The Battle Under the Trees

by ziggy3

It had begun with a distant tremor in the Earth. Then the breathless messengers arrived from the East Bight.'Smoke in the South,' they panted, weariness and fear on their faces. More messengers came. 'It is not smoke but dust, lord. From legions of iron-shod feet spilling from Dol Guldûr like plague.' Thranduil fights for his folk, his land, for his life.

8. Chapter 8 The Meeting Under the Trees

So sorry for the LOOONNNGG delay- I really thought I had this finished but Celeborn wanted his voice heard so I ended up deleting a load of scenes and writing new ones. Hope it's worth the wait. Final chapter should be out soon.

Chronology

15th March: Woodelves attacked. Battle Under The trees

Battle of Pelennor Fields

17th March: Battle of Dale- Brand and Dain both fall. Men and Dwarves hide in the Mountain- besieged by Easterlings.

22nd March: 3rd assault on Lothlorien

25th March: The Ring destroyed

27th March: Bard II and Thorin III Stonehelm drive Easterlings off.

28th March: Celeborn crosses the Anduin and begins the destruction of Dol Guldur.

6th April: Celeborn and Thranduil meet.

8th April: Frodo and Sam are honoured on the Field of Cormallen

*Naurion: one of the Elves who was guarding Gollum when Orcs attacked and freed him. Naurion was one of the guards 'taken or slain' that Legolas describes at the Council of Elrond. Another was Anglach, Legolas' best friend and fosterling of Thranduil. (See More Dangerous, Less Wise for this episode and Black Arrow for more of Anglach.)

Especially for Ao3, Appassensofhumour, Keekercatt, Golden, paradis_artificiles, Rosenthorne, chasingbluefish, Naledi, firstamazon, Guest, and ffnet (God, what have they done to their website with all those horrible, intrusive adverts!) but lovely reviewers who have hung in there: Nina, Guest, earthdragon, jaeden1112( and when you both get here, Nurayy and Rumiel

Chapter 8: Meeting under the trees

Thranduil sat on a fallen log reading the messages brought from the North by one of his own King's Messengers, Alagos. Alagos had caught up with them as they rested the horses and now, he could hear the messenger bickering with Galion not far away. Thranduil sighed irritably and tried to ignore them, but a number of his men were watching the argument surreptitiously and had money on the outcome. Thranduil knew that Galion would win. He always did, he cheated at cards, played dirty in a fight and was never averse to a low blow in an argument.

Thranduil did not listen to them but ripped the seal away from Thalos' letter first. Brief and succinct, Thalos reported that they had successfully repelled the forces that had attacked the stronghold with little loss of life but great ruin to the forest. Thranduil glanced up and observed the twisted black trees of what was truly Mirkwood and thought that at least in his own part of the forest, the trees would recover. He did not know what would be needed for this dismal place to heal.

He looked back down at the letter in his hand and read Thalos' firm, rounded hand: 'I have sad tidings too, Ada. Tidings have come that King Brand has fallen defending his city. His people have been forced to abandon Dale and taken refuge in Erebor. You will be grieved to hear that Dain too has fallen defending Brand's body.'

Thranduil sat in silence for a moment and stared upwards unseeingly. It was Daín who had given him Gystalya in recompense for Orcrist which Thranduil had laid upon Thorin Oakenshield's tomb, and it grieved Thranduil that he had lost such an ally. He ran one hand over his head and wished he had ridden to Erebor instead of taking the fight to Dol Guldur. He read on: 'Erebor is under siege by an army from the Eastern lands as well as Orcs. Ada, I am leading a force now to Erebor to help break the siege and trust that you will have victory by the time this message finds you. Take care, Ada, and make sure Galion comes home in one piece too. Your loving son, Thalos.'

The paper fluttered loosely in Thranduil's hands and he bowed his head. It was necessary, he knew, and he knew as well that Thalos was right in what he did. But oh, did he have to keep sending his sons into battle!

The second letter was from Laegrist, who gave him the full account of the battle in the north and told him of Thalos' gallantry and daring, how he had tricked the enemy into the gully and shown such leadership that Thranduil's heart swelled with fear and pride.

There were other letters too, more ordinary and less pressing but the one he had pressed against his heart was the briefest. It was from Laersul but not in his own hand. It said only this: I know you will be anxious to hear that I live but you can see I cannot write just now. Suffice to say that we have held the western reaches. Beorn and his folk came when it was most needful. I love you, father, and trust that Galion will keep you safe.

Your son,

Laersul.

It was smudged with rust-brown that Thranduil knew was blood. He hoped it was not Laersul's.

But they live, he reminded himself again. They live and that is more than I ever dared hope. If I could but have word of Legolas, I will be content.

He was one amongst many who seized the chance to scribble notes to loved ones to give to Alagos before he departed, returning north with a clutch of letters, including several from the King, and two from Galion.

0o0o

April 5th

By the time they drew close to Dol Guldur, it was Mettarë, the Last Day of the year. Suitably, thought Thranduil. In the North of the Wood, the earth would be awakening and shaking off the slumber of winter. There were no birds here in the South, and no thrill of green along the branches, or fat buds bursting into leaf.

They rode on with the standards of the Oak and Stag of the Wood now cleaned of blood and mud and streaming green and gold and white, fluttering in the wind for the rain had finally ceased. Following the track that had been gouged by the enemy straight through the forest, blasted through the great ancient trees, Thranduil expected to see Dol Guldur's grim spires and parapets rising up over the dead trees like bloody talons, but still, there was no sign.

He felt a strange hard knot in his chest. This was Amon Lanc, where he had run as a child. It was where Oropher had sat and thrown his head back laughing, the sunlight catching his golden hair as if the sun itself loved him, for who could not? And his great, joyful laugh resounding through the glades of the Wood. It had been a beautiful place then but now the rotten and diseased forest creaked ominously, and great black vines crept through the trees, slowly strangling them. This is not home, he thought. This is Mirkwood.

They emerged unexpectedly and abruptly from the dark and heavy trees. And stopped in wonder.

Once, long, long ago in far Beleriand, Oropher had taken his small son to see it where a meteor had fallen in a forest in the far North. Thranduil had stood with his small hand in his father's large, capable hand, staring at the trees lying flat, hundreds, their tops pointing away from the crater in concentric circles.

It was like that now.

An eerie silence lay over the devastated, flattened land; the trees had fallen outwards, and a crater appeared where the bare hill upon which Dol Guldur had been. The spires, the parapets and the great jagged finger of the tower was no longer there. Instead, it seemed the earth had erupted, and exploded, spewed and vomited up the chiseled granite and sculpted blocks of obsidian that had made the tower. For scattered amongst the fallen trees were huge blocks of masonry, and it seemed the Tower had truly fallen.

A murmur of consternation and awe rippled through the company of Woodelves but Thranduil silenced them with a thought for there was movement ahead, a glitter of light on the steel of swords, spears. Instantly Ferendir had his own men surrounding the King, and weapons drawn. There was the creak of bows and arrows fitted but Thranduil flung up a hand to hold their fire, waiting, listening…

And then it came, a warmth stole over him, a breath of wonder like a perfume.

Welcome, child of the North. Your coming is as the arrival of victory.

Here was the source of the Power that had aided them in their time of great need. Here was Galadriel. It was her men they could see upon the ruins of Dol Guldur.

He was intensely irritated at first and then intensely pleased and could not work out which he felt more; relief that his sons and their children would no longer spend their lives in blood upon the spears and arrows and spikes of the enemy, and annoyance that Celeborn had allowed his wife to do what Thranduil had wanted to do, that he actually was looking forward to doing.

And then he laughed at himself. Fool, he told himself and it seemed to be it was his father's voice that spoke. Look at what she has done and be glad that it has spared you much trouble! There was a great leap of joy in his chest, and he marvelled at what Lothlorien had achieved and resolved he would not begrudge them any of their dues.

'Aran, riders!' Ferendir warned and a troop of grey horses and riders hoved into view. They bore the standard of Lothlorien, which whipped out behind them, and with a breath, the Woodelves sheathed their weapons and watched the approach of the newcomers.

Thranduil eyed the Lorién elves obliquely, sensing their own curiosity about their Northern kin. They were strange to him, mostly pale-haired, pale skinned. They were dressed outlandishly, he thought, not in the traditional lamellar armour of the Silvans but in the heavy steel armour of the Noldor. But, he reasoned, they had come to bring down the Tower and for that I must give due regard. The Elves of the two Woods, the Green and the Gold stared at each other with undisguised curiosity.

'Aran!' cried the leader of the troop. 'Lothlorien greets you and bids you welcome to our camp where the Lady and Lord Celeborn await you.' Celeborn's herald was tall, fair haired and with an insouciant arrogance that irritated Thranduil instinctively, but he quashed it. He noted that no name was needed for Galadriel, of course, but that Celeborn needed naming. As if Thranduil did not know who was the Lord of Lothlorien! he thought grumpily. The rider pointed beyond the ruined tower. 'The Lady awaits you on the Loeg Nimrodel, where our beloved river meets the great Anduin, beyond the eaves of Mirkwood for the forest here is, as you can see, inhospitable.'

'You have the advantage,' Thranduil said coolly, ignoring both the invitation and the name of HIS beloved Wood, even though he had named this part Mirkwood in his own mind. That didn't count, he decided. 'You have my name. I do not have yours.' He looked imperiously at the man, who blushed, and his eyes darted to the side in humiliation.

'Forgive me, Aran. We are the Marchwardens of the Golden Wood. My name is Haldir Daerion.'

'And presumably your lord also awaits our coming, as well as your Lady?' Thranduil said pointedly. 'Unless he is injured?'

Haldir had the grace to look sheepish enough to satisfy Thranduil and so he nodded his acquiescence and rode deliberately to the fore of the procession, allowing the Lorién elf to accompany HIM rather than the other way around. This was, after all, still HIS forest. He could feel the warmth of Galion's approval from here and was aware of the hidden smiles of his own men who were pleased that propriety was restored.

'We are glad to see you, Aran,' said Haldir, suitably unctuous now that the proper order was established. 'Battle was long and hard here, as I can see the same was for your men also. Have you news from the North?' He was wary now.

Thranduil allowed himself to be gracious now. 'We have driven them from the Wood,' he replied as they rode forwards along the path that Haldir had come. 'My own company secured the East Bight and my sons have secured the Carrock and the Northern Wood.

'Your sons?' Haldir glanced at him in genuine surprise.

Thranduil turned towards him, his own curiosity piqued. 'Laersul, my oldest and commander of our forces, and Thalos, Captain of the East Bight.' he said brusquely for he could not trust himself to speak of Legolas to this stranger who would not understand.

'Of course, Aran,' Haldir said smoothly. Then he seemed to hesitate and cast a glance at Thranduil, as if he might say more but he turned back towards the trail.

Thranduil frowned but he was soon distracted by the sight of Dol Guldur and the devastation that it now was.

It had been many years since Thranduil had been close enough to even see the fortress, for it was far too dangerous a place for the Elves to come except in times of extreme need, such as when Laersul had pursued the Orcs that had taken Naurion*. The hill upon which the tower had been built still rose up steeply out of the land but now, closer, there seemed to be a crater where Dol Guldur had once been and the granite and basalt rocks that had built the edifice were blasted into rubble. It was a devastation indeed and he could not help but feel awed at the power that had achieved this. Surely Galadriel had not done this on her own? Surely her army had pulled it to its very foundations?

'The Lady pulled down the Tower,' Haldir said with reverence as if he knew Thranduil's thoughts. 'Dol Guldur had assaulted our home three times, and she would not countenance it any longer. She summoned us to cross the river, which she held back so we rode over the dry riverbed.' In his voice was wonder and Thranduil could not help but share it. 'Then she rode at the front of our charge to the very gates and blasted them open. We could not see for the brightness. The explosion that brought the tower down, the towers and walls themselves could not withstand her. The blast shook the trees from their roots as you see.' He indicated the fallen trees with wonder.

'She will ever have my gratitude,' Thranduil said sincerely, thinking that he had underestimated her after all. A bit of him wished he had seen it. 'Too many of my people have found torment and death here. No more.'

0o0o

Celeborn sat in a folding chair near his wife's bed, watching her as she slept. She was so pale still, as if the wreaking of her vengeance upon Dol Guldur had drained her of all her being, all her spirit. And perhaps it had. Her hair had been braided and lifted from her neck to keep her cool and he wiped a cloth with water from the Nimrodel over her face. It seemed nothing was too much to ask the Galadhrim if it was for their Lady, he thought, a little acerbically and then checked himself. He could not blame them; had she not pushed back the tides of the Anduin to allow them to pass between dry-shod? And demolished the fortress of Dol Guldûr single-handed, bringing an end to its tyranny?

No. Not single-handed, he corrected himself bitterly. Nenya had made all that possible. One of the Three Rings made by Celebrimbor. Nenya, Seeker of Curvë, Power. Nenya suited Galadriel, completed her as Celeborn could not.

A gentle breeze lifted the white silk of the pavilion and caressed them both, a west wind with the scent, perhaps, of the Sea for she stirred and murmured, and the words were not Sindarin.

'Hush,' he said softly, smoothing his own thoughts so that he soothed her too. 'Sleep. I will watch.'

One strong white hand slipped from the sheets and in sorrow for all they had once shared, and lost, he cradled it gently, seeing the blue veins beneath the skin, the bones of her hands. Nenya hung loosely on her finger, depleted, as if it too were exhausted for its adamantine glitter was dull and had lost the depth of colour.

He stared at the Ring, hating it even though the truth was that without Nenya, they would truly have been vanquished themselves. He did not deny the beauty, the crafty cleverness of the work, the depth of the jewel, the light. The Power within the Ring.

He thought for a moment; the Power that had been unleashed against Dol Guldur was unlike anything he had seen. Previous assaults upon them had not released this. Something had changed, he thought, tilting his head slightly to regard Nenya. Was it that Ash Nazg had touched the purity of the stone of Nenya? But Galadriel had resisted, denied it.

She said.

For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he took Nenya…if he cast the Ring into the Sea. Would he regain his own Nerwen? Would the woman he loved return to him?

Disaster and ruin, whispered a voice. All will be lost. The Dark will win.

Celeborn stared, his skin was cold at the words, for he knew this was Nenya. Suddenly he wanted to shake Galadriel awake, to rip Nenya from her hand and cast it into the ruins of the Tower, the crater, bury it deep.

Sauron is vanquished, he replied. You will fade and Galadriel will remain.

We will not fade. Our Time has come…

0o0o

Long hours passed and Galadriel did not awaken. But there was movement outside the pavilion, perhaps one of the Marchwardens with news of their Northern kin? He hoped it was so and his heart suddenly leapt with joy that it might even be Thranduil himself who would come. He longed to see his cousin's child for he had loved Oropher, his great booming laugh, his joy and effervescence, his sheer presence. Celeborn's hand went automatically to the inside pocket of his tunic where a flattened, much folded letter was pressed against his heart.

'Just in case,' Legolas had said pressing it into Celeborn's hand. 'Just in case you should ever have the chance to send it or give it to my father.' And the hope and love in the boy's eyes had overwhelmed Celeborn and he had pulled Legolas into his embrace like he would have his sweet boy, Elladan or his dear, tormented Elrohir, and hugged Legolas as his father would have done had he been there, as he would have wanted.

Having checked the letter was safely tucked away, Celeborn went out into the Spring sunshine and smelled the earth; the new grass was pushing upwards, birdsong drenched the air, and he was exhilarated. Spring was here. Sauron was vanquished. Aragorn was the new King of Men. And he hoped, how he hoped, his beloved boys were safe, Elrohir and Elladan.

'My lord! Aran Thranduil approaches,' Darion, one of his own Marchwardens, was trotting towards him, breathless and excited. 'Haldir sent me ahead but they are close for the Aran rides fast and is keen to see you.'

Celeborn felt the Song surge through him and knew that Thranduil was already here. There was an excitement on the wind and a thrill ran through the warm Spring air. Tremulous whinnying burst from their own horses grazing on the banks of the river and he found his feet moving of their own volition towards the perimeter of the camp. Others were doing likewise and soon the whole camp was running eagerly and shouting in anticipation for the Woodelves were suddenly in view and the banner of Oak and Stag was raised high and streamed behind them. Their horses cantered or galloped in an unseemly, disordered chaos, careering across the green sward towards the Lorién camp, waving and hollering their greetings for the two peoples had been so long sundered by Dol Guldûr.

Celeborn's voice joined the cries of joy and welcome of the Galadhrim as the Woodelves converged upon the camp, and he lifted his face to the sun and laughed. How like Oropher was his son! Oropher who never followed rules, who fretted against any order and who had been so rebellious in Doriath that Thingol had despaired of his brilliant, scintillating kinsman and vowed he was well rid when Oropher left and joined the Green Elves of Ossiriand, and it was true that Doriath was more peaceful without him. And less exciting, less colourful. His heart sang and he strode out to meet the child of his dear friend whom he missed with an aching intensity.

One horse was stretching out in a gallop, the sunlight gleamed upon the golden hair of its rider. Behind him streamed the rest of the company of Woodelves and the accompanying Marchwardens, Haldir amongst them looking put out and struggling to keep his own horse in check though Celeborn wondered why he bothered for everyone else was galloping and laughing and singing. Celeborn laughed and opened his arms wide as the leading rider swung from his horse mid-gallop and landed upon his feet without a stumble or misstep and was striding towards Celeborn with the same ecstatic expression on his lovely face, disbelief, elation, fierce expectation. Celeborn's heart was suddenly full as if it were Oropher himself he was greeting here beneath the trees.

This could only be Thranduil. The sculpted profile, full lips and slate green eyes were all Oropher. Perhaps more serious than Oropher but for now, full of emotion. They fell into each other's arms, laughing and hugging each other in joy and relief.

'It is true?' Thranduil asked first as if he still could not quite believe it. 'Sauron has fallen?'

Celeborn smiled and shook his head slightly in shared disbelief. 'Yes. I cannot quite believe it either.' He pulled back and looked into the noble and handsome face that was so like his old friend. 'Ah, it is a good day!' he cried. Then he saw the anxiety and doubt in Thranduil's eyes and said reassuringly, 'Galadriel has seen Barad-dûr's fall too, and she says that Mithrandir had victory too.'

'Mithrandir?' Thranduil could not keep the hope out of his voice. 'Did she see…did she see anything else? Anyone?'

Celeborn could not bear this father's hope and answered truthfully, 'She has not spoken much beyond that, my dear boy. She is exhausted. As you can imagine, this was hard on her.' He glanced at Thranduil briefly and gave a tight smile. 'The expense of Power like this, drains one. It always leaves her….' He hesitated. How could he explain the toll this had taken upon her, the exhaustion that left her grey and cold, as if she were dead. 'Strained. She will join us when she is recovered.'

'Of course,' Thranduil said and was about to speak but Celeborn felt the letter against his heart.

'I have news,' he smiled for he knew what this would mean for Thranduil. 'Your son, Legolas passed through the Wood. He was amongst the company that bore the One Ring to Mordor as you know. They stopped here to rest,' Celeborn said with compassion for he understood all too well the anguish of a father's love. 'He was unharmed. He left just as we passed into Echuir.'

Thranduil's eyes flicked up and fixed upon Celeborn as if his heart had stopped. 'Seven weeks ago? He was here? In Lothlorien I mean. Seven weeks. He was unharmed?'

'I have a letter for you that I have carried about with me ever since he entrusted it to me, just in the hope and happenchance that I should get to give it you.' He slid his hand into his tunic and brought out the much creased, flattened, and stained letter. 'I have carried it with me through battle in case we should meet for it was my heart's desire that we should.'

Celeborn saw Thranduil's greedy eyes upon the letter as if he wanted to grab it from Celeborn, to rip it open and devour it but he did not need to for Celeborn thrust it into his hands. 'I do not think there is anything we need do just yet. Take some time. There under the oak tree is a log that I find it is quiet and I am uninterrupted. Go. Read it.' He smiled kindly. 'Join me when you are ready. I will greet your men and see that they are looked after.'

Thranduil looked at him but could not speak and Celeborn turned away quickly for he could not bear to see the tears in the man's eyes.

0o0o

Thranduil tore open the seal and read with avid eyes.

It was Legolas' spidery scrawl and Thranduil smiled through tears for he had despaired of his youngest child's carelessness after Laersul's perfection, chided him for the scruffiness of his dispatches which Legolas had ignored with cheerful laughter and told Thranduil instead that he was glad to see him too.

'Dearest Ada (and Galion),' Legolas had written.

'I write this in the hope that it may be delivered if I do not see you before then. I hope I do see you. I miss you all very much.'

There was a blot where he had rested his hand and Thranduil imagined Legolas sitting under the mallorn trees of Lothlorien and looking up at the stars, trying to write. He wondered what chance had brought them to Lorién for surely Mithrandir would have taken the route through the Gap of Rohan? Or crossed Caradhras if needs must? He supposed that might well take them past Lorién and it would be foolish not to take advantage of such sanctuary for a while.

'A lot has happened. As you know (I hope my last letter got to you from Imladris) I am travelling with four hobbits. There are two Men as well, and a Dwarf. The Dwarf is called Gimli and is the son of one the THOSE dwarves, but we are getting along quite well. I can't say a lot as you know. But I am all right, Ada. Don't worry. I never thought I would have a chance to write, and I do not know if this will even reach you.

'Mithrandir is…

Blotches again like Legolas had paused for a very long time and the ink was smudged. He wondered what Legolas had been about to write about Mithrandir but thought he might find out more from Celeborn. Celeborn had said that Galadriel knew he had had victory too.

When he read the next words, his heart was very full and he wished more than anything in the world, that he could gather his youngest up in his arms and press a kiss to the top of his head and tell him it was all right. For Legolas had written:

'It feels very dark right now, and I am a little afraid. I love you all very much. Ada, if anything happens, please don't despair. I will find Anglach and we will wait for you. Please do the same for me if…

Another smudge as if he could not write the next words, and then,

'If Sauron wins, we will meet again if it is true about the Halls of Waiting.

Please tell Laersul and Thalos that I love them and I know that you all love me. It is what will sustain me in the dark times ahead. I love you too, Galion.

Your loving son,

Legolas'

He knew there were tears on his cheeks, but he turned his face up to the sky and sent a prayer to Elbereth who loved the Woodelves. He wished he knew if Legolas lived; Sauron had fallen but that did not mean there were not many deaths, there would have been slaughter on both sides. He bowed his head.

There was a rustle behind him, and he ignored it at first. Then as the intruder did not leave, he sighed and held out the letter. 'Read it, Galion. I know you are as desperate for news as I.'

'Is it from Legolas?' Galion cried greedily. He settled down on the log comfortably snug against Thranduil. 'We miss the boy too, do we not?' muttered Galion reading avidly. 'Two men, four hobbits and a Dwarf! What was Elrond thinking. Oh, Elbereth's tits!' He looked up appalled, 'Thran, d'you see this? He was with that son of one of THOSE Dwarves. Those pesky Erebor ones that caused so much trouble.' He tutted and looked back down to the letter. 'What was he going to say about Mithrandir?' He frowned and then looked up. 'Oh, it might be when he fought the Balrog and fell into Khazad-dûm.' He looked back down.

Thranduil gaped. 'What?'

'Mithrandir. Fought a Balrog apparently and was pulled into Khazad-dûm. They thought he was dead in Lothlorien and there was much mourning only for the old bugger to turn up again and then ride out in white. Honestly. How impractical.' Galion's eyes ran along the letter once again as if what he had just said were a shopping list or the patrol rotation.

'Wait, Galion! You seem to have gathered a lot of news very quickly.'

'Well, if you had actually TALKED to those Marchwardens instead of riding at the front like they smelled bad, you would have found out more.' He turned back to the letter and said without looking up, 'Let me finish this and then I will tell you what I know.'

And Thranduil had to wait for Galion would not, he knew, be gainsaid.

Then Galion fell very quiet and very still. Thranduil saw a tear slide off his nose and knew that he was reading the bit about Anglach, and how Legolas loved them all. Galion sniffed and wiped his nose. 'He's a good boy,' said Galion at last and looked at Thranduil. 'I pray, Eru, I pray that he lives.'

He leaned against Thranduil and the King felt comforted by the warmth and for a moment, it did not seem as important that Mithrandir had fought a Balrog as it did that, they both missed their boys.

'I suppose there will be messages soon from Gondor,' Thranduil said at last. 'If the Man, Aragorn lives, he will presumably claim the throne of Gondor. Let us hope that Legolas has the sense to include letters to tell us how he is.' He stood up and looked down on Galion. 'In the meantime, I am going to find out EXACTLY what happened with this Balrog.'

0o0