

“She was nothing to me.”

“But she was a lady with diamonds in her hair.  I was only a child.”

“A lovely one,” Thranduil insisted.  “I would hardly notice diamonds in your hair, Lin.”

“I was watching you, of course,” Lindóriel admitted.  “My father never did approve.  He always promised that a prince of my own would come for me, that I would not care that he came without crown or lineage.  He would build for me a house of our own in the wood, and I would happily be his queen.”  She sighed.

“I am sorry, Lin,” Thranduil apologized, “but when we marry, I am afraid you will simply have to resign yourself to living in the King's House with me.”

“It will be a terrible trial, I am sure,” she agreed, the light in her eyes telling him it would be paradise.

A low rumble like thunder shook the house.  Thranduil’s brow darkened, and Lindóriel turned to him with the same expression.  Leaving her side, he stood and peered out the open window.

 “There is hardly a cloud in the sky,” he protested.

But the rumble was growing.  It grew until all the ground began to shake as it had not since the War of Wrath.

The entire earth lurched sideways with enough force to slam him against the wall.  Lindóriel shrieked and jumped into his arms as the next roaring tremor shook the house in violent rippling waves.  Then everything was falling sideways, and they were falling too, caught beneath an avalanche of furniture as the massive tree toppled, meeting the ground with a shattering crash of broken woodwork and snapping branches.

Aftershocks continued to shake the foundations of the wood for a time, gradually weakening.  When Thranduil at last dared to open his eyes, he found himself lying painfully on what had been the wall, holding Lindóriel in a crushing grip against his chest, shielding her as best he could with his shoulder amid the haphazard ruins of Galadhmir’s house.  He was pinned beneath an overturned table, and its oppressive weight suggested that much more debris lay on top of it.  All around them was the tinkling of broken glass and the creak of splintered planks.

Hardly daring to pull her face away from his shoulder, Lindóriel looked at him in mute terror.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice shaking.  “Are you?”

“I believe so.  Bear with me a moment.”

Much to his relief, Thranduil heard Galadhmir calling Gwaelin.  Even more gratifying was her answer, for she did not seem to be hurt.  But he and Lindóriel were trapped.

Thranduil shifted as best he could with that weight upon him, striving not to crush her as he moved to brace the precarious table fully against his back.  It all shifted downwards for one frightening moment, pressing them nose to nose.  Planting both hands firmly on the ground, Thranduil thrust himself upwards, pushing it all back with a loud screech of stressed wood.  It was a strain, to be sure, but he could manage for a moment.

Lindóriel crawled out from beneath him, scrambling away to safety.

Another rumbling aftershock rippled through the ground, shaking everything again.  Thranduil grimaced as he worked to free his legs while still holding up the ruin.  Lindóriel did what she could, helping to brace the table in place as he squirmed his way out, and at last they were both able to let it fall with a final crash.

Thranduil simply held her for a moment, taking some advantage of a lover’s privilege to gently probe her for injuries.  “You are certain you are not hurt?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, still shaken, “but I may say I am certain of very little else.”

“I, too, Lin.  But come.”

The door was too far out of reach.  Therefore, Thranduil took up a broken plank and knocked the remains of the latticework out of the nearest window.  He climbed through first, then helped Lindóriel to pull herself out onto the grass.  They were on the wrong side of the stream now, the huge tree lying over it like a bridge.  An entire shelf of the bank had given way in the upheaval which had fatally weakened the hold of the roots.

“Thranduil!” Galadhmir was above them, still helping Gwaelin negotiate her precarious way down to the ground.  “I was just about to come looking for you!”

Everywhere it seemed people were picking themselves up and sorting through wreckage.  Somewhere a panicked horse was squealing.  The entire world felt different somehow, as though his sense of balance was skewed.  Thranduil looked over the smashed edifice they had been admiring only moments before.  “A pity about the house,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Galadhmir insisted, catching his wife in his arms as they both reached the ground.  “All five of us are still alive and well, so what does the house matter?  Belain, we could have all been killed!”

At that moment, a smaller room that had been hanging above at an unintended and very precarious angle broke loose and fell crashing into what remained of the main hall.  All of them quickly turned away, shielding their faces from the wreck until it had resettled itself.  It was strangely chilling, Thranduil thought, to see the new ruin only compacting the destruction from which he had just freed himself.  Simply imagining the crush made his ribs hurt.

“Yes,” he said soberly, answering Galadhmir and holding Lindóriel close against him.  “We very well could have been.”