A/N: Please excuse the sporadic posts. I am constantly in transit at the moment and until my travel ends at the end of this month, I am afraid my updates will not be regular. Hope all of you are well.

Amon Lanc. September 29, SA 721

OROPHER's hand trailed the many curves of the bed he had taken centuries to carve and polish. From where he sat, on top of the bed, he could look out the entire forest through the open wall. The forest outside was a sea of silver mists of the early morning.

He walked up to the open ledge. The mists like the waves of the ocean lapped at his feet, their silver threads wounding around the sturdy branches of the beech tree which held up the floor of the bed-chamber.

The mists were receding, revealing the tops of the trees in the varying hues of reds and golds. With the end of the Autumn, the Fading would start when all leaves start to fall. The deep colors of the season were on their last blush.

Oropher looked around the room he had carefully furnished with his own hands. The three walls and the ceiling were woven with the living tree branches. He had been working in this room for centuries, ever since he and his people had built a stone citadel on the top of Amon Lanc. On those nights when longing and worrying over his son made sleeping impossible, he had come here and worked on each piece of furniture.

From the intricately carved bed frames to the cedar chest by its feet to the curved desk and the chairs, Oropher handmade each of them, weaving his love and longing into each piece.

They started as a small, inexpert piece, but over the centuries, turned into the elaborate, intricate pieces they had become. There had been many sleepless nights.

For the past five yeni, Oropher worried about having a Noldorin daughter-in-law as it was a possibility he could not rule out. Had Thranduil chose a mate at Lindon, whether a Noldo or a Sinda, Oropher had no say in it. But what he feared more than the choice of a mate had been the chains. He had been certain that Gil-galad would try his best to keep Thranduil chained to Lindon. When a keeper of the prison was a pretty-eyed lover, it was easy to forget the walls that kept him there.

But his son was coming home, coming back to him. Oropher's chest swelled.

The Sindarin lord ran his hand over the gleaming finish of the bedframe inlaid with mithril and emeralds he had salvaged from the dismantled baldric his father had given him. A long time ago now. So much of what they used to own had been lost. He and his people had none of the wealth they once had except what they had on their persons when they were forced to leave Menegroth.

Oropher originally planned to make a diadem for Thranduil with it, for future use, but he remembered how much his son hated wearing circlets, especially after the devastation at Menegroth.

Of the things of value, his armor, mithril mail, and the swords were all that were left, and they were all he had that he could leave his son. It grieved Oropher that he could not give more to his son, unlike his own father who had lavished so much on him. But his father had been a prince of a great realm and the commander of the army under the high king of the Sindar. Unlike his father, he was just a poor wanderer with nothing to his name but duty and the bitter memories of what had been.

He had risked everything to find the place his wife had seen in her birth dream, to give his son a future. Oropher believed this was the right place, but until Thranduil was here, he could not be certain.

As for him, he had given his heart to this place and its people. The Silvans were not as knowledgeable as his people had been, and definitely not nearly as knowledgeable as Noldor, but there was a certain innocence and vitality to them that had touched his heart. And he hoped and prayed that Thranduil would come to love them as much as he.

"My lord? Are you still in here?" Glineth walked in. "Did you not sleep again? Have you forgotten that you are leaving for Lorinand today?"

"No. I just wanted to make sure everything is as it should. Do you think he will like this room? Perhaps the room facing the east is better? He could see the sunrise in the morning."

"My lord," Glineth smiled patiently. "You have moved his room already too many times as is. Thranduil will like this room, I am certain. With Aron's room just a hall away, it is perfect."

"Perhaps Aron will prefer the wing where Istuion and his family stay when they are here?"

"My lord," Glineth sighed.

"Maybe I should move Thranduil's room near their wing. He may prefer…"

"Oropher!" Glineth shook her head as she laid her hand on his cheek. "Dearest, it is fine the way it is. He will love it. I am sure of it."

"Yes. You are right, Glineth. Of course. You are always right. I just…"

"I know," she cooed. "You want him to like it here. Dearest, he will love it here because you are here. Because this is home."

"You don't think it is too rustic? He is probably used to the Noldorin finery. Perhaps he will think the place too plain. Too unrefined."

"Do you not know your son? He has a certain fondness for the white gems and the silver sparkles, but he loves the forests and the trees the best. This is where he belongs and he will know it when he is here."

Oropher took a long breath. Thranduil did love the trees. Even as a child, his Little Spring loved the trees and the sounds of the forest and its creatures above all things.

Oropher smiled remembering the first time he held Thranduil in his arms. His Little Spring.

Menegroth. April 12, FA 468

OROPHER hurried past the Hall of Melodies to the upper level where his personal chambers were located. Outside in the forest of the Neldoreth by River Esgalduin, the king, his court, and the warriors were still celebrating, but he missed his wife and the newborn son. As soon as he saw the ladies who were with his wife join the celebration with the king, he left for his chambers.

"They should be sleeping now, my lord," Glineth smiled as she ushered the servants out. "Thranarin!" She shouted into the chamber she just left. "Get out here, child. Your father is here."

Until the twelfth day of the child's birth when the baby is formally introduced to the court and the people, only a close family and kin would be allowed to see the mother and the baby. The birth was tiring for both the parents and the child, and the new parents would be given privacy to recover. This was also the time when the couple chose the child's name.

Thranarin stepped out of the chamber and hailed Oropher as Glineth left them alone.

"Father, have you decided on the name for my brother?"

Oropher shook his head. It was not easy to come up with a name that your child would favor.

"May I make a suggestion?" Thranarin smiled widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What do you have in mind?" Oropher was suspicious but decided to listen first.

"As we are siblings, we should share similar sounding names." He looked up as if to wait for Oropher's approval.

"Go on." Oropher nodded.

"Since I am called 'Vigorous Morning,' how about calling him Tharandur, Vigorous Night?"

"Are you sure it was not Durion who put you up to this?" Oropher had enough suggestions for the baby's name from his kin and friends.

Thranarin forced out a laugh. "Well, I thought it sounded better than Thararon or Arathran, the Noble Vigor, that Aron insisted sounded better. Or the one Beleg suggested: Belthraran, Strong Vigor."

Oropher couldn't help rolling his eyes. There had not been a child born in Menegroth for quite some time, and everybody seemed to want to "contribute." Even Celeborn wanted Oropher to consider naming the child, Celarin, Silver Morning.

"I think I heard enough," Oropher waved Thranarin away.

"Think about it, father. Really. Tharandur. It even sounds strong. Ladies will love him." Thranarin wriggled his eyebrows.

"Get out!"

Oropher shook his head as he pushed his eldest son out of the door. He passed the outer chamber into the inner one. Then, at the door of the bed-chamber, he stood still. His wife was sitting on a settee by the two-story-high window cut on one side of the wall. She was singing softly in her mother tongue to their child in her arms. Her golden hair was loose, cascading down her back onto the stone floor, glittering like a moonbeam on water.

He stood watching her, mesmerized. The sight of her never failed to take his breath away, and he had to remember to breathe.

Arinariel turned towards him, then smiled brightly like a burst of morning sunshine. His morning sunshine.

"Oropher," she whispered his name. He loved how his name sounded when she called him. The name rolled off her tongue as if she was wind and his name was her breath.

He crossed the wide chamber in one breath to kiss her, then kneeled next to her settee.

"He does not want to sleep tonight." She showed Oropher the baby who looked up at him with wide, bejeweled eyes.

"He has your eyes." Oropher gazed into the bright, star-filled eyes.

He took the child into his arms as the babe squirmed. The child bellowed out a frustrated cry until Oropher rocked him and settled the child into his arms. The baby calmed, then gurgled.

"This one has a temper."

Arinariel chuckled. "Like his father?"

"I suppose. What name will you give him, my dearest lady? What have you dreamed for our son?"

His people believed that mothers had special foresight into the life of their children. Sometimes fathers dreamed, too, but it was mostly mothers who dreamed what they called 'birth dreams.' And Oropher wondered what name Arinariel would give their child. As for him, he had not decided on a name yet.

"Arantaur."

"Arantur? Lord of the Forest? Rather a grand name, do you not think?"

"But that is what I saw in my dream."

"Tell me about it." Oropher sat down next to his wife who leaned into him. Together they looked out the window to the night sky full of stars.

"There was a great forest far, far from here. It was deep winter and all were barren, dark, and snow-covered." Arinariel's voice was music in the dark. "In the heart of this great forest, there was a great tree and our son stood before it. Our child was so tall, so very tall, Oropher." Arinariel traced the baby's face with her finger. "And the great tree, she placed a crown of spring flowers on his golden head. And all the animals of the forest bowed their heads. And the bare trees shook off the snow and turned green. The flowers bloomed and the forest filled with laughter."

"Our child? He brought spring back to the forest?"

His wife smiled and nodded. A name came to him suddenly.

"Then, I shall name him Tharan Etuil, Vigorous Spring: Thranduil."

"Tharan Etuil? It is lovely. That is what we shall call him until he is older and chooses otherwise." Arinariel smiled, then her eyes clouded. When those loveliest of eyes filled with tears, Oropher was alarmed.

"What is it, dearest?" Placing the child securely within the crook of his arm, he pulled her into his embrace with his other hand.

"The road there, to that forest, will be full of suffering. He will suffer, Oropher. There will be many sorrows and losses before him. And it is my fault. I wanted to prevent you from attending the Union of Maedhros. Another war is coming, and it will be bitter. Galadriel said only two will return, and none of those two will be the princes. It is why she is taking Celeborn away, so he will not go. Nor did I want you to go. And I knew if I was with a child, you would stay by my side. I brought him suffering in an attempt to avoid mine."

"Hush, Love. It is not the fault of yours. If his life is difficult, then it is the will of Eru. Our child must be meant for greater things. Was it not you, dearest, who always told me about amdir and estel, to look up and to have faith? I will trust in Eru and the Valar. I will hope and have faith. And no matter what happens, I will be there beside him. And you. Do you not know you are my life? Our children and you are my world." Oropher rocked her gently.

"I know that, but I also know how important duty and loyalty are to you. If the other princes are going, you will go with them. The Four Trees of Doriath always face the winds together."

And that was true. The king had forbidden them from joining in the war that raged outside their boundary. The people of Doriath had remained safe behind the girdle protected by the power of their Maiarian queen, but the four princes of Doriath had not agreed with their king's policy.

Oropher and his cousins, Celeborn, Galathil, and Amdir, admired the strength and the power of their Noldorin kin. They had wanted to learn more from them and to fight beside them. But more importantly, their young blood boiled to see Morgoth's shadow lengthen ever over the land they loved more than life. It felt wrong to huddle behind the walls of their home when there were Elves out there fighting the Dark Lord to keep the land safe.

And many youths in Doriath felt the same as they did. But they were the princes. They were to set an example for others and could not openly defy the king's edict as some others did. But in secret, they had disguised themselves to attend the battles that took place outside with those who were like-minded as they.

"Dearest, what you don't know is that if Celeborn is not going, none of us will. If one of us will not, then neither will the other three; that is the pack we made between ourselves. The king refused to fight beside the sons of Feanor and had commanded us to stay away. Regardless, with Thranduil here, I am not going anywhere. And no matter what happens, I will be there for our son. No matter how terrible the road ahead that he must face, I will be there to hold him up. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you." Arinariel buried her head on his shoulder, and Oropher kissed her forehead and pulled both his wife and son close.

"More important to me is whether he will be loved once he gets there; will he be loved?"

"Yes." She looked up at him with a bright smile even as tears still shimmered in her eyes. "He will be loved."

"Then, whatever suffering he must endure, it will be worth it."

Amon Lanc. September 29, SA 721

When the sun rose and the mists melted away, Oropher led a company of Elves down the steep slope of his citadel to the scree forest below. He had built his city on top of the hill known among the Silvans as Amon Lanc, Naked Hill. It was about 150 miles away across the River Anduin from Lorinand where Amdir ruled.

Amon Lanc was a big hill of granite with steep and smooth rocky sides. It was crowned with a mass of jointed bedrock outcrops and angular boulders like stone walls of a citadel. Silvans called it a 'naked hill' because nothing grew on its steep sides. It rose over 500 feet (152meters) over the wide scree forest dominated by a mix of hornbeams, oaks, and beech trees. Many shallow streams mingled among the mass of loose gray granite rocks with silver veins scattered all around the base of the hill which was over a mile long.

Due to its steep sides made slick by the silent flow of water streaming down from the top, no one had attempted to climb it until Oropher. He had wanted to survey the area and seeing that it was the tallest place in southern Greenwood, climbed it.

At its apex, Oropher was surprised to see that the top of the hill was flatter and wider than he originally thought. Surrounded by jagged rocks, when one looked up from below, no one imagined that the top contained a small grove of beech trees that surrounded a natural spring. The spring fed the many streams of water that flowed down from the top. The Naked Hill was not naked after all.

Over the centuries, Oropher and his people had shaped the rocks on the summit into thick walls and nurtured the grove of beech trees to build a stronghold for his people. On the side of the steep slopes of granite, they carved shallow stairs. The bare hint of the stairs and the steepness of the sides made it impossible for anyone to climb them unless they were nimble and steady on their feet like the Elves.

Today, he was leaving for Lorinand where he will meet with Thranduil and Celeborn. Yesterday, a messenger came with the news that Celeborn and Thranduil arrived at the other side of the Misty Mountains. As Lorinand was a four-day ride from Amon Lanc, Oropher planned to stay with Amdir to receive them, or if the occasion calls for it, to cross the Misty Mountains.

As he alighted on his horse with a company of warriors, someone darted out from the edge of the streams at the entrance to the forest.

"Hold, lord, please! Please help me, my lord. My son is missing."

The desperation in the Elf's voice made Oropher rein in his horse, and dismount. "What is this about a missing son?"

The Elf was a hunter dressed in a pale forest green of the typical Silvans. The Elf tried to move closer, but Himion who stood next to Oropher stepped forward, blocking the Elf from reaching him. Oropher raised his hand to stop his friend. Himion still had the instinct of a royal guard although the old captain to the former Royal Guards of Doriath was no longer that.

"Tell me," Oropher said to the Elf who wrung his hands, his eyes wild. His breath was rough as if he had run all night. "Who are you and what happened to your son?"

"Name is Doron, son of Orno, my lord. Gelen, my son, left over a fortnight to hunt with his friends, but his friends returned without him."

"What has his friends told you?"

"They follow game and separated, but when hunt were over, he is no where to be seen. They looks for him but found him not."

"Why have you waited this long? Did you not know that the longer the time passes, the harder it will be to find the track?

"Our chief and few villagers look for him, founds track leading to the southern part of the forest. There we finds men, rough men, heavily armed with axes and spears, camped there. We think they have my son."

"How do you know that?"

"We don't speak men speech and could not understand. But one of us know little. We takes him to ask the men about my son. They attacks us and grabbed him. Our arrows failed us. They is heavily armed and our arrows is no match. You have mighty warriors. Please, lord. Help us. Help me find my son."

The hunter kneeled among the strewn rocks and looked up at him, pleading with his eyes. And Oropher's heart was moved. He knew the pain of losing a child.

Oropher looked toward the west where lay Lorinand and Thranduil. But here was an Elf, a father, who was trying desperately to find his lost son.

"How far are these camps of men?" Oropher asked once he turned back to the hunter.

"Three days south of here when I left them. They were traveling further south."

Oropher looked across to the entrance to the forest. It was only the beginning of the days of Fading, and the undergrowth in the forest was still thick. There were no paths to the south of the forest. They would not be able to ride through it, and the hunter would have known that.

Men so near our city?

While many Silvans had joined him in settling atop Amon Lanc, many more preferred to live around the hill on the houses they built in their trees. Silvans were brave and capable, but they were lightly armed and armored. These people were not ready to fight heavily armed enemies.

"Himion, pick the staunchest of our warriors including the twins. In full armor and arms."

Himion frowned, but he moved away, gesturing for others. Lord Seledhel, once chief Councilor to the King Thingol of Doriath, spoke discretely to Oropher's ear. "Leave this to us, Oropher. Himion and his warriors could handle this matter. Go to your son. By the time you arrive, Thranduil should be waiting."

Oropher wanted that as well. And he knew Himion and the warriors under him were well skilled, but this was not a small matter.

Group of men, well-armed and armored, camped within this forest? These were not the Men who settled near the eaves of the forest, mostly farmers and woodmen, peaceful men who just wanted a safe place to live. Just like him and his fellow Sindar.

Oropher did not like Men and did not like their intrusion into the forest, but he also understood that Men needed to eat which required them to hunt. And while they had their axes and bows, they were never armed or armored well enough for the bows of the Woodelves. But these men were not only armed well enough to defy the arrows of the Woodelves, but they felt confident enough in their skill to assault the Elves. It boded ill. And this affected all of them, both the Sindar and the Woodelves.

"There are some things that are more urgent," Oropher said. "Bring my armor."

Since the day they awoke under the stars and traveled west, the Woodelves had settled in Greenwood. Men feared to enter these woods knowing who lived in them. And even when some did enter, most of the Men were harmless. Unless they came too near the Elven settlements or overburdened the forest of its resources with a zealous use of their axes and bows, Woodelves had left them alone. Oropher realized, however, that this was not one of those times.

Union of Maedhros: An alliance formed by Maedhros to unite all the forces (Feanorians, other Noldor, Edain (Men), Sindar (only those under Cirdan and the two captains—Beleg and Mablung- from Doriath are recorded to have attended), and the Dwarves) in Beleriand to fight against Morgoth. The call for the alliance came in FA 466 and took place in the spring of FA 468 (when Thranduil was born, in my story). This alliance led to the last battle of the Noldor waged against Morgoth: Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. The battled was a complete disaster due to the betrayal planted by Morgoth. It led to Morgoth's complete dominance of the north Beleriand, death of Fingon and the loss of Feanorian strongholds.

Amdir and estel both mean 'hope' in Elvish. Amdir refers to having a positive outlook despite adversity and estel means having faith and trust in Eru that all things will turn out well.

RECAP of relevant Sindarin Characters from Part 1 of What It Means to be a King and from Where the River Ends:

Himion—former captain of the Royal Guards at Doriath

Seledhel—former chief adviser to King Thingol of Doriath

Four princes of Doriath refer to Amdir (son of Amglar, Olwe's younger son—my OC) Oropher (son of Arandur, Olwe's eldest son—also my OC). Celeborn (elder son of Galadhon) and Galathil (younger son of Galadhon). Galadhon is Elmo's son. Elmo being Thingol's youngest brother. Thingol (Elwe) is the eldest of the three brothers: Elwe, Olwe and Elmo.