#amon lanc

That sweet feeling slowly disappeared when he looked over his shoulder and his gaze rested on y/n. She kept to herself and rode a little away from the others. Thranduil’s mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. Y/n’s very presence in Amon Lanc would unleash a storm upon his head, and his lord father would be the one to do it. 

My father is a forgiving man, Thranduil thought, but I cannot see him forgiving this. 

Thranduil did not need to be told the reason. He was there during the second kinslaying. He bore arms and helped his father carve a way out for survivors. His scars lay hidden beneath his robes. The memories from that dark time still haunted his dreams.  

And he did not understand why he put himself through such trouble. Oh, the gold itself was never an issue. The final sum was but a drop in the ocean that was now the royal treasury. Thranduil did not understand why he stopped when he heard the gossip and why he rode on to the auction house. He certainly did not understand what compelled him to save her. She was one of the exiles. Her father served under Celegorm. There were dark tales surrounding his deeds, including the part he supposedly played in the seizure of Dior’s children. Thranduil shivered.  

Wolves, all of them. And now I bring one of their pups to my Lord Father’s doors.   

He looked over his shoulder at y/n again. The masters of the auction house answered his questions as best they could. Y/n had played no part in the slaughter, so they said, and had been forced to wander the land for longer than she could remember. She had no armor and wielded no arms. What little coin she had went to keeping her clothed and fed. She placed herself at the mercy of a man who turned out to be a slaver in the end. Kept perfectly still while that wretched Lady Githa grabbed her and looked her over like she was nothing more than a horse for sale. After having been given food and drink and new garments, she stood to the side, silent and meek, while Thranduil spoke with the masters of the auction house and the final flourish was given to the matter of coin. During their journey, y/n did not speak to any of them the entire time. When they set up camp, she was quiet. When they broke bread, she was quiet. When they sang and laughed and exchanged stories, she was quiet. Oh, she helped, of course, always appearing by Thranduil’s shoulder before he even realized he needed some task carried out. Y/n was quick and did her duties well, but without uttering a sound. She did not even dare look any of them in the eye. If she was grateful to them for what they did, she did not show it. 

Thranduil felt his hands turn to fists. Wretched thing, he thought bitterly. Unable to muster a single word of gratitude. 

He could not linger on such misgivings. The gates to his father’s halls soon loomed ahead of them. The first autumn rain started to fall, drenching the dark earth and feeding the rivers and streams. The air grew crisp and cool. Thranduil reveled in this as well and threw off his hood so he could feel the fat drops of water plop over his skin. He heard a familiar bellow. His lord father had ridden out to greet them. Oropher sat atop his milky white courser, clad in velvet robes of gold and silver. Thranduil sighed. His father was in a high mood this day, and he was sure to dampen it with his news. He sat up straight and girded himself before racing ahead to meet his king and sire. 

Oropher heard his son out on the ride back to his halls. And Oropher bit his tongue until he and his son were safely ensconced within the walls of his council room. And when the doors closed on them Oropher did not hold back, not by any measure. The king was exceedingly wroth, purpling and raging for hours on end. Thranduil acted without his father’s leave and freed the child of a kinslayer. He had promised gold from the royal coffers for this very purpose. Brought her with him to Greenwood, and possibly endangered them all.  

"And now we may have to feed and house the lady," Oropher declared after having taken a while to finally compose himself. Attendants walked in carrying trays filled with refreshments. The king waited until they had taken their leave before speaking again. "Since you made yourself responsible for her and she truly has nowhere else to go," he turned to face his son. "Tell me, my son. What even compelled you to save her?" 

What indeed. Throughout their journey, Thranduil had reflected on his actions and failed to devise an answer that could satisfy anyone, least of all himself. "I do not know, my lord," he confessed. "All I do know is that I could not simply ride away and abandon her to her fate. You know of Lady Githa, and what her pleasure house is like." 

"To be sure," Oropher wrinkled his face in distaste. "That woman is one of the most evil creatures to have ever been birthed by one of the Edain." 

He rejoined his son at the council table and took his customary place at the head of it. Oropher steepled his fingers beneath his chin and soon lost himself in deep thought. Thranduil did not utter a word while his father sat as if he had been hewed out of stone. Oropher was reflecting on the choices he had had to make; his son was certain of it.   

"I may consider letting her stay," Oropher finally said, "but we need to learn how much she knew of her father’s actions. Send word to my courtiers and have them all meet me in the throne room. I believe an inquiry is in order."  

An hour later, Thranduil took his place by his father’s right hand. He watched while members of the court and other elves poured into the cavernous throne room. Guards stood to attention, spears and shields in hand, and clad in gleaming armor chased in green and gold. The lamps burned as brightly as they always did. Y/n was escorted by a small complement of armed warriors. She was made to drop to her knees while the others watched. Y/n bowed her head, silent and respectful. Thranduil heard hushed, excited tones. There had never been an inquiry before. No one had done anything to even justify the need for one.

Many of the elves studied y/n with barely disguised curiosity. Save for the survivors of Doriath, very few had encountered the exiles. Now they were seeing one for the first time in the flesh. The court scribes took their appointed places, parchment and quills and new ink already placed upon their little tables. They would write down every word spoken at the inquiry and preserve the records for the use of others. Once Oropher had been satisfied with the number of witnesses, he called the inquiry to order. 

The king leaned forward and began with the usual questions: questions about y/n’s life, her home, and her family. Y/n answered as best as she could. She spoke of their home, about her father, about her mother. Oropher questioned y/n about the sons of Fëanor, and if her father or mother had ever hosted them in their home. Y/n withered under the king’s sharp gaze, but there was nothing she could do but answer.  

"Lord Celegorm would sometimes dine with father," y/n replied after a great deal of hesitancy. "Other times, Lord Curufin would join him." 

"I see." Oropher frowned. "And were you a party to these gatherings?" 

"No… your grace," y/n answered in fits and starts, as if her tongue had tied itself up in knots. "My father… he said he thought I was too young to be privy to such discussions." 

"But did you meet either of these lords?" 

"Yes. My father… he introduced me to them. And to others in their retinue." 

Oropher was curious, as was Thranduil. "Pray tell me why?" 

Y/n faltered. A guard thumped the butt of his spear into the ground, forcing her to answer. "My… my father had hopes of my marrying one of Lord Fëanor’s unwed sons… or… or the grandson." 

"Your father entertained the notion of you marrying one of them?" Oropher shot back bluntly. "And you would have agreed had any of them asked for your hand?"

Y/n swallowed, and said, "Yes, your grace. Many an… unwed maiden in our clans would have… c-considered it an honor. They were of Lord Fëanor’s b-blood after all." 

Thranduil sputtered and would have retorted had his father not given him a look of warning. He composed himself and heard the king say, "An honor? Were you ignorant of the things they did before the second kinslaying?" 

"Everyone knew… your grace," y/n replied, her eyes wide with fear. "M-mothers would tell their children tales of Alqualondë and the great crossing. They… they all believed in Lord Fëanor’s cause." 

"Do you believe in Lord Fëanor’s cause to retrieve the hallowed jewels no matter what the cost?" Oropher asked in harsh tones. "And do not lie to me. Life in Amon Lanc will go very badly for you if you do." 

Y/n did not answer, not for a long while, not until Oropher harrumphed with impatience. "I… I did… at the beginning," she confessed. "The… the silmarils were Lord Fëanor’s by right… after all."   

The uproar that followed from the survivors was deafening. Some demanded that y/n be sent away from Amon Lanc. Others demanded that she be thrown into a cell for the remainder of her days. More warriors thumped the butts of their spears against the polished stone floor to bring about some order to the proceedings. The sounds they made were drowned out by the cries of angry elves. Oropher’s face darkened even as he remained silent. Thranduil prickled with anger and decided to put an end to the clamor. 

"Enough!" he bellowed. The others turned to face him and his father, having quietened themselves little by little. The scribes all turned as one to face the prince, waiting to hear what he had to say.  

"I was right," the prince went on. There were soft scratching noises from quills scrawling over thick parchment. "Your lot is nothing but a pack of wolves, forever on the prowl for your next prey. I would even go as far to wager you may be no better than your father and the masters he served." 

Y/n flinched back as if she had been slapped. "But… but you saved me from her," she sniffed. 

"Yes," Thranduil replied, unmoved by the sorrow in her eyes. Still, he felt strange when she spoke to him directly. It was the first time she had done so since he purchased her freedom. "I confess, however, that I do not know the reason why." 

"Tis is a question for another time," Oropher interceded. "Let us carry on with the proceedings for now. Lady y/n, do you have anything to add? Anything you wish to say in your defense?" 

Y/n looked around her and shivered. "I do not know… your grace." She wrung her hands and picked at the beds of her nails before turning her gaze to the floor. "I… I only knew what my father and mother told me. As for what… my father did in Doriath… I did not know what he was going to do until after the act. Mother and I only learned of it after he was slain. I… do not ask for much… save for some compassion… for I was born somewhere other than this kingdom, and have neither coin nor friend to my name. I... all I ask is for a safe place to stay… and I will be… well pleased and content with whatever kindness that…that is given to me. But if you do not wish for me to stay here you… you need only say the word, your grace. I will depart… and manage. Somehow."  

Oropher sat there with his sharp gray eyes pining her to where she stood. He grew silent again, this time debating his verdict. Later, it was said that the silence that followed was so heavy that it weighed down on everyone present.  

"Will you swear to never take up arms against us?" The king spoke slowly.  

"Yes," she whispered.  

Oropher nodded. "And will you be content with whatever task that is given to you while you remain with us?"  

Y/n hesitated, but gave her answer to the king. "Yes. I… I will be content. And g-grateful." 

"Grateful?" Thranduil snorted bitterly. "Like the gratitude you showed us after we saved you from that vile place?"  

Y/n was startled. She opened her mouth to form a reply, and struggled to find the right words. Thranduil glanced at his father. The king had grown weary. It showed in the shadows beneath his eyes. Oropher sighed softly and signaled for the guards to help her to her feet.  

"I have come to a decision, but it is not a decision I make lightly," the king began. "Y/n, you may stay here with us, and you will make yourself useful in the kitchens and serve us." 

The relief on her face was palpable.  

"But," Oropher raised a hand and continued, clearly not finished with his verdict. "I need to make an example of you, should other followers of the sons of Fëanor turn up at our door. They need to see that our mercy does not come freely. Therefore, I have decided your hair must be shorn. Just above the neck should do." 

Y/n lowered her head and trembled. "I accept." 

It did not take long to find two ellith willing to carry out the king’s verdict. All those who had gathered in the throne room looked in silence while they came forth, each holding a golden pair of scissors in their hands. One stood by y/n’s right, and the other stood to her left. They turned to face the king. When Oropher gestured, they went straight to work.  

Pins were removed. Braids slowly loosened. All anyone heard after that was the crisp, snip snip snip of two pairs of scissors clicking. The elves watched, utterly enthralled by the scene unfolding before their eyes. Lustrous long hair was seen as the ideal when it came to elven beauty, and to have even a little cut as a form of punishment was both debasing and humiliating. And elven hair took so long to grow out. Y/n’s hair would take years to grow back to its former glory, and if it saddened her, she did not show it, not at that moment. Y/n simply stood like a stone statue while thick locks of her hair slowly drifted to the floor and gathered in small clumps. 

Snip snip snip. More hair had to be cut. The ellith worked effortlessly until y/n’s hair was just beneath her chin and a small pile had formed around her feet. Y/n did not speak, and she did not raise her voice to curse them. She simply bowed her head and endured the entire time. When they were finally finished, when they put away their scissors and stepped away, she lifted her head. Her lips had been quivering, and her eyes had been filled with unshed tears. Thranduil shifted uncomfortably in his seat after having experienced a sudden pang of conscience. He had called her a wolf, but was she truly one? Or was she simply guilty of being born into the wrong family? 

"Find yourself a room in the servants’ quarters," Oropher ordered. "Appropriate clothing will be provided to you, as well as food. You will start your duties on the morrow." 

The guards took her to hand and escorted her through the crowd and down a narrow passageway leading to the kitchens and the servants’ rooms. A maid rushed into the hall and swept away the shorn locks of hair. The throne room was beginning to empty. The elves talked about the inquiry and what transpired before they departed for their dwellings. The scribes sanded their parchment before rolling each and every one of them carefully. Once the great hall had been cleared of all the other elves, Oropher leaned over to whisper in his son’s ear.  

"Keep a close eye on her," he commanded. "We cannot take any chances." 

Thranduil nodded in agreement.

If you enjoyed this, please consider commenting/reblogging it!

As soon as she walked in amongst the trees, she could feel a change in the atmosphere. It was a lovely Summer day but the air suddenly felt colder and almost claustrophobic the closer she got to Amon Lanc. When she was close enough to see the fort off in the distance she stopped and was frozen in place. Orcs walked along the parapets and she could see none of the elven soldiers. She quietly snuck around to the back of the guardhouse, the entrance to the old city, and saw the bodies of the slain elves. One elf however remained alive as she saw his chest moving up and down in very shallow breaths. She could see no orcs from her position so she quickly ran to him and knelt down beside him. “If I help you, do you think you can walk?” she asked looking into his eyes. “No” he said in a raspy voice as each breath became more labored. “I must get you out of here somehow.” “No. Tell the…king we…were ambushed. They…mean to…take…the fort.” “I will not leave you. Not again” she said as she grabbed his hand and held it tightly to her chest against her heart. He did not understand what she meant by ‘not again’ as he delivered his final words. “You…must…warn…them. Please…go.” She watched as the last bit of life left his body and his head fell limply to the side and away from her gaze.

Realizing she could do no more for him, she let him go and began to run. The tears flew from her face as she dashed through the forest. She was not alone however as an orc thought he heard something and he was also running her way. Ranyare heard his footsteps as he began to close the distance between them. She stopped and quickly climbed up a tree hoping he would soon give up and retreat back to the fort. She held tight to the tree trunk as she sat crouched on the branch watching the creature stalk around below her. “I smell you elf!” he shouted with disdain. He soon sniffed out her location and began to climb the tree with a sickening smile on his ugly face. Ranyare reached into her pocket to retrieve her knife, unfolded the blade, and then hid it behind her back. “A she-elf! You’ll regret crossing my path girlie” he said with a sickening smile as he got close enough to see her. His voice nearly made her blood run cold but she took a deep breath and once the orc was within reach, she sliced his throat with one quick movement. He made a horrible gurgling sound as his black blood spurted out onto her and then he fell, landing with a thud and the sounds of bones cracking. Ranyare couldn’t see any others who may have followed him so she climbed down and ran.

She only stopped when she reached a point where she could barely breath and would stay still for no than a few minutes until she started running again. Her long legs carried her quickly across the great distance to the Woodland Realm and when she at last reached the entry gate she banged on the door and screamed for them to let her inside. “I must…see the king” she said practically panting as she desperately tried to catch her breath. The guards recognized her and one of them ran to fetch Thranduil. She was in a terrible state as she still clutched the knife in one hand and was splattered with orc blood. Her silver hair was practically wet through and through with sweat and stuck to her face and neck. The king came out to find her sitting on the ground still trying to recover from her great endeavor. Without saying a word, Thranduil picked her up and carried her inside to the room she had once used. Each time she tried to speak he would shush her and tell her to rest. He could feel how quickly her pulse was still racing and her breaths were short and shallow. He laid her gently on the bed and managed to pry the knife from her hand and place it on the bedside table. He then called out for his butler Galion. “Bring us some Miruvor and water immediately!” He sat on the edge of the bed beside her and held her hand. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head ‘no’. “Try to breathe slowly and deeply” he said doing it himself as an example for her to follow. Ranyare did the same and after a bit, she felt better. Galion brought the drinks and Thranduil poured her a small glass of the Miruvor used by the elves as a type of healing cordial. After she drank it, he offered her a glass of water which she also quickly drank and then asked for another.

“Tell me what happened to put you in such a state” he asked as he pulled her hair away from her face. “Orcs have taken Amon Lanc. They killed everyone there. One soldier was still clinging to life and he told me they wanted the fort. I tried to save him but…he was too far gone and he…he died in my arms.” Thranduil’s heart nearly stopped at this surprising and dreadful news. He pulled her up towards him and held her tight. “He told me to run and I did. I had to warn you” she said and she squeezed him tightly as well. “You have orc blood on you. What…” “One chased after me and I killed him. No others followed” she explained not letting him finish his question. “How did this happen? Why were you there?” He pulled away just far enough so he could look in her beautiful grey-violet eyes that he had seen so many times in his dreams. “I have been dreaming of a darkness covering the forest. I believed it was Greenwood and I knew I needed to warn you.” “I have felt something strange myself of late but could not understand it” Thranduil said and then he kissed the top of her head and gave her one more embrace before he let her go and stood up. “How many orcs did you see?” His voice was now strong and determined. “Fewer than a dozen but I do not know how many were there that I did not see.” “I must go at once. Please stay here until I return. Promise me you will.” “I promise. But you must also promise me that you will come back unharmed” she said as she lay down on the pillow still quite exhausted. He smiled and said, “I will do my best.”

A company of his most capable soldiers were quickly assembled and they rode in haste to Amon Lanc. The orcs were no match for these fierce elves and they dispatched them all but one. The prisoner was brought before the king whose silver armor shone brightly in the sun causing the orc to wince and squirm in a futile attempt to get away from the light. “How did you come to ambush my soldiers?” Thranduil said coldly looking down at the wretched creature who was kneeling before him. “You’ll never know…elf.” He said the last word with much disgust and then spit upon the king’s boots. The soldier holding the ropes tied around the orc’s hands behind his back yanked it a little tighter but the king gave him a look as if to say not to be too rough. “Your kind is not clever enough to have done something like this on your own. If you tell me what I want to know, I will allow you to leave here alive and return with a message to whoever sent you that our forest will never fall to your kind.” The orc laughed and said, “You are no match for the one who sent me. He means to have this forest and you can’t stop him. They didn’t see us coming because we were hidden from sight. Oh yes, he is that powerful. But I will give him your message all the same.” “Release him” Thranduil said and the soldier jerked him up onto his feet and cut his bonds. “You will not win this fight elf.” Those were the last words that orc ever spoke as the king’s sword moved swiftly and silently separating his head from his body in one stroke.

--

Thranduil entered the room where Ranyare slept. It was mid-afternoon the day following her arrival, but she was still recovering her strength as she had pushed herself to the very limit of elven endurance to reach them as quickly as she did. He picked up the chair in front of the vanity table and placed it beside the bed so he could sit near her. Her pack was sitting on the bedside table and he noticed something sticking out of it that looked familiar. He pulled it free and realized it was the tube containing the drawing he had given her and when he opened it and found the paper still inside, it warmed his heart and he smiled.

“I knew that was you, even before I opened my eyes” Ranyare said as she awoke and turned to face her visitor. “And how exactly did you know that?” he asked with a smirk. “You always smell of Vetiver. I like it. It is warm and comforting, like being in the heart of the forest. A very kind elleth gave me some lovely rose scented soap for my bath. I have always made my own soap but it is fairly crude and did not have such nice scents. Oh, I know I am babbling; I suppose I do not want to hear any bad news you may have brought. I am however very glad to see you returned safely.” “We all returned safely and we brought back our fallen brethren so they may be properly laid to rest.” “That is very good news indeed” she said sitting up. Thranduil didn’t yet have the heart to tell her the rest of the troubling tale and decided he would save that for another time. “I should go and let you rest. I only wanted to check and make sure you were doing well.” He rose and moved towards the door. “I am feeling much better. Could we dine together later?” “That would be wonderful” he said as left her and then immediately went to the kitchen to plan the perfect meal.

Later that day, he knocked on her door and announced that dinner was ready. “You look lovely” Thranduil said as she was wearing a simple light blue dress and had put her hair in a long braid. “Thank you” she replied as she blushed a bit at the compliment. “Is that the staff I made for you?” she asked as he held it in his hand. “Yes. I was planning to leave it as you made it but after you left I had it plated in silver. If it was the only thing I had to remember you by, I wanted it to last.” Ranyare smiled and took his arm as they walked to the dining room. “I kept your drawing as well” she confessed. He already knew this but he said nothing about it, simply smiling instead. “I hope you still like venison and roasted potatoes with honey cakes for dessert.” “You remembered” she said a bit surprised that he had indeed remembered that had been her favorite meal when she spent the Winter with him so many centuries ago. He looked her in the eye and said in a very serious tone, “I have forgotten nothing about the time we have spent together.”

They enjoyed their meal and then went outside to spend the Summer evening in his private garden. She had not seen it when she was there earlier as the plants went dormant for the cold Winter. He knew the name of every flower and bush and seemed to beam with pride as he showed her around. “Do you tend the garden yourself?” Ranyare asked. “I do. It was my mother’s and I helped her with it from time to time. Before she sailed West, I promised her I would always look after it.” “You have done a fine job. Everything is so beautiful. I do not think I have ever seen roses this color” she said as she stopped to admire the blooms that were a shade of pale purple. “A result of my mother’s very green thumb. My father used to tease her that she spent more time in her garden some days than with him.” His face practically lit up when he spoke of his parents. Ranyare had long wondered what it was like to have parents or a family. She was fine on her own but there was always a tiny bit of her that couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be part of a family. “Speaking of your father, how are you doing in regards to dealing with your anger towards him?” Before answering, Thranduil sat down on the stone bench in the center of the garden and she sat beside him. “I have forgiven him. None of us are perfect and while he did have his flaws, pride and stubborness in particular, he was a good ellon and a wonderful father.” “I am glad to hear that” she said truly happy for him. “How have you been?” he asked. Ranyare sighed and then answered him truthfully. “I am tired. So very tired of carrying this pain for so long.” “I would do anything to lessen your grief and burden.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Part of the reason I returned was to warn you of what I saw in my dreams but I also wanted to see you again. Your friendship was very special to me. I often felt at peace when you would visit and I have missed that…missed you.”  “I felt a true kinship with you and it hurt me quite deeply when you left.” “I am sorry. Is there any possibility that I could have your forgiveness as well?” “I would forgive you in an instant mellon nin, but I do not wish to repeat this cycle. Will you stay for a while and then run away once again?” Ranyare hung her head and was quiet for a bit. “I am tired of running. I am tired of solitude.” He gently lifted her chin with his fingers and said, “Then stay here, with me.”  She nodded and he put his arm around her and she leaned her head against his neck and closed her eyes. For a moment, they both felt a sense of overwhelming peace and they stayed in that same spot for many hours until the sun rose.

Thranduil left her to have breakfast alone as he had business to attend to although he would have much preferred to stay with Ranyare. She did not see him for much of the day and when she caught sight of Galion in the late afternoon, she asked about him. “He will join you for supper my lady.” The king’s long-time friend and faithful butler had been sworn to secrecy by Thranduil as to the nature of his business as he wanted to tell her himself. “If you do not mind my saying, we are glad to have you back amongst us and your presence has greatly lifted Thranduil’s spirits. He has not quite been the same since you left long ago.” She smiled and thanked him for the kind words. Her heart beat a little faster too knowing how much he had missed her, just as much as she had missed him.

“What does this mean?” asked one of the realm’s elder members as he along with several other elves were gathered in Thranduil’s throne room including key figures of their defense forces. “I am not sure but I can tell you that something nefarious has taken up residence at the old fort and I do not believe it is a force we can fight with swords and arrows” the king replied. “Please my lord, tell us exactly how it looked and what you felt” one of the marchwardens asked. “We easily dispatched the orcs and as we were leaving, I saw it from the corner of my eye. I turned and could see a dark cloud low in the sky moving towards the fort. It settled over the structure and all around it everything became very dark. I order the soldiers to retreat back to the tree line as I moved closer to it. My horse was reticent to go so I made my way on foot. With each step I could feel the presence of something evil bearing down upon me until I could physically go no further.” This stunned the elves as they knew their king to be one of their strongest members, both in body and in will. “I fell back with the others and we watched for quite some time with no change in situation.” “I am loathe to utter this name, but it is possible Sauron has returned?” one of the younger elves, who was born after the Dark Lord’s defeat, asked. Thranduil couldn’t help but shutter at that name but this was also something he had wondered. “I suppose it is possible. It is also a possibility that it may be one of his minions, perhaps one of the Nazgul.” “Surely we will not simply accept this abomination!” one elf practically shouted as this was quite an upsetting situation. “Of course we will not” Thranduil said calmly. “I have sent a company to monitor the situation and I have also sent letters to King Amroth and Lord Elrond asking if they have had any similar troubles.”  

The meeting ended and the king went to join his guest in the dining room. She could tell something was upsetting him and as they waited for the meal to be served, he explained to her what he had seen. Neither spoke while they ate and as their appetites were both diminished, they merely picked at their food and ate little. “Come with me” Thranduil said tenderly as he rose and extended his hand to her. She took his hand without speaking and together they walked to the garden. “Are we to be left alone once again to fight this enduring evil?” Ranyare asked as they walked along the little path. Her voice was weary and filled with anxiety. “Eru made this world and the Ainur helped shape it, and it is for us, all the children of Ilúvatar and we must defend and protect it. They have not abandoned us but instead they give us the strength and wisdom to do what must be done.” She was quiet for a while and then she began to think of all the times birds had come to talk with her. They gave her news of the world and were often quite helpful such as the one who brought her the deer who enabled her to quickly reach the edge of Fangorn on her way to warn Thranduil. Suddenly she halted as the realization dawned on her that maybe her dream was a warning from them and that those were not mere birds after all. “Thranduil, I think you may be right. Perhaps they have been helping us in ways we did not even realize.” He was surprised at her words but delighted in hearing them. “Often have the Valar come to our aid. Ulmo gave Turgon the inspiration to build the hidden realm of Gondolin and then also sent Tuor to warn him of its impending destruction. The Númenóreans were given multiple warnings in the forms of clouds shaped like Manwë’s great eagles to turn away from Sauron’s evil ministrations. We have free will and do not have to follow their signs or advice, but they do still often try to help.” She smiled up at him and said, “I have been so blind and so consumed by my own failings that I did not see. It was easier to blame them for not helping us sooner than to face my own weakness.”

Just at that moment, a small yellow bird flew by them and landed on a nearby rose bush. A bright glow began to emanate from around the bird and in a flash it had changed into the shape of a tall man. He stood before them clothed in a long green robe with his dark hair falling loosely over both shoulders. His bright eyes looked upon them both with love and his smile quickly put them at ease. “I am Taurënur, a Maia in the service of Oromë. Long have I waited for this day when your faith would be restored and you would know peace.” Ranyare recognized his voice as the one she had heard in her mind when last she saw the little yellow bird. “It was you. All those times, all the different birds, it was you” she said stepping towards him. “Yes my child. I was sent from Oromë to watch over you. It has laid heavy on his heart that he was not able to save all the firstborn of Ilúvatar from suffering at Morgoth’s hands. You and Nowë are the only elves left in Middle Earth from those earliest generations and it has been my honor to watch over the both of you.” “Nowë is still here? I thought I must be the only one” she said as tears filled her eyes and one broke free running down her cheek. He gently wiped it away with his thumb and then reached down to take her hand in his. “He is the lord of the Grey Havens and he builds the ships sturdy enough to make the journey to the blessed Undying Lands.” “That is Círdan. The elf whose name you did not recognize” Thranduil said stepping forward to join them. “Why did you not tell me who you were?” she asked confused why he kept his identity a secret. “Faith is strongest when you find it for yourself and you will need your faith to be strong for the dark days that may be coming. I know what you saw Thranduil, but do not let fear into your heart. You are strong and you are a great king. Help will soon come from Valinor in the form of counselors to guide the free peoples of Middle Earth through whatever tribulation may lie ahead.” “Thank you. We are always grateful for any help that may come from Eru or his blessed Ainur” Thranduil said with reverence as he put a hand to his heart and bowed his head.

“Please, can you tell me what happened to my friends. The ones who were taken, and the ones I left behind?” Ranyare asked with such desperation that Taurënur did not hesitate to answer. “They are safe and protected in Aman.” So relieved was she to hear this that she fell to her knees, while still holding his hand, and she laughed with great joy as if a weight as massive as the Misty Mountains themselves had been lifted from her heart. “So many times I wanted to tell you, but that would have given myself away and I was not permitted to do so until you found your faith again.”  “Thank you” she said almost in a whisper as she was still so overcome by the glad tidings. Taurënur helped her to her feet and then extended his other hand to Thranduil and the king stepped forward and took his hand. “Your parents are also together again.” Thranduil was too overwhelmed to say anything but he graciously nodded to the Maia. “I must return home now, but I feel confident that I am leaving you in loving hands.” With another burst of bright light, he turned back into a bird and flew away to the West.

Notes:

She did not mind her duties—that much she could say. Y/n would awaken and bathe before garbing herself in the livery worn by all those who served. White shift, a green dress, and a neat white apron, all lined with simple gold embroidery. Even the cowl she used to cover her hair was as white as snow, and lined in gold embroidery as well. The food was better than anything she had before, and her tasks, as many as they were, were bearable.

Y/n would spend what little spare time she had during her duties studying the great halls. Slender spires and thick curtain walls, beautiful domed towers and manses rose atop Amon Lanc. A winding pathway led to lush forests and a mighty river beneath it. Magnificent gardens and fountains, and carvings of the Ainur dotted the grounds within. Then there was the palace itself. Y/n had never seen anything grander in her life. She wondered if Doriath was the same before the second kinslaying.

"Take this to the king." A cook came forth holding a tray laden with food. "And make haste. The steward says he is of a mood this morn."

Because of my presence, no doubt. Y/n picked up the tray and walked down many a lofty hall and corridor, threading her way around courtiers and warriors and elves going about their day, not stopping until she had reached the high, white doors to Oropher’s chambers. A warrior standing at attention by the door announced her arrival. Oropher bids her to enter. When the doors swung open, y/n took a deep breath, composed herself, and walked in.

It was not the first time she had seen the inside of the king’s private rooms, but her eyes flew wide all the same when they took in the general splendor. Oropher had been seated at a little table, his son by his side. The king did not even acknowledge her, but the crown prince seemed to follow her every move.

"Good morrow, your grace." Y/n set the tray on the table and gracefully dipped to her knees. Oropher merely hummed and gestured for her to arrange their meal.

Oropher made an impatient sound after picking up a piece of parchment. "This is the first Mereth Nuin Giliath since the sacking of Doriath." He gave it to his son to read. "And already it is turning into quite an affair."

A slow smile worked its way across Thranduil’s face. Y/n dared to raise her eyes and glance at him. The crown prince was his father’s exact in many ways, all high cheek bones and silver-gold hair, and a demeanor of great strength. The similarities, however, ended with their eyes. Oropher’s were a glorious silver, and Thranduil’s were a radiant blue. Flashes of red-hot anger coursed through her when she glimpsed how they had braided their hair, and nearly raised her hand to touch hers. What was left of it, that is. She turned away, her cheeks aflame, when Thranduil shifted in his place and found her looking.

If he was displeased, he did not show it. "We have partaken in feasts far greater than this," the prince was quick to remind his father, "and planned even grander ones besides. We can manage, I am sure."

Oropher sighed and turned to face y/n. "You may leave," he commanded sourly.

Y/n dipped to her knees once more before leaving, her anger ebbing and giving way to curiosity. Mereth nuin giliath, Oropher had said. The feast under the stars. She had only heard wondrous tales of it from those fortunate few who traveled to Doriath, and now, she would get to see one with her own eyes, and perhaps even be chosen to help the others serve at the tables. Giddy with excitement, y/n picked up her pace and rushed to the kitchens. The cooks did not like it when the other servants tarried on the upper floors too long.

This was how her days were spent. Rise, and toil. Rise, and toil. Serve and scrub and wash and clean, and even help the cooks at times. Y/n learned far more than she ever did. For instance, Oropher and his son preferred a light, golden wine when breaking their fast. Thranduil’s steward, Feren, preferred mint tea instead. The king’s general rose earlier than most, and his first task of the day was to wander down to the kitchens, to wheedle one of the cooks into giving him a dish of sweet rolls and pastries. Y/n would keep to the shadows and watch while Angon batted his lashes and simpered at Nitiel. Nitiel would swat him on the shoulder with a clean cloth, then swat his hand away when he tried to snatch a fruit tart. Angon laughed and took one anyway.

The general wanted to marry her, so the others said, but his family disapproved. They thought Nitiel was of too little importance to join a noble family like theirs. Still, Angon persists in his courtship, and the gossips declare that he will wed his lady in such a way that no one will be able to say no. Y/n knew what that meant. She moved deeper into the shadows and walked away as Angon leaned over the table, believing him and Nitiel to be alone. Y/n heard a wistful sigh and a fit of giggles, and then more laughter. She smirked. Angon managed to steal another tart.

The days passed by as if in a dream, and while many of the servants were kind, many of those that lived on the upper floors were not. Y/n heard the harsh whispers and the names.

Kinslayer

Murderer

Y/n was neither of these, but it hurt to hear them all the same. She tried her best to ignore them, but every time she glanced into the small silvered looking glass in her chamber and touched her shorn hair, tears came to her eyes.

Mother used to braid my hair and tell stories, she remembered. Father would pick up a lyre and hum softly while she did so. Such happy times darkened forever by the oath’s taint. Oh, if only father had refused his masters. If only he had said no and walked away.

It was too late now. Her father did not refuse his masters. He did not say no. Y/n pulled out a little bag from her pocket and drew out a worn pin after opening it. It was made for her by her father when she came of age. Her mother had painted it with tiny flowers found only in Valinor. The filigreed silver had acquired a green patina due to age, and the painting had all but faded. Y/n treasures it still. It was the one thing she refused to sell, as it reminded her of happier times. She turned it over her fingers, her heart aching desperately when she remembered she was here, and her parents were waiting for her in the Halls of Mandos.

I will not see them, she thought, not for many and more years. Not until the long years of my life are finally spent and I must answer the Doomsman’s call.  

Someone huffed outside her room. "Is something amiss?" Y/n put the pin back into its bag when Nitiel knocked and entered.

"The crown prince wishes to see you," Nitiel replied at once. "His steward is without and waits to escort you to the gardens."

This cannot be good. "Did he say what the prince wants of me?"

"He did not," Nitiel shrugged, adding, "It cannot be anything bad, I think. The king would have dealt with you himself if that were the case."

Y/n hid the bag inside her pocket and straightened her apron. "I will come with you."

She followed Nitiel into the kitchens, dipping to her knees when Feren turned to face her. "Ah," he said, pleased. "There she is. Come with me, my lady. The prince wishes to speak with you."

When he offered his arm, she took it and let him lead her out of the kitchen. Feren talked pleasantly enough about the weather, about the autumn flowers that were blooming in the gardens, and about the feast everyone was talking about.

"Who do you think will attend, my lord?" Y/n mused.

"Feren," He said, not unkindly. "Just about everyone in Greenwood the Great will come. I hear the King of Lórien himself is hoping to attend."

Y/n had only heard tales of Amdír, having gone out of her way to avoid straying into his kingdom’s borders. She pressed Feren to tell her more. Thranduil’s steward was more than happy to oblige and kept up a lively chatter until they were in the gardens.

"I hear there will be contests as well."

"Aye. For anyone who is a warrior. The wagers are quite staggering already."

Y/n pondered this and studied Feren more carefully. The elf had light brown hair and a comely face. He was built like an archer, tall and lean with strong arms. He moved like one too, silently and swiftly.

"Will you partake?" she inquired after a while.

Feren smiled. "I am," he began, "in the archery contests. Although I am uncertain how I will stand against more skilled archers than I."

"You will do well, I am sure," y/n answered, and she was rewarded with another smile.

Thranduil was seated comfortably beneath an emerald canopy. There was no one else with him. His father was nowhere to be seen. The crown prince was garbed in embroidered blue velvet slashed with cloth silver. An ornate, gilded sword hung to his side. A table had been set in front of him and filled with all manner of food and drink. A book was open and left to the side. Y/n wondered what it was.

"Lady y/n, my lord," Feren announced softly.

"Thank you, old friend." Thranduil rose, and Feren bowed. He made his excuses and left y/n with the crown prince.

Thranduil tilted his head curtly. "Lady y/n," he said, gesturing for her to sit by him.

Y/n was amazed. First it was Thranduil’s icy but polite manner of address; now it was his invitation for her to sit with him. She obeyed, not wanting to insult him in any way.

"Your highness," she said, dipping her head and keeping her gaze firmly on her lap.

A thick and uncomfortable silence settled over them. Y/n did not mind. She took the opportunity to look around and admire the flowers in bloom, and the greedy little bees that hovered around them, their tiny legs fat with pollen. Birds sang in the trees, and just beneath their song, she could hear the faint roar of the river.

After what felt like an age, Thranduil poured a cup of wine for her before refreshing his own. "I trust you are content with your new appointment?"

"I am," said she, not daring to even take the proffered drink. It could very well be some sort of test, for all she knew. "And I am most grateful to you and your father for letting me stay here."

Thranduil studied her keenly and declared, with haughty disdain, "One such as you ought to be." He ignored y/n’s quiet gasp and continued. "But I did not ask you here to exchange meaningless pleasantries. I have more valuable things to do with my time. Y/n. I believe I do not have to tell you about Mereth Nuin Giliath?"

"It is all anyone talks about in the kitchens," y/n divulged, a little stung by what he said at the beginning. It made her feel like she was undeserving of help.

"Good." Thranduil leaned into his ornate wooden chair and sipped on his wine, not caring if y/n was drinking her own. He certainly made no attempt to ask her to help herself to the food. "Good. Then I must tell you that we are a few hands short, and my father has decided to let you serve and aid the others during the feast and frolics over the coming days. I trust you can manage this."

Y/n did not show the giddy excitement on her face, thinking it might anger him and make him take back his offer. "I can, your highness."

"Good," Thranduil said, turning towards the wide arching doors leading back to the palace. A warrior who was near walked over when the prince beckoned him. "You will be given livery befitting the occasion. Now you must excuse me. Good day, y/n."

"And you, your highness," y/n said and rose. When she walked by Thranduil, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Should misfortune strike anyone during the festivities and you are suspected," Thranduil warned menacingly, "I will show you no mercy."

The prince’s threat was no idle threat. It was a solemn promise. And his grip hurt. Cold fear and pain flashed in y/n’s eyes. She tried to pull her hand away but found that she could not. Thranduil was far too strong. Unable to do anything else, y/n mewled softly and shuddered, whispering, "You are hurting me."

Thranduil let go, his eyes widening at the bruise that had already begun to form. "I…" the prince began, rising from his seat. Y/n rubbed her wrist and sniffed. She glimpsed at the prince and found something akin to shame in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he entreated, taking a step toward her. "I..."

Y/n took a step back. She wanted to go back to the safety of her chamber and nurse her wrist, and was grateful her sleeves were long enough to hide the bruising. There would be no end to the questions of others if they saw, and y/n did not know how she would tell them if they did.

"No need for apologies, your highness," she mumbled sadly and pulled down her sleeve. The prince made no further effort to come near her after that. "One such as me is underserving of your words. Pray tell the king I will be honored to serve during the festivities."

Thranduil merely nodded, and let her walk away.