Chapter 32

The ellon was first to find his voice. "I knew it," he said quietly with a smile. Alagbara, the elleth, shook her head disbelievingly.

Thranduil brushed his fingers against his face and nearly grieved the loss of concealment, but decided against it, for the sight of the scar had apparently brought him into favor with these two elves.

The elleth stubbornly thrust her chin up. "This proves nothing," she said.

The ellon entered the room. "So you are the King then," he said with an impressed tone that the Sinda appreciated. There were some benefits to being King, and his recent journey with a handful of bickering elflings had been quite lacking in those areas.

"Yes," Thranduil said with a wry smile, "Though I have not felt much like one lately."

The ellon inclined his head politely and Alagbara rolled her eyes. "I hope you don't mind me asking, hir-nin," he began hesitantly, making a vague gesture to his face and searching for the right words.

"Yes I do mind but I suppose I will have to say one way or another..." Thranduil trailed off as he spotted a tangle of chestnut locks and doe-eyed faces peering out from a room adjacent to his and wound up his face with a nearly frantic urgency. He did not want the children to see such things too much. Orc indeed, he thought wryly.

A smile split his face as they all came rushing into his arms with a force that made him backpedal. Words gushed from their lips like a tide as he picked up Fararth and tried to quiet them.

The other two elves in the room stood by silently, trying to comprehend the absurdity of the situation.

"If you would please gather the leaders of this settlement as it would spare me from having to repeat myself...?" Thranduil managed, leaving a question open to the ellon's name as the elflings squirmed about and tugged at his hair.

"Nimmîr," he offered, "Yes, uhm, of course hir-nin." he delivered a jerky bow and vanished outside. Alagbara whirled on her heel and wordlessly left.

Thranduil turned to the children. He sat down on the edge of the bed as they clustered around him, Fararth curling upon his lap and Estella making herself comfortable under his arm. The older two sufficed themselves by leaning against him.

"Are you all well?" Thranduil said, nodding to himself as four yeses piped up. He stroked Minaitir's hair with loving fondness and chuckled as Estella and Fararth yawned simultaneously. "These elves treated you well?" they all nodded with contented, drowsy expressions.

"You slept a long time," Estella noted absently.

"I did?"

Helgilion nodded and answered. "Since when you fainted yesterday until now."

Thranduil had already established it was afternoon. He had indeed slept long, though he still felt wearied. He cast a quick glance to his pack still slumped in the corner. I still have to decide what to do with the Ring... and the journal, he thought with a pang.

"I did not faint I merely..."

"Fainted," insisted Minaitir with a wry smile, the first one in a long while.

Thranduil huffed and decided that it was better off if the children were not under everyone's feet when he went to meet with the officials.

He was about to order them all to bed when a smug Minaitir chanted something under his breath. Thranduil raised a challenging eyebrow and looked down at him. "What was that, son?"

Minaitir smirked and repeated it louder in a sing-song voice.

"You got hit by a giiirrlll." The elflings giggled and he tweaked their ears as they all began to chant in between snickers.

"All right, all right, you asked for it! Off to bed!" He pushed them off of him and shushed their groans.

"But it's still light outside!" Helgilion protested.

"That's unfortunate."

"And this is the only bed here!" Estella added.

Thranduil gave them all a reproachful look. "You can only stay here if you are absolutely quiet."

They all nodded. He sighed and leaned against the headboard and took the journal from an inner pocket of his tunic as the children snuggled into the bed.

He stared at the cover, lightly tracing over the fading gold leaf. His thoughts drifted to Legolas as it had several times during his journey. He wondered where he was, praying he was safe. He wondered what he was doing right now; if he ever thought of his father. Wondered who he was with and if he was still in good health. Thranduil reached out to him, assuring himself that his boy was still alive by the light he felt in the part of his fea reserved for Legolas. He winced as he came to the torn edge of his heart; the fluttering remnant of what used to tie him to his Celeblessil. He pulled back and tried to banish his line of thought. Thinking of Legolas only brought him hurt. He could do nothing now. He forced himself to think of something else.

Minaitir inched an eye open. Then he sat up. Thranduil stared at him and he smiled shyly as all the other elfling's eyes popped open as well.

"We can't seem to get to sleep."

Thranduil nodded in consideration. "Seems that way," he said neutrally.

Minaitir wedged himself under the Sinda's arm. "Could you tell us a story?"

Thranduil smiled. They reminded him so much of his Legolas.

"Well I suppose, seeing as how its the only way to send you ruffians off to your dreams." The elflings settled in and he began.

"Now, there was once a boy, much like you four, though a good bit older. A stubborn one he was at that. He always went off to where he ought not to and he could be the rudest thing you ever did see at times," Thranduil began with a faraway look of nostalgia. "Well, his Ada was a rather important fellow and had oftentimes left the boy alone to take care of whatever business important-like fellows do. You see, his Ada was having a rather hard time bringing up this boy all by his lonesome, and the boy could get into a mess of trouble when he was in the mind to do so—"

"Was his mother dead?" Minaitir asked, understanding in his youthful eyes.

Thranduil stopped and bit his lip. "Yes, she was son." After a pause, he began again.

"Now, back to the boy. You see, its not like he wanted to get into all the trouble he had managed to tangle himself up in, he was simply lonely.

"Many years passed and the boy didn't get much better. Him and his Ada moved to a new home, far across the country full of new elves. Some of the elves did not like the boy and his Ada very much, while others did.

"But it was with one of those very elves that the boy made a friend. Well, at least he thought he made a friend, only she hadn't really taken a liking to him at first. But eventually, she warmed up to him some and they really did become friends. And with this friend he did nearly everything. They went hunting together, and she even taught him how to run amongst the trees—"

"She... they fell in love didn't they," Estella said with a smug smile under sleepy eyelids.

A slow smile spread over Thranduil's face. "That they did, penneth, that they did." He paused, wallowing in distant memories of brighter days.

"And?" Helgilion prodded in a quiet voice so as not to disturb Fararth who had already dropped off to sleep.

"Well the boy and his friend—well I suppose he wasn't really a boy anymore—he had grown up together with this friend of his and they had the best of times together. One day the ellon even got enough stern stuff to ask the elleth to marry him. And so they married.

"Years passed, seasons shifted and time shaped the world around them. Problems arose and the elleth and ellon had gotten into several fights, but they had always been able to make amends and dwell in peace once more.

"Oh, and then the tree. You see, the elleth had always adored the trees so — beech was her favorite— and she often dragged the ellon into the trees with her for a quiet moment in harmony with the essence of Ëa. But the ellon, clumsy thing he was, had never felt quite right skipping across the branches as they dipped under his feet, even if he was with the elleth.

"So one day he surprised her, and on a mighty oak overlooking a small pond in their own secret garden she had designed herself, he built them a small flet; a talan of sorts, just without a roof."

Thranduil huffed fondly, his unseeing eyes betraying his absence in the present. Estella dozed away on his lap.

"She has been positively furious, going on and on about how sticking nails into trees hurt them and such, but the ellon had made sure the flet was built safely within the branches, without hurting the tree. She wasn't so angry after that," he said with a laugh. Helgilion was out.

"And that was their favorite place to be together. The elleth, she had several ribbons tied to a small twig up on the flet, and each color meant a different place in the garden they would meet. She wore a different color every day for the evening meal and they would look up at the stars nearly every night together on their flet in the secret garden." He sighed softly, a frown creasing his forehead, for those days were no more.

"She died too, didn't she?" Minaitir asked in a small voice.

Thranduil looked down at him. "Why do you say that?"

Minaitir fiddled with the edge of his tunic. "Well, my Naneth was a very nice elleth too, and she died." The elfling lifted a face pinched with sorrow to the Sinda. Thranduil's downcast countenance gave the young one his answer. "Why do all the nice people always have to die?"

Thranduil stroked Minaitir's hair soothingly. "Well, think of it like this; when you are in a garden which flowers do you pick?"

"I don't pick flowers. Especially from a garden. They will die if you do." Minaitir's furrowed brow betrayed his suspicion. "You're the naughty ellon from the story, aren't you? You probably picked flowers, too," he said with a reprimanding raised eyebrow that looked quite silly on his childish face.

Thranduil laughed and ruffled his hair, causing him to sputter slightly and then quiet, so as not to wake the other elflings.

"Yes, I was the ellon from the story, but that's besides the point. If you were to pick flowers from a garden, say for your Naneth, which ones would you pick?"

"The prettiest ones."

"Exactly."

Sympathetic understanding dawned on Minaitir's face. He lowered his head and continued to fiddle with the hem of his tunic. A few beats of silence passed, and Thranduil nearly thought him asleep, but for the quiet voice that floated up to him.

"How did he feel, when his Naneth died?"

"Who?"

"Your son. How did he feel?"

Thranduil was somewhat surprised by the question. "Well," he began slowly, "he was heartbroken at best, and... very lonely I imagine." Thranduil bit his lip. He was only lonely because you were not there for him like his mother always was. "But I suppose you know all that," the Sinda finished, hoping the subject would switch to a less emotionally taxing topic.

Minaitir nodded against Thranduil's chest and yawned mightily. A single tear slipped free from his lashes, and he whispered, "I feel lonely too sometimes. I miss my Ada."

The Sinda swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled the elfling closer, resting his cheek atop his brown head. Within a few moments, Minaitir was sound asleep.

Thranduil retrieved the journal from the small table beside the bed, slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the children in their dreams. Steeling himself, he opened the journal to a random page and lifted it to a fading beam of light streaming through the ancient boards of the shanty.

The date at the top was smudged with a fingerprint so that it was unreadable. He scanned the page.

'Today I had a very fine morn. Only had two meetings which passed rather quickly, with special thanks to the elleth who had managed to spill half a wine bottle on my robes. She was flustered and apologetic but I had been relieved for the excuse to leave that accursed room.'

Thranduil smiled; he and his father were very alike.

'Like I said a very good morn. At least until it was reported to me that my small operation was beginning to crash.'

Thranduil leaned in. He was talking about the wealth scattered over the country.

'Blasted humans and blasted dwarves. How dare they decide to freely use my wealth in such a manner! I was furious to say the least. That was when I decided to ban further use of said wealth. Thieving scoundrels. How dare they.'

He smiled and suppressed the urge to laugh a bit. His father did not anger easily, but it was quite a sight when he did. His face would turn red and his left eye would twitch. It was really quite funny actually, when you learned not to fear him. Of course, Thranduil was often the subject of Oropher's anger, so he had gotten used to the blazing countenance where any other being with their senses intact would run as fast as their feet could carry them.

'At least my young Thranduil didn't manage to get himself into much trouble this day. He had even finished the reports I had given to him before sneaking off on his horse. He is becoming more obedient by the week. I dearly hope it's not just a phase. I do think it has something to do with the young elleth he is seeing. A Silvan she is, but if she can keep him leashed as such I dearly hope they marry.'

The entry ended there. The Sinda smiled and brushed his fingers over the page. He had no idea his father thought that way of his relationship with Celeblessil. She had tamed him in a way, he supposed.

Thranduil flipped to the last filled page. The handwriting was a bit shaky and not as neat as some of the prior entries.

'SA 3430

'The Counsel was held today. We will go to war along with Amdír from Lothloríen and Anárion from the South along with a party from Khazad-dûm under the authority of the Noldo King Gil-Galad and the human King, Elendíl.

'We set out on the morrow. I yet grieve the loss of Greenwood's Ring, for I had hoped for it to come into my possession by the time this war began. The brewing of such conflict and the preparation has restricted me the time for journeying North into the Grey Mountains and retrieving it, for I have taken the liberty of sketching out a map of its location after a bit of prodding for information from Thranduil.'

The Sinda nodded absently, remembering how he had seethed while his father fired question after question. It was difficult to remember small things such as the Ring when he had been far more concerned about avoiding the great slashing claws, swooping tail, and flurries of flame from the Serpent.

'Alas, as I do not know if it were to hold equal properties of power had I retrieved it, for I doubt that letting it sit near a rotting dragon's corpse for a number of decades would help it maintain its Light. Or if would altogether be Darkened... Ah, it matters not.'

Thranduil nearly gasped aloud. Of course! He had lost the Ring in the Grey Mountains. The evil presence of the Serpent— dead as it may be— most probably corrupted it. He sent a glare to his pack still slumped in the corner that housed the cursed object. You have been far too much trouble, he chided with a shake of his head.

'I have an aversion to the thought that this entry might be my last, lest this conflict take my life. Yet I would rather it be my last then have the following be a lament (alas, my heart repels the very thought of writing this) for the death of my son. I would bid Thranduil stay if I did not know of the patriotism that burns in him. He will not tolerate the thought of being left behind.

'And so we march to war. Eru protect us all.'

Thranduil blinked away the burn in his eyes. His head swam with newly acquired memory and he kept his chest numb to the memories that began to plague him once again. I wish I could talk to him one last time. To apologize— He cut off his train of thought before he drowned in his sea of compiling wishful regrets.

He closed the journal with a faint crackling of aged parchment, relishing in the old, dusty scent. A single folded paper stuck out from between the pages. Thranduil pulled it out and unfolded it with care, studying it.

The paper was old and worn, but not as much so as the rest of the journal, indicating that this was more recently drawn. When it was fully open, it was quite evident that it was a map. A map of the Grey Mountains it seemed, as it was written there in crisp Tengwar.

The mountain range was all laid out in a series of twists and turns and triangular markings that indicated a cave of some sort, and wide-mouthed 'v's that corresponded to a ravine.

Thranduil squinted and held the map closer to the light. He now saw the difference in two different types of ink; one faded and looked about as old as the parchment, though he could tell it was a better quality than the other for the color was richer, even faded. The other ink seemed a more diluted kind that was common among the general population. This latter ink, though, was definitely more recent.

The differences in the ink consistency were subtle and hard to discern in the fading light, but what was more evident was that the two inks were quite obviously written by two different hands.

Besides that there was a clear pattern of the two handwritings. And Thranduil suspected he knew exactly who wrote them.

One, the older, expensive ink was written by his father; the general outline of the mountains and a small circled area with a side note that showed that's where he suspected the Ring was after draining his source of information, which was, in-coincidentally, Thranduil himself.

The other, less prestigious and more recent ink was done by the hand of no other than Ausocitin.

Of course, Thranduil didn't have much substantial proof to back his claim but it simply made the most sense that Ausocitin had acquired this journal with the map, found the Ring and defined the details in the map of the Grey Mountains, and then brought it back to use against Thranduil when he discovered it was, in fact, tainted.

The Sinda thought back to the way the ex-Advisor had struggled with him to keep the Ring out of his possession. It had been the red-haired woman that had proffered the cursed thing anyhow.

Then it all clicked together in his mind.

Ausocitin had very well known of the darkened state of the Ring, and his original plan had been for it to wind up in Thranduil's hands so as to weaken him or at least cause him to act in a way that would completely sever any of the Silvan people's remaining affections for their King.

Thranduil shuddered at the very thought.

Apparently, the enticing pull of power the Ring promised had snared Ausocitin in it's trap, and he had no longer wanted to give it up. The red-haired woman had saved his plans. She was most definitely in league with him. As was her son, he thought bitterly, remembering Jaseric's brooch being displayed on his unworthy shoulder. The Sinda quickly banished all thoughts of the deceased ellon for he had not the time to mourn now.

There was only one explanation for Ausocitin's state, and it was that he had handled the Ring too often or too long for him to stay in his right mind, for no decent-minded elf, no matter of how big of a zealous rage he was in would do what he has done now by demolishing a settlement populated by his very own people. He was too-far-gone. Much like what became of the Ring's light as it rotted in the evil emanating from the Serpent's carcass, he thought.

Though his Light had been dimmed, Ausocitin's scheming mind had not. He compensated for the part the Ring was to play in his little plan to overthrow Thranduil by somehow managing to make himself look like the Elvenking and not bothering to make his 'identity' a secret as he went about doing heinous acts to ruin the Sinda's reputation and what little loyalty was still reserved for him.

Thranduil knew it just had to be Ausocitin who had destroyed this settlement, because then the mystery of why the ellon guard at the twin outposts of the entrance to the settlement would have his father's journal—for he knew of no one else who would have the information required to get his hands on that!— and his own robe! His theory simply had to be true. Now he only had the small task of convincing the settlement officials that he was not the one guilty for the burning of their homes.

It was then that Nimmîr entered. He opened his mouth like to make an announcement but closed it uncomfortably as he took in the sight of the four elflings curled up with the the Elvenking on the rickety old bed. Now, how he wished he had something more to offer than said rickety old bed to this ellon who claimed to be the Sindar King. Nimmîr corrected himself; the ellon he himself believed to be the King.

Nimmîr met Thranduil's expectant raised eyebrow with an uncomfortable gesture outside, meaning that the elves were gathered and waiting on his presence.

He watched closely as the ellon put away a curious green journal of sorts and arranged the elflings sleeping on him with such tender care that made the accusation that he had been the one to destroy their settlement sound just as absurd as the notion of proclaiming that Sauron was no longer evil. The very thought of such accusation stoked an indignant flame in Nimmîr's gut as he watched the Sinda kiss one of the elfling's brow.

He must have been staring, for Thranduil again gave him the expectant expression of the raised eyebrow that very much unsettled Nimmîr.

They walked out of the shanty and out to a small throng of elves seated outside on either half-charred logs or blackened chairs that looked about ready to give out. They formed a loose circle and Thranduil found himself seated in between a sympathetic Nimmîr and an indignant Alagbara. She shot him a scathing glare out of the corner of her eye and he lifted his chin, not about ready to part with his accustomed intimidating air. Like he had told himself previously, he would not let this fiery-spirited elleth to cow him in any way, though he felt her loyalty would be essential.

The discussion began with a dry remark form a rich-dark-brown-haired ellon on the opposite side of the circle.

"Well, you certainly have the looks of the current King, I'll grant you that, but then, so did the other villain."

Thranduil grimaced. The ellon's words certainly implied that Thranduil the King was a villain as well.

"I have not set foot here in several millennia," was Thranduil's response.

"Aye," commented another, "the king has not set foot in these parts since he was yet a prince, so if you speak the truth, then that is so." The ellon paused with a promising half-grin, "unless your millennia is measured differently than ours."

A chorus of chuckles went around the assembly and Thranduil offered a a wry flash of his teeth in his expense. The dry remark reminded him of the pure simplicity and easy nature of the Silvans he fell in love with from the very beginning. Well, the fact that he married one of those said Silvans might have something to do with the fact, he thought with an inward smile.

"I assure you the villain you encountered priorly was my imposter striving to spoil my name and any loyalty among the people." The Sinda pretended not to hear the mutter: "you mean spoil it more than you already managed to by yourself," from somewhere in the audience behind him. Nimmîr had obviously heard the terse remark, for he shifted uncomfortably next to Thranduil.

"Can you prove it?" asked an elleth somewhere to his left.

"Not other than the fact that I found my father's journal and a robe of mine in the hands in one of your dead outpost guards. No other than my Advisor that has gone completely rogue will have had the means to access such items."

"An Advisor gone rogue you say?" Nimmîr inquired, perking up attentively.

"What explains the fact that the stronghold has failed to deliver the customary supplies?" shouted an elleth.

Thranduil turned to Nimmîr. "Oh yes. Perhaps you would all like to know that the stronghold is under siege by a very large group of humans led by said rogue Advisor. I myself saw crates and crates of the very vials he used to wreck his destruction here," he said calmly.

Murmurs erupted and were hushed by the first brown-haired ellon who had spoken. "We can eliminate the probability that this ellon himself is leading these humans or possesses the vials, for I can see that there had been an evident attempt on your life, and that is not possible to fake."

Eyes involuntarily turned to him and Thranduil quickly adjusted the collar of his tunic over the healing scar on his neck from Tauriel.

"Can we please return to the question of whether or not this ellon is who he claims to be?" Alagbara had spoken.

Another ellon to his right asked another question. "Nimmîr, you said there was something about this ellon that compelled you to believe him. Do you care to enlighten us?" He directed the question at Thranduil.

"And I will answer that with a question of my own. Has there been any disturbances from the Serpent in the North since the massacre?"

Elves looked at each other but said nothing. Finally Alagbara took up the discussion. "Why bring this up now? This will help prove nothing—" The bitterness was evident in her voice until she was interrupted by Thranduil.

"Just answer my question, saes."

She looked down and bit the inside of her cheek before reluctantly answering. "No."

"No, because the Serpent is dead. I killed him."

Protests floated out from the audience.

"Maybe the Serpent is dead, but it was certainly not killed by the prince. It is common knowledge that—" an elleth began.

"The missing soldiers," interjected Nimmîr, cutting the elleth off.

"Exactly! It is common knowledge. A rumor spread by the very Advisor that has gone rogue. He has been planning to take the throne since I was yet young and conjured this rumor in his favor."

"Give it to us plain and simple," commanded the brown-haired ellon.

"I killed the Serpent," Thranduil insisted. This was a difficult conversation to have, not just because of the story he had tried so hard to conceal was going to come out, but that a phrase worded wrong could send any given present elf into a temper, and all the others would instinctively side with them.

"Prove it!" Alagbara shot back.

Thranduil bit his lip nervously and let his concealment slip away. Several gasps erupted from the crowd and even Nimmîr leaned back.

"My father did not know that I had taken a company North to slay the beast. I was the only one to survive. I had to disappear for a time while healing, and it was then the rumor was spread."

Thus his identity was proved, for nothing but dragon fire could cause the skin not to even knit back together. Alagbara did not look too happy about having to delay her revenge, but even she seemed to accept this new fact, although grudgingly.

"Hir-nin," began the brown-haired elf slowly with a respectful dip of his head. "Your story rings true. Let us move on to the question of whether or not this Advisor will return with his exploding vials. Why did he choose to come to this settlement?"

Thranduil thought for a moment when a smile of realization dawned on his face. "You do have a share of gold held here, do you not?"

The elves began to rise, regarding him in a new light. "Yes indeed hir-nin. Right this way."

The Sinda nodded and rose as well. "Yes, he will be back. But this time we will be ready for him."

oOoOoOo

Yes I am sure at least some of you have heard the flower quote but it fit here. :P I promise the story Thranduil tells to the elflings is important so remember it. ;)

Thank you all for your encouragement and enthusiasm!

And of course thank you to Scribbles for looking this over! Blessings mellon-nín! ;3