Introduction

There was a smooth, crisp breeze on this particularly sunny afternoon, signaling a soon coming autumn. The outskirts of the Woodland Realm were surrounded by a gloriously hedged garden, blooming forth flowers of various colors, overflowing with butterflies and birds among other wildlife. For this was unlike any dark Mirkwood we have ever seen or known, this was Greenwood.

Thranduil stood gallantly under an ornate stone archway alongside Gerand, his Captain of the Royal Guard, proposing strategies to relocate combat training from well-trodden grounds to vacant, grassier fields. While affairs throughout Middle Earth seemed relatively peaceful, the Elfking and his Captain were not keen on leaving themselves defenseless; these two were known for being well prepared. Whether a compromise had gone awry between Thranduil and another, or an unskilled Elf had overstepped his bounds, individuals regularly brought their grievances to the doorstep of the woodland realm.

As Gerand began trailing off on one of his traditional rants, a pair of Bluebirds suddenly burst out from a flowering vine alongside the northeast entrance. Thranduil quickly turned his focus toward the trailing plant, moving silently and swiftly while his companion, staring off at a mountain range, continued rambling in regards to stern discipline. The rustling leaves suddenly grew still, as a tiny giggle grew more negligible from just within the hedge. The Elfking knelt down before the brush, in curiosity, promptly spreading the leaves apart with both of his genteel hands.

"Hello?" Thranduil asked, captivated.

The giggling softened as a muted, anxious creature turned to meet him.

"I'm sorry." came a whisper.

"Are you in distress? Are there any means by which I may help you? Come," he paused, "please step into the light. Amin vesta il- cron- llei."

As the individual approached Thranduil, long blonde hair came into view, softly framing a squared face. Sunlight gently kissed a pair of bright amber eyes, which glistened like gold, as they peered out from beneath the foliage. The Elfking was taken aback by the beauty of this human child, instinctively reaching out toward her.

Once standing, the little girl brushed away the leaves and dirt which had collected in her skirt, and bowed to the royalty before her.

"Thank you, your majesty." she mumbled, nervously.

"Where have you come from?" questioned Thranduil, "We must return you home, yassen ascaii."

"My Father has made camp just ahead of the river," the girl motioned toward Esgaroth and continued,

"his army is scouting well beyond your bounds, toward Erebor."

"His army... is your Father the Captain?"

"No, he organizes our people without title, as we have been pushed out of our former dwellings."

"Ner ve' y' aran, san'iii." he thought to himself, "Ai eriv, what is your name?" Thranduil pressed.

She peered at him silently, thinking before answering, "Rônivale. But you may call me Rôn."

"I am King Thranduil. Saesa omentien llev." he replied, bowing slightly, "We must set upon returning you to your Father, at once."

Within the hour, Thranduil found himself upon his tall, russet Friesian, escorting Rôn back to her campgrounds. The Elfking wanted to ensure her safe return, and quickly departed from the Kingdom without alerting the watchkeep. As she held tight to her companion, Rôn described the purplish flowers and woodland animals she favored within his gardens. And before long, she realized how suddenly they were approaching the newly-built guard post of her camp.

"Halt!" a demanding figure commanded from his post, now standing in the path of Thranduil's stallion.

"I am returning something of yours. Step aside, " Thranduil's presence, although striking, did little to alarm the rigid guard.

The man stood his ground, grasping a beaten sword, flashing two fingers in the air. Another man atop the tower blew a horn in two long bursts, followed by two short bursts. Before long, the repetition of hooves, galloping in unison, drew closer as Rôn sat shaking behind her guide.

"Suula tumbavii, stay calm." Thranduil reassured her, "All is well, Kertaviii."

Five armored horsemen quickly converged, atop chestnut Finnhorses. The guardsman returned to his post beneath the tower, as five horses slowed to a trot to face the newcomer. Observing the Elf's fine robes and adornments of nobility, the lead rider dismounted. Upon approach, with closer inspection, the leader took notice of a rather small figure, accompanying the emotionless rider.

"Rônivale?" the man questioned, clenching his fists.

"Father." Rôn pulled her velvety hood down around her shoulders, glancing at the ground.

Turning toward his daughter's aide, he began to introduce himself, "I am Colborn, son of Frey, son of Brynjar." he brought his right fist to his chest with a sigh of relief, and raised his head toward Thranduil, "It seems I have misplaced my daughter, Rônivale."

"Mae govannenix. Thranduil, son of Oropher, Elvish King of Greenwood." he replied, callously.

Nodding, Colborn walked over to the magnificent mount, reaching toward his daughter. Rônivale dismally leaned forward into her Father's grasp, returning again to the ground, smoothing out her skirt. She turned and curtsied Thranduil before running past the tower to find solace within her tent. Colborn followed in her footsteps to remount his horse, whistling before turning back to camp.

"Tenna' ento lye omenta, tiri erx." Thranduil whispered to himself.

Footnotes:

i I promise not to harm you (elvish)

ii With haste (elvish)

iii More like a King, then (elvish)

iv Little one (elvish)

v Pleasure meeting you (elvish)

vi Cowardly dog (elvish)

vii Breathe deep (elvish)

viii Rune (elvish)

ix Well met (elvish)

x Until next we meet, bright one (elvish)