Chapter 11. Eryn Lasgalen.

There was the rest of the morning ahead before the Wood elves were to depart. This was spent in waking up and rousing those who had celebrated rather too hard, and those very few who had not, were left to try to rouse those who had.

Galion was one who had. His snores were deep, rhythmic and, Thranduil thought, smug. Which meant that, although it had been enjoyable and productive as an evening for the King, Galion had had more fun.

It didn't matter, the King decided, standing over his attendant. He lifted the pail of clear, cold water he had brought from the nearby stream, and emptied it over Galion's head.

The invectives that flew from Galion's mouth would have shocked even Oropher and Thranduil let a small, satisfied smile slip over his lips. 'Whoops,' he said carelessly and dropped the bucket with a noisy clatter. Then he sat beside Galion and handed him first a towel and then a wooden cup with water he had not tipped over him.

'Fuck, Thran. What was that for?' Galion spluttered, wiping his face and hair. He glared at the King.

'Keeping me awake all night, first with your singing, then with your shagging, and I don't want to know who it was, and then with your snoring.'

Galion grinned. 'Very well,' he said benignly. 'I know you are a bear with a sore head if you can't sleep. You missed out though. I thought you were planning to join Cele…'

'Stop right there,' Thranduil snapped, regretting only having one pail.

Galion grinned at him again, showing his white teeth.

'Get up. We are leaving in an hour.' Thranduil lightly kicked the satchel upon which Galion rested his head slept and turned and went back out into his own compartment.

There was a map unrolled on his own pallet bed provided by Celeborn. He had been forced to use his saddlebags to weight the map down on one side, and a boot on the other. Yet still the map curled around the improvised weights unhelpfully. There were little silver clips that he had at home, Thranduil thought, rummaging in Galion's saddlebags fruitlessly. Laersul had had them made for him just for such occasions. Why hadn't Galion thought to bring them when for once they would actually be useful?

He pushed the corner of the map back and pinned it with one elbow, shoving the saddlebag back so he could see the whole forest, the diseased and ravaged south, and the burned and devastated north of his home. He had been contemplating the map for some time, not only on his way here, but especially since his meeting with Galadriel.

She was unexpected, he thought. A powerful ally. Although he had not missed the scattering of Noldor amongst Lothlorien's Sindarin lords and he wondered how Celeborn, survivor of Doriath, endured it. So, he decided as he traced a new line on the map with his finger, he wanted Lothlorien close, but not quite on his borders. Even with his new found admiration of Galadriel, he didn't think she would really be content to stay within her own borders.

Now he rummaged in the saddlebag until he found a pencil, another of Laersul's useful little gifts from Erebor. The pencil tip hovered over the East Bight for a moment, and then he drew a firm line from the Bight, right across the forest. He drew another line along the old forest road. He found himself chewing the wooden end of the pencil thoughtfully and scribbled a few words over the map. Then he put the pencil down, looking at the redrawn map with satisfaction.

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The Woodelves were packed up and ready to leave. Celeborn and Galadriel stood on the slightly raised slope where their shared pavilion was pitched. She was clad now in the white samite gown of a queen and Celeborn in soft green tunic and deeper green cloak, reminding all that he too was silvan. Thranduil thrust his saddlebags at Galion and ignored the muttered protest. Their horses were waiting patiently, heads low or cropping the long, rich grass here in the meadows beside the Anduin, away from the corruption of Dol Guldur.

A low hum filled the air, amiable and quiet conversation between the lords of both realms and Celeborn smiled and held out his arms to Thranduil. Thranduil clasped his kinsman close and was lost in Celeborn's scent of wood and spice, so reminiscent of his own father that he closed his eyes for a moment and held onto other memories.

'Let this not be farewell,' Celeborn said warmly, loud enough for the assembly to hear. Thranduil noticed that Celeborn's eyes were green flecked with copper or gold, the colour of the leaves. 'Now that we are no longer sundered by the Shadow, let us renew the friendship between our People.'

Thranduil nodded and addressing the gathered elves, he said, 'Indeed. We will make this time of peace. A time of renewal. And a time of friendship.' A murmur of approval went up from the crowd. 'We stand here in momentous times. The Shadow is vanquished.' He felt the relief swell through the crowd, almost disbelieving that the long, countless years of War had ended. 'We have been companions in War, parted from our kin by this evil.' He waved his hand towards the forest, still dark and brooding, where Dol Guldur had held everything in its iron grip. 'But now is a time for peace and healing. We salute our brothers in arms, the warriors of Lothlorien. We salute you, lord Celeborn' He allowed warmth into his voice then, and Power. He turned and bowed to Galadriel. 'We salute Galadriel, Lady of the Wood.' It was an accolade he had never given her before and he saw the flicker of surprise, gratitude perhaps, in her eyes and bowed. There was a pleased stir and Thranduil did not miss the surprised looks that passed between the Noldor lords.

'The shadow of that evil hold has blighted our forest for years,' he continued smoothly. 'The Nazgul have shed the blood of our kin, our friends. Together we have defeated our longtime enemy and broken the shackles with which he held the Wood.'

A cheer broke out but he had not finished. 'In gratitude for the Lady's great gift in destroying Dol Guldur, we also bestow a great gift.' Thranduil paused and slid a quick look at Celeborn, for he had negotiated with Galadriel, but he was not entirely certain that she would have done so with her husband's full knowledge. 'The Wood is hurt, smitten with great shadow and it is a great task that we will now heal it. Together.' He turned to his men, spying Galion in the midst, squinting at him painfully and with one eye closed against the light. Still drunk, Thranduil thought. Beside him, Gilvaren looked bemused.

Thranduil smiled serenely, opening his hand to include all the Lorién troops. 'To Celeborn and Galadriel, we grant all of the forest south of the East Bight, to cleanse and heal of the deep malice that lies upon it. For you have the power to do so. This I give you in thanks for delivering the Wood from the thralldom of Dol Guldur.'

He caught Gilvaren's cynical smile and ignored him, turning to Celeborn and bowing low to Galadriel. 'To the men of Beorn's House, to whom I owe my oldest son's life, I grant the Woods from the East Bite to the Old Forest Road for them to live in without fear and to care for the Wood. And I pledge myself to the Northern Wood, which we will keep and heal.'

A loud cheer erupted from the Lothlorien elves, and if his own Northern silvans cheered a little less enthusiastically and a little more curiously, they cheered nonetheless. Gilvaren gave him a cynical grin; Thranduil had just established that he was clearly the King of the Wood and it was within his gift to grant the lands as he had declared. It made both Celeborn and Beorn beholden to him and relieved him of a great burden at the same time. Thranduil had neither the resource, the people nor the inclination to return to this part of the Wood. His folk was happy where they were, and there were certainly not enough of them to start new colonies in other parts of the Wood. Besides, Beorn and his folk would be a good buffer between the two elven realms.

'You are generous, Aran,' Celeborn said, clasping his shoulder warmly. 'We accept your great gift,' he said with a smile. 'I know that we burn with the hurt done to the Wood and we will do all we can to heal it.' He gave a quick glance to Galadriel, an invitation to speak, but she did not meet his eye and remained silent. Thranduil thought she did much to give the appearance that Celeborn ruled. But it was she who wanted the forest, and Thranduil wanted her to have it.

When Galadriel did not speak, Thranduil continued. 'This great wounded forest has been greatly damaged by the Enemy and it has been called Mirkwood by many. It has become tarnished in the minds of others,' Thranduil paused to look at the upturned faces of those who had fought and shed their own blood, who had lost comrades not only in this battle, but for centuries, Ages. 'Let us rename it so that all may see this great forest as it is. And that we look to its future, to its healing when the darkness is but the dappled shade of the sunlight on the green leaves of Summer. Let us name it now, Eryn Lasgalen, the forest of green leaves for the dark hearts and blackened trees will flourish now under Galadriel's healing and the healing in the North. Let us remain ever kin, ever friends.' He turned and flashed the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien the blinding smile his youngest had inherited. 'Eryn Lasgalen!'

And there was a roar of approval and the name was taken up by a thousand voices.

Celeborn gave a cheery smile, and Thranduil grinned back. Galadriel lifted a knowing eyebrow at him but said nothing. In fact, he thought her slight smile was rather pleased.

'You are all your father's son,' Celeborn murmured against his hair in their last embrace.

'I hope that it pleases you,' Thranduil said, looking into the older man's kindly eyes. 'Forgive me if it does not.' But he didn't mean it, not really, in spite of his affection for Celeborn and his admiration for Galadriel. He was, after all, still the King, the Aran of the Wood. And he never forgot where his loyalty lay, and his heart.

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Next chapter: Return of the King!